The noise is different here.
Sitting in my room, windows open to the night air, and the sounds are totally different from before. They’re familiar — in the sense that they are identifiably buses driving past, cars swooshing by on the roads now less crowded due to the hour. But there are children laughing in the apartments below; perhaps people on the concourse at the base of the tower. I can hear muffled singing of a character on the show my roommate and her boyfriend are watching in the other room. The cat, for once, is calm.
There are more sirens, and less train noise. There is more clutter — both in my head and in my room — and it’s recognizable, but it’s different.
So much is the same and so much is what I wanted, but so much has changed and is still so indefinite, which is terrifying. I am still worrying about so many of the smaller, pettier things, but I am also realizing that there are greater responsibilities, more urgent or pertinent tasks to put first.
It all feels — though chaotic — balanced. Very precariously of course, with plenty of threats to throw it off the side, but it’s balanced all the same. I’m not totally sure of how things are gonna happen, but I do know I can get them done, one way or another.
This is a year of lasts, just as much as it’s a year of firsts (and first-lasts). But so is any year. So is any day. It’s just a matter of doing things one at a time until they’re finished.