Eyes on the Horizon

We, all of us, have the capacity to hope.  I think it's a natural consequence of being alive and having an imagination. We live, experience reality for exactly what it isn't, and use our imagination to cover the gap of what it could be.

I imagine neuroses are born when we hold on to hope for too long and it grew into something we expect.  Probability would take our side, I mean, if you wait long enough almost anything can happen, right?

It'll be 1 year since I've moved to Japan. And in that length of time the gap between what is and what I'd like to be have grown closer.  I bought a bookshelf and books to go with it, have a daily gym regimen, biked around, climbed up and rode a snowboard down a mountain, drank beer under blossoms and leaves, got better in Japanese--at least I make them laugh now not just for having silly Nihonggo, but for actually being silly.

And there's still much to be done. I have yet to try archery, get a scooter, try surfing, or attend a proper tea-ceremony.

And even before I get those done, I've started dreaming farther.  Now I hope to furnish my very own place, be more silly on more sillier dates, find out what having a six-pack feels like, feel the security of having a well-stocked bank account, and pay with a swipe of a Japanese credit card with my name on it.

So much hope, so many dreams lay unclaimed in the next year.  What a wonderful perspective to have.

I hoped to explain this horrible feeling of disconnectedness that haunts me as I near the 1 year mark.  But after writing all that down, I feel reassured.  It wasn't such a bad year.  It wasn't easy, but I got through it somehow.  I'll get through the next one, too.

So until next year then, when I tease my dates with the shadow of six-pack abs in the privacy of an apartment paid for by saved money and plenty of credit to spare.

Photo credit: No Line on The Horizon - U2