San Diego 250

I'm sitting quietly in my van, taking in what the next week will look like. Mentally preparing for the repetitive cycle ive put myself in. The smallest things, such as receiving a text from a friend you haven’t heard of in a while, can turn your whole mood around. Thank you Aleksa for that text. I write these for myself at the end of the day and I gain nothing from it so when someone shares with you that these stupid little blog posts I write on my free time can resonate with anyone, even someone I know; it means a lot. 

Thank you for that.

Life is nothing short of beautiful, but it could feel as if we don't even have the time or energy to appreciate this beauty. It’s all a constant that eventually we leave behind and we look back, regretting or even wondering what we could have done with the time we spent. I spent a good chunk of my time reading some old literature lately and came across A. E. Housman admittedly I have never read a piece of writing he’s published until now. His famous poem, which I read more times than I will admit, well, it was evident why it’s a famous poem. It resonates with the human soul and explores nostalgia and the idea of growing old is such a simple poem, but profound I was urged to write it down to make sure I shared it on here. 

Into my heart an air that kills

Into my heart an air that kills

From yon far country blows;

What are those blue remembered hills,

What spires, what farms are those?

That is the land of lost content,

I see it shining plain,

The happy highways where I went

And cannot come again.

I interpreted that we get reminded of the pain when nostalgia turns into longing. Death will get us all and the life not lived is lost. A life not lived.