Watch it go (weekly notes #16)

Somewhere in Los Feliz

I am in a beautiful little room with lots of little things everywhere. There’s a candelabra with three arms and three half-burnt skinny white candles. And two guinea pigs, opposite colors, in spacious cages laying next to each other. And a Pet Sounds vinyl album is sitting above a door frame, resting on top of the trim. And other things. A small pink fan blows gently across the dimly and orangely lit space.

And I think about how little time there is and how quickly it goes by. In the past few weeks, cities and mountains and milestones and long-time friends and unforgettable things have flown and flown and flown right by my car’s driver-side window just like the birds and street signs. Nothing has “hit” me (or anyone, I think?) because how could it? It’s already over there. There is too much to get to, and too much to still see, to focus on what has already happened. Or maybe these things just take time to settle into place.

As a small child, I remember the event of change. When the norm would become interrupted and change would happen.

I remember my band teacher leaving for another job.

I remember my brother graduating from high school and moving away.

I remember seeing my best friends get their first pimples.

The older I get, the more change becomes the norm. It is beautiful how permanent things can seem as a child. The people and things in my life are always moving around under me, at their own speeds and in their own directions, and I am always adjusting my stance to compensate for their movement and not fall over. But I’m thankful to have things worth adjusting for. And to be able to adjust at all. Maybe that’s what growing up is—learning to constantly adjust. Or maybe these things just take time to settle into place.