i just revisited the last letter i got from my friend richard, which i received mid summer when still in new york. it’s fascinating how many things change so quickly, while some of the more important things (that you may not have thought as important before) remain the same. consistency versus transiency, i guess.
writing truly is a lost art form. richard mentioned a passage of proust where he recounts talking to his grandmother on the phone for the first time, and the strange feeling of communication using only one sense. i agree with richard in how the internet and technology often only creates a hollow illusion of “feeling” and “connection” (i recognize the irony of posting this to an internet blog), especially in an age that praises itself for being able to connect so many people at any given instant, no matter the time or distance between them.
being in paris, immersing myself in the history and the city, seeing the leaves change color and the clouds (which seem nicer here than anywhere else) drift pass makes me want to resume writing like i did in years past. it’s always been nice to see my growth as a human, to see how i interact with people now contrasted to the past, and try to map my future. it seems like the me of years gone by was so obsessed with things i couldn’t have, even though i put up the façade of nonchalance. i guess i have grown, and all that self-deprecation nicole mentioned to me was a sort of shield from my own concerns about myself and my standing in the world. perhaps this is a bit personal for the time, but if you’ve found yourself here on my blog, there’s a possibility you’re here for my thoughts, as well as the pretty pictures and melodic music. i hope you’ve enjoyed the ride so far, and continue to in the future - we both have a long, exciting journey ahead of us.
