And when I do this, my favorite spot is over by the windows. In our 8th floor cafeteria, the ceiling-high windows are lined with white-clean, narrow counters and a row of stools each. The counters are just wide enough to accommodate a tray of food, and allow for a commanding view of the surrounding suburban sprawl as you munch on lunch, or the glittering city skyline as you partake of dinner. It's a nice place to sit, and conveniently let's you turn your back on the crowded floor and instead watch the wide horizon.
But yesterday, after the typhoon-drenched weekend past, the afternoon view was bright with sunlight and the sky gleamed bluer than usual. The Tokyo weather portrays so well the calm beauty after the storm. The lofty clouds, so massive, somehow hang upon this calmness as they gently wade across the sky.
Or I may just be projecting my own sense of quietude. The 4 month long project just succeeded in a vital release earlier this week, and I'm recollecting the days gone by, how quickly they move from reality to memory as the present shifts into the past.
In the time of the project, I've joined a gay chorus, sang in a concert, lost weight, gone bungee-jumping, gone to Izu and Nagasaki, settled my credit card debts, regained some semblance of financial stability, been promoted, gained back some weight, gotten drunk more than usual, volunteered for LGBT parades and movie festivals, said goodbye to a few friends, shook the hands of a few new ones, kissed deeply and have made good memories.
I worry, actually, that the road of my life is milestoned by work. And in between these milestones, there is nothing but grit and the fading remains of my footprints. But it seems this isn't so, I've managed somehow to live--despite myself.
I look out the window and watch the majestic clouds again. They seem so voluminous, so awkwardly large, I wonder how they can proceed so serenely, so placidly, through the vastness of the seas, the tumult of storms, and the peaks of mountain ranges.
A good friend of mine, while we were walking home, told me how people who live in cities forget to look up at the sky, forget how big it is, and slowly lose that sense of perspective of how small we are in the grand scale of things.
I see his point now. We're all just clouds in the infinite sky. We grow dark and stormy sometimes, or get pulled from here and there by capricious winds. But we all manage to march on with our lives, across the endless blue, and always toward our horizon.
Photo credit: Passing Clouds by Dumdad
