The end of a beginning of the end of a beginning

In fits and starts and then at breakneck speeds careening through sharp corners and over sheer divides, plodding or speeding and going in circles or in a pinstriped straight line, sputtering fumes or cruising smoothly only to shatter into splinters and then ease into fluid motion. That’s been my life for the past couple of years, work stress and satisfaction, relationship joys and turmoil, living in London, living in San Francisco, existing in either enjoying neither, or then really loving it all embracing it fully and then collapsing in confusion and anxiety. I see it from the inside looking out or sometimes from the outside looking in. It makes perfect sense and it’s all just nonsense. It is the sheer simplicity of a lifetime of trust in the process and then the enormous complexity created by constantly fighting the process. It defies logic and yet it is so obvious.
It’s always a choice, though. There always is another way. I am never stuck even though I maybe momentarily blind-sighted.

And now? Now the choice has been made and it opens up a world of possibilities which are different than another world of possibilities had I made the alternative choice. Parallel lives played out may be happy and sad, happy and happy, sad and sad, sad and happy. In the end, it’s all the same, in the end.

This jetlag.