Spring, Sprang, Sprung

While my face was glued to the screen, the seasons made a change.

Spring, Sprang, Sprung
Photo by Daiga Ellaby / Unsplash

—03.24.2000—

I’m really happy at the moment. There’s a swell of good feeling rising up through my chest, expanding through old walls, and stretching seams. It feels so great. Is it just spring?

Spring certainly is wholly upon us. During the past week and a bit, while my face was glued to the screen, the seasons made a change. The wind smells fresh, of cut grass and sea. The sun is gathering in the outside corners of houses, drawing cats out from in front of stoves. Calves are being born to watchful, doe-eyed mothers. All of this while I was pecking away, unaware, in the dim glow of cyberspace, where the seasons do not change.

It first hit me the other morning when I opened the front door to go fill up the white oil tank for the Rayburn, our kitchen stove. The sun, that had been piling up on the patio all morning, fell down all around me and flooded into the house. Then the wind wound around me like a breezy, young thing, happy to see me again, and ran her hands across my face and through my hair. She kissed me then and there, while I was still bleary from sleep. What an absolutely fine surprise.

There’s a small gap in my work at the moment. I’ve produced twenty-odd concept web pages for my friend Jessica’s boyfriend, Erik, who’s working on a business-to-business retail site. He’s happy with work, which feels nice. So I can take a break to come up for air.

It’s all so strange and fascinating. Here I am out in the Atlantic, sending web pages off to Erik in Hong Kong, who is eight hours ahead, while getting feedback from another client in San Francisco who is eight hours behind. The pace and stress seem incompatible with this place, with this quiet, little island. It feels so incongruous. Amazing that it all comes in through a little phone jack in the wall.

I could be anywhere. Time and distance melt and twist. All that’s left—because at its heart commerce is insatiable—is forward, forward and faster, faster.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for the work. It couldn’t have come at a better time. My bank account had been steadily losing altitude. I’d already donned the parachute in preparation to jump. The money I’m earning from this project clears the way for sailing this summer—which I’m definitely going to pursue, I’ve decided. While the work adds some stress in some aspects, it reduces it in others. Funny thing.

Another thing: this whole experience has shined a light on the idea that I may be a bit too fond of struggle. But that’s a conversation for another time.