A Surrealist's Grand Canyon

Contrary to how I may sometimes come across on this blog, I do not always go skipping through life with the carefree ease of the freest of free spirits. I am not entirely unflapped by uncertainty, unconcerned with logistics, or ready to accept whatever comes my way with little more than a shrug of nonchalance.

Case-in-point, this post was written, fine-tuned, and published hours ago. But thanks to a computer fluke, together with dash of stupidity on my part, the whole thing, each and every word, right down to the last apostrophe, was erased. When it really sunk in that I would have to compose what you're reading now from scratch, I nearly threw my laptop out the window.

When the above picture was taken, I was similarly out-of-sorts. I'd spent the entire afternoon at Moby's "Teany" tea shop near Neals Yard doing research and trying to straighten out a plot for my near and not-so-near future. Despite the upbeat techno music, and my best attempts to talk myself into feeling some optimism for my plans, I left the place in low spirits.

I strolled into the evening, looking downward at the sidewalk and the general state of things. But then, as I turned a corner onto a larger street, my gaze was drawn upward, above the darkened walls of the towering buildings to the sky in-between, showcasing pastel clouds and swooping birds.

The celestial scene, so luminous in contrast to the urban gloom below, seemed like a gentle proclamation from the heavens. A simple reminder, quietly saying that the best way to avoid feeling down, is, almost always, to look up.

(The moral of this story: maybe this post turned out better than the first version anyway.)

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