I've been spending my time trying to explore this new station my life has pulled into. Trying to figure out where the hell I am...at least in relation to the surroundings that used to be familiar. I find myself peering out of windows, looking for some sort of sign or marker or anything that might tell me where it is that I am. I think if I can figure that out, I might be able to form some plan for where I'm headed next. That's the funny thing about being disoriented. The rationale never quite manifests into action according to plan.
I stepped off the train unsure. That's a hard thing for a man to admit. From, umm...every since, we are fed this machismo that says that even if we don't know, we'd better figure that shit out and ACT like we know. At least until you do. The uncertainty in me leads to a defense mechanism of sorts. I've made an art form in my life of blending in, not being noticed. So I find myself stepping around this station trying hard not to be noticed. Unsure of who's eyes are watching me. Unsure of what may happen if anyone was to discover me here. I mean, after all...I have no idea where I am.
I walk down aging, deteriorated corridors that were once ornately decorated. I can tell that at one time this was a majestic place. Hand carved moldings, intricately framed doorways and skylights...marble stairways with hand carved wooden baluster and rail. All now falling apart. I become very aware of the quiet desolation of this place. It sits in my stomach and makes me uncomfortable. Kind of like reading a book, or watching a movie and a character that you've linked to because of how much you relate to them does something you're not comfortable with. It's enough to make you stop watching or put down the book. But the broken condition that surrounds me is evident everywhere. I figure it's probably because no one is here. This place looks abandoned and thus, unkept and deteriorating. For a moment I am saddened by the condition of disrepair. I wonder why treasure like these are allowed to fade into obscurity of memory only. This thought allows room for logic to once again prevail and I find myself wondering why a train would pull into such a station in the first place. Was this a mistake? Was I not suppose to get off the train here? And why am I blending in if no one else is here? I still feel like I'm being watched. Disorientation returns with the familiar feeling of panicked urgency to figure out what I should be doing. There is the recognition that if I decide to venture out of the station, the train that brought me here might leave without me. I have no idea when or even IF the train is leaving this station. The disorientation is compounded by the thought that I'm not quite sure how to get back TO the train. I begin moving quickly through staircases and down corridors trying to find my way back. Hastened steps are better, right? Even if I'm going the wrong way, moving quickly means I'll know sooner and will be able to turn back sooner, right?
Tiring myself only leads to more confusion. I don't have the answer to this labyrinth, nor can I answer the question of what to do next. I am still in fear.
Ironically, it is the stillness and the quiet acceptance of the situation that allows for the answers to begin to come. I have been attempting to conceal myself in this station...from myself. There is no one here save myself. My Self. Decrepit, unmaintained, in disrepair. I've been seeking to explore, while at the same time endeavoring to hide, from myself. I have a small chuckle to myself that reverberates through the corridors of this station. That tickles me even more until I am in full, deep, stomach tightening, muscle aching laughter.
I'm a fucking idiot.
I become extremely disinterested in when the train might leave. I guess I'll get on it when I'm ready to leave. I'm fully aware at this point that there is more here to explore, more to discover, more to learn. For now, this place needs some love, some attention and some energy that may restore the fading beauty to it's former glory.
I roll up my sleeves and smile. I haven't smiled in a while.
The Beginning.
The Beginning.
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