It was slightly overcast throughout the entire weekend and although I managed to adventure, eat delicious food and interact with lovely humans (and Ziggy), it was almost as if everyone I encountered was physically and emotionally burdened by the clouds. I think it would be different if they just let the moisture out. Much like when I'm stressing and just can't find an outlet. It's bottling up the turmoil instead of just letting the tears flow, it's trying to save face but really just making everyone bummed. Bummed because we're in a drought and also because life is hard, and it doesn't seem quite as hard when the sun is out. Or even when you can really settle into your sadness. It's the difference between drinking hot tea and listening to Bright Eyes while it pours out and the overwhelming bleakness that comes without warning and makes you hate the idea of getting out of bed while it's grey out. Or maybe I'm just pathetic fallacy-ing all over the place.
The point is, my roommate and I went on a hike later in the afternoon of one of these dreary days and it wasn't until I felt the fresh air deep in my lungs that I realized I was brooding all morning. I had no tangible or imminent reason to, but I carried an invisible weight and I didn't even know I was doing it. As I felt the burn in my legs and saw how beautiful the clouds and fog looked settling over the city, I felt it lift. I remembered the excitement and squealing sounds that radiated from me throughout the previous week. The nerves and the burden were there as I prepared for interviews, as I walked up to the foreign buildings and spoke to unfamiliar faces, and the butterflies and goofy grins were there upon hearing "You got the job," twice in one week. I finally got to accept, and call (almost) everyone, and use all the exclamation points, and feel that sense of accomplishment that comes with landing a job I actually went to college for.
It's amazing the perspective I gain just by wandering off into nature. I used to run the same route around the same residential neighborhoods and in the same park I frequented since I was a toddler. That was my way of clearing my head. It worked back then, but now I'm afraid I ruined that sort of escape for myself. Then I didn't know what it was like to find a new trail every time I tried, to see new views of amazing landscapes with every hike, to see the same view look completely different just because Carl the Fog made an appearance or to be excited by the sight of a bridge.
It's also amazing the changes life has in store when you simply make room for them.
Anyone who has ever transitioned knows it's difficult. It's especially difficult when each time you start to feel settled, you have to start over again. That's where I found myself every six months or less in the past year and a half, but recently I decided to stop floating along and letting the current direct me. It's scary to make decisions without a smart plan backing them up, but so far those are the best decisions I've made.
And even when they backfire, the sun comes out and I remember that I can always just go hiking.