Choices

I 've been re-reading some letters I have. They are beautiful letters, full of choices. I haven't picked up these letters for a long time. I did only so recently because of the massive reflective state I am in. I read the letter's sentences and wonder why something so beautiful was not right and did not endure. The person who wrote these ideas mirrored my feelings if not my reasons.

Many people think that love is that something that just happens. I did, once upon a time. The word 'just' degrades it. For something so magic too come apart and unravel, I wonder why the friends and family I have now (also full of magic); still hold water. Why do these interactions work. It's always a choice that is mutally agreed upon.

These people, who are precious to me, are always moving forward in life as we all are. Yet to keep the relationship and build it over time, we constantly decide to reconnect. We continually try. I make a choice everytime I think of the people in my life to keep them there. They do the same.

There are lulls, especially with those people who are geographically distant to me. (Silence freaks me out even though I know the lulls are natural. Silence is most likely to be a deal-breaker for me when it is not a lull.) When I realize that I am in a lull, I probably try too hard to reconnect. However, it is still a decision to connect each and every time. Mostly, I am lucky with these relationships because they still exist.

I make the same choice with those who are no longer in my life. It's, again, a mutually agreed upon choice. For the most part, I stress over these decisions. The not talking breaks my heart each and everytime it is made. Some I hope are mendable. Some I know are forever lost.

Love never dies even if it remains trapped in time. I make the choice to keep loving though a part of me will remain trapted as well.

Those I love now are people who have helped me grow and stand. I hope I have given back to them the same.

I reflect on my letters and am reminded that the world has these choices as well. I think the knowledge is important. Life is a choice that is made every second of every day. The connection to others, happiness, sadness, and love.

Snow

Freshly fallen snow. I woke up to a world covered in white. Immediately I threw on a pair of jeans and sweatshirt and walked to my new coffee place for a French toast bagel and, of course, coffee.

As I walked down the sidewalk, I stepped in those footprints left by someone who had arisen before myself. It's easier to walk in someone's else prints. Snow drifts don't catch you by surprise. You can't disturb the sugar that's still so crisp and angelic surrounding the markings left by another soul.

After I picked up the coffee and bagel, I turned off the main street and ventured on the side streets. Here no-one had been. Snow undisturbed. I walked along the street admiring the smoothness and reflected light of the whiteness.

I remembered Frost's words, "the road not taken". I was on that road and yet no-one would know that I had been here. I left no marks. With that haunting my head, I hopped onto the sidewalk and the fresh snow.

My footprints came out of nowhere. Pure snow and then snowboot prints. I left my trail. The snow keeps the memory of my path. The prints are also there in case someone needs a place to walk.

An American in Paris

That's a bit of an understatement. Paris is littered with Americans in February. I am just one of the many now in love with this beautiful place and the people. All day people have had a ready smile and have helped me when I have butchered the language.

Paris fills itself with life; the opulent and smoky. Life that balances and make one appreciate all it's aspects. Maybe I just appreciate a place with as much love of coffee as I have. But where else can you sit back sipping a double coffee with creme enjoying the Seine or a park in the middle of winter? I have a feeling that Paris must get really cold for cafes to close their outdoor patios.

Here the taxi drivers yell at drivers who zig zag through traffic in front of them laughing immediately afterwards. Parisans enjoy the insaneness that is driving here. All the cars even the Mercedes have nicks on them.

I went to the Musee d'Orsay to embrace the Impressionists. (Van Gogh's Le Nuit, et Toile brought tears to my eyes.) The art is roped off but so closely to the walls that you can stick your nose close to them. No guard comes running and yells at you for being too close. Students sit on the floor and try to copy the masters on these walls. Many visitors to the museum are young.

The Champs Elysees is crowded. People cover every square inch of space on cool Saturday afternoon. Men and women in equal numbers walk the perfumery as any shop on this street where it is an easy distance from the L'Ouvre to the Triumph d'Arch.

Yes life here is good. My theory is: if you can see the Eiffel Tower, life cannot be bad.