I was driving through the rain tonight. It was a long drive back from my friend's house, and with this virus I was zoning out a little, huddled as I was in my hood and scarf, with the heater on full blast. As I passed beneath the mammoth structures of the new freeway, amongst the tiny bullets of rain pelting down, I saw something flutter down towards me; a tiny, twirling thing, pushing its way through the manic suicide-dives of its fellow travellers.
The tiny thing was swept away from me as it got caught in the eddy of streaming air around my car, and, somewhat paradoxically, for a moment, time did not exist. It was beautiful, fragile, the potential for the moment was endless, inconsequential and exponential, all at once. I felt strong, and renewed, and reminded of the fact that there is magic all around me, at all times, even though more often than not I feel like it has left me for good.
I know this feeling won't last. I know tomorrow when I go back to work I'll feel the apathy tightening again. So I'm trying as hard as I can to hold onto that image. Trying to hold onto the idea that such feeling is readily accessible even to someone as cynical as myself.
In that moment, everything was Right. Every piece of my life was in its correct place, everything, no matter how painful or hard it has been, happened, is happening, for good reason, and no matter what the outcome is, it will be OK. I don't necessarily believe in destiny, except that which I create for myself, so I have to believe I'm creating the perfect future for myself.
If I live long enough, I guess we'll see how that works out.