I met a girl one summer night in San Diego. We had spent the evening talking at a quiet coffee shop, and afterwards, we drove to the top of a scenic overlook and sat under a blanket on the roof of her car, with our legs dangling in the sunroof and the entire San Diego skyline in front of us.
The following day, I realized that, because we lived 1500 miles apart, I would probably never see her again. I let myself feel the pain of that, and I realized that there was something about the pain that felt good. I had spent so long not feeling much, that the pain of longing was somehow refreshing.
Sometimes feeling pain is better than feeling nothing at all. I think life is defined by a stream of moments of ups and downs, and if you fail to have any, then it’s almost as if you aren’t existing. Sometimes I feel like gravity is the only thing keeping me alive – and if it comes to standing still, or falling, then let me fall.
I never did see her again.
Here’s to a magical summer night in San Diego, and to spending the next day in an empty house next to an old, out of tune, upright piano – finally feeling alive.