It’s strange how once you stop searching for something, it will find you. I’ve always glared at the underbelly of bullshit surrounding that statement. Isn’t to stop searching to quit, to lazily give up? How can you ever expect to find what you’re looking for – that heart-pounding love, the job that’s the perfect fit, the formula for a perfect body – if you don’t incessantly search? Shouldn’t a person refuse to quit until they have what they want in their hands, a palpable victory?
I felt stir-crazy today. It’s been coming in more frequent waves these days; I feel the need to get up, to move, to seek out something. But I’m never quite sure what that ‘something’ is. The beacon of happiness/light at the end of the tunnel/yada yada/blah blah blah? As good as hibernating sounded today, I couldn’t do it.
Taking my bike for an aimless ride, I pedaled forward with no destination in mind. The original plan was to burn off some of the late-night Vietnamese noodle feast drunkenly consumed at 2 a.m. with a group of new friends that have saved me from climbing too far inside of my head and not leaving. They were delicious (the noodles, that is) but physical activity needed to happen, pronto.
An hour of weaving in and out of streets, peering at the patio parties and late-night park dwellers in Williamsburg led me down to the East River. The water has always had a calming effect on me. No matter what, it’s something bigger than you. It’s outside of yourself, that you don’t need to bear the weight of but simply feel the weight of.
I wasn’t looking, but I found what I needed. The water did the trick.