Chicken Little

It's uncanny what happens when the sun sets before you are prepared for the night. It's like dialing a number you have always dialed, only to forget the last digit.

And you sit there.

Staring at the phone, trying to figure out which passing thought that day was one too many. Which one pushed muscle memory over the edge.

That is winter to me.

For as long as I can remember, I have dreaded the changing of the clocks. It almost seems absurd how shocked I am when darkness comes too early. Because it always comes too early. Summer is a time of action, and winter one of introspection. I have come to name November and April the months of inertia. Just as I have fallen back onto the beaten path of movement and sun and skin, the quiet time comes.

I am more afraid of winter than summer.

And I know why. It is easy for me to pass by introspection. Summer comes with a built in auto-pilot of warmth and sunroofs and long drives and rock and roll. When winter comes, I don't have a choice. I have to face the paperwork that time has left on my desk. I have to acknowledge that six months ago I was living in New York city with a man, a job, and an entirely different life.

That I ran for the hills.

That I am alone now.

And more importantly, that I need to be alone now. That no soul on earth will ever make me happy as my own. That in being lost, I am in the right place. That this is the year of the three point turn, of making sure that my decisions are grounded in what I want at the core of myself.

That being said, I still miss the sun.

Back In

Well. Hello again.

 When I was 14, lost in Soul Coughing and having just heard the rumbling of Lovely's car down the street, I started For the Right Price.

 It is amazing how the most indelible experiences in your life are often done without much thought.

 Since I was here, I have loved and lost, settled in and been run out. And yet, lunchbox has always been here. A time capsule and a reminder that my youth is only my youth because I am looking backwards. I am sitting on my couch looking out over the river of my motherland. I have graduated from the north, failed in the iron jungle, learned and argued with the remnant of an LA lifestyle, and come running back home.

 Rambling hides memories from you. It creates a sort of stationary discontent that obscures the enjoyment of pausing. But the other day, I was driving to my original home with the windows down and everything came crashing back. The smell of fall. The lighting. Lovely's childhood home. Memories of youth before I went out to see the world for myself.

 I still don't know if I will stay.

There is an invisible blanket that covers this land. I had thought it was simply youth, but it is much more than that. I am afraid to leave just as much as I am afraid of getting stuck here. Of buying a house and getting a dog and starting a career and growing old by the river.

 I am just as lost as I have always been. But the unknown is simply the absence of hindsight. I'm not ready to know so much as to find out.

 And what better tool to bring with me than the Lunchbox.