There’s a certain rhythm to everything: waking and sleeping, eating and cleaning, travel to and travel from, setup and clean up, mornings and evenings, hellos and goodbyes. Rhythm gives us order, predictability, stability, understanding. Rhythm is music, it is waves, it is traffic lights. It is feast and it is famine and it is light and it is dark. Rhythm gives cadence to life and makes it rich– layering emotions and experiences that alone are singular and meaningless until something beautiful emerges– like a chiaroscuro painting of your life.
I was driving home for Christmas at my parents’ house in a downpour. Rain in Florida has the unbelievable quality of making everyone a terrible driver. Maybe it’s the thought of hurricanes that makes everyone nervous, or maybe it’s any time the rain lasts more than 20 minutes no one knows what to make of it… but downpour in Florida brings things to a screeching, maddening halt. And just when I started thinking I would spend Christmas in my car, alone with nothing but NPR podcasts and Sufjan box sets… slowly, as if to the beat of a quiet drummer carefully building his crescendo… things started to click. Flasher lights came on. Windshield wipers got in tune with the beat of the rain. Cars began to follow one another, at respective distances, through the unknown. The wipers and lights became a metronome and what was once chaos had now transformed into a simple staccato symphony. It was one of those perfect moments where everything made sense. We all moved down the highway like a school of obedient fish, each car moving in inexplicable unison with each other across the pavement as if from one mind.
It didn’t take long for the magic to die, as some guy in a Mustang (who clearly believed he is more important than everyone else) sped through on the shoulder and broke our collective trance in one heaving splash of murky road water. It wasn’t long before I dreamed of yelling “fend for yourselves, losers!” and following suit down the lefthand side, maniacally laughing all the way like some terrifying Santa in a Toyota Highlander.
But that moment… that fleeting moment of perfection made me think about rhythm and the end of the year and the start of a new one. About going places and how you get there, literally and figuratively. And it led me back here. To this corner of the internet I call my own.
I’d like to write more, and so I’m going to try to get into a rhythm. Nothing crazy like everyday… but more. And better. I’m going to push myself more. Talk boldly. Explore. Think. Dream. Find a rhythm.
2015. Let’s find a rhythm.