So Kenan tells me as time goes on I will stop caring whether this writing makes sense or has any point to it. I’ve struggled to prove him wrong lately, feeling fairly untethered in my thoughts. With the hum of city life all around here, it does become difficult to sift through what is meaningful and what isn’t. I’d say my last posts are a fairly weak effort to squeeze something soulful out of myself.
But no squeezing is necessary today. Today Naciye indulged me with a trip to the local lake. I was shocked to discover such a beautiful place so close to the city, especially since I never even heard it mentioned before last week. Most baffling was my friends attitude to such a simple treasure so near by. When Naciye got her foot stuck in the mud she reluctantly admitted she was more comfortable in the city. Kenan begged off coming along with us with the disappointing excuse of “having to work,” but the other day he even mentioned not missing the sight of trees that much anyway.
How could this be? What does this or any city really have to offer that swaying reeds and fresh chilly breezes, even shoreline muck, can’t deliver? I guess city folk justify the relevance of urban life with its culture, art and activity, but what about the simple culture of geese honking at the setting sun? What about the art and technique of skipping stones? What about the hustle and bustle of a herd of rabbits grazing under strings of lights? (I can even forgive the cigarette butts)
My mantra these days is balance; I’ve certainly not perfected it. But as sure as my footing on a floating dock, my love of simple beauty buoys my soul.