(Almost), exactly, three and a half years ago:
That image of you on a cushion-less leather chair near Gate 13 at Barbara Jordan Terminal in Austin, TX, cross-legged, chin resting on your hand, elbow delicately balanced on a thin armrest, an open notebook with scribbles ambitious of being the words that will be your history someday. Will you be able to confine that image to permanent memory?
Yes, it was confined to permanent memory. I remember it like I remember a photograph that I have seen a few minutes ago.
And we are back to airports. In a way that it used to be. It’s nice to know yourself the way you knew you were. It’s like meeting a friend after ages. Like John Travolta (Face/Off 1997) said, “It’s like looking in a mirror. Only… not.” It is like the experience in Coach 78519:
“You are the same too – except a few crinkly wrinkles that have become permanent after years of laughter – the only sign perhaps – of how much you laughed once upon a time.“
And in between the meeting of the then-you and the now-you, there’s a third self, a ghost of the in-between adventure. But he isn’t present, as such. You can’t see yourself, but (the now-)you know that your smile has changed. What was once only a dream is now buttressed with with a calm resolve. The blinding speed, scattering of effort, the running around in circles have all vanished. You don’t just see it; you experience the space.
This slowing-down-thing is working very well, I must say.
It’s a lovely day.