Because there are times in life when it is absolutely necessary to lay in the grass and appreciate all that is around you. To take stock in the sunshine and your life, and the fact that there are a lot of things that don’t matter, and that warm, bare skin against fresh green grass will never go out of style. They tell you it’s the little things that make life grand. Appreciate the little things. If they truly mean it, they’ll say it with a distant smile on their face, remembering back to a happy time and place, to the important little details that made up their scene, that make up their memories.
Perhaps they thought back to that time in New Zealand where they went for a walk by themselves, just out and about with a novel and sandals. No particular destination, just curiosity, and a strong sense of contentment. Isn’t life easy this way? The day they stopped in the park, a beautiful city park with no one around, just to stretch out in the South Pacific sun to read for awhile. To be pleasantly surprised by a novel from the free shelf at the hostel, and to wonder of the book’s past readers. To wonder how many others had taken that very book, to that very park, to stretch out in the sunshine and enjoy a beautiful afternoon.
To stretch out in the grass and gaze off across the park. To wonder why it’s so empty on such a beautiful Saturday afternoon. To place your head against the grass and see the curve of the earth. To imagine it at least, to wonder about that curve like some people wonder about the stars. To know that the curve of the earth is the same in New Zealand, and Australia, and Greece, and Minneapolis, and Portland, and Los Angeles. To marvel at the idea that we truly are all connected. By our hopes and our dreams, and the stars and the curve of the earth. And the shared sense that we are all young, and smart, and good looking, and empathetic, and wise beyond our years. That we are all dreamers, and doers. That we are making the world a better place.
To sit outside in an overlooked little courtyard café, and try to make sense of it all. To wonder again about where all the people are, but to enjoy having the place to yourself. To long for company, the right company, but to be content with yourself. To know that you must dig yourself before you can truly dig anyone else, and to be secure in your knowledge that life is beautiful. Your life is beautiful. Company will come along when the time is right. To sound cliché, but not to mind.
To stare up at the brick walls, and wonder what‘s inside them. To look at the windows, and wonder who lives in those apartments, in this hidden little courtyard. To wonder if they appreciate the fantastically secluded little bit of hip they look down on. To hope that those lofts are home to artists and writers and dreamers and doers; to want to be apart of their scene. To know that we’re all connected anyway, even if we don’t know it yet. To want to live up there, and look down on this courtyard, but at the same time to want to move. To know that you need to move. To know that moving is absolutely necessary, because you’re not ready to be done, not just yet.
To want to share this courtyard café, with its good tunes and good vibrations with all your friends, from all over the world. To know that the next best thing is to try to describe this feeling with your words. To be okay with that.