I read a book years ago (that I have since revisited on multiple occasions) and there is one chapter I have been thinking about quite frequently. I am in the midst of making a playlist that is thirteen hours and fifty nine minutes long (and counting). I have been taking the long way home and believing in good karma. In yoga class the instructor ends class with a quote and she tells us that bravery often occurs quietly in dark rooms. 

I will share an excerpt from the book I mentioned above (Weather by Jenny Offill).

“‘How do you sleep at night knowing all this?’

‘I’ve known it all for a long time,’ she says.

It affects her in other ways, I think. Sylvia always wants to go see things, some nearby, some far away. The requirement is that they are disappearing faster than expected. The going, going, gone trips, I call them.”

I realize that many things in my life are disappearing faster than expected and not for many reasons other than my own decisions. I have been taking many going, going, gone trips per se. I took the long way home from Jackie’s lake house and went on a run on my favorite trail off the kancamagus highway. I drove slow around the hairpin turns and thought about all the times I have driven these roads after a long day hiking alone or with friends. I take a dip in the ocean and am reminded that the cold water never feels warmer with more experience. I think about what books I will be able to justify driving across the country. I laugh so hard with my best friends that I nearly pee my pants and we already start planning when we will see each other next. I think things are disappearing but in a subtle way. They will still exist, just differently. Geographically further away. I call my grandfather and ask if he is up for a visit in fifteen minutes and try not to cry on my way there thinking how this luxury will soon be in the past. Things sure are going, but they are not gone.