I usually go about my day habitually. I don't even think about where I'm walking. My feet take me places before I'm aware I'm going there.
Who wants to live like that?
Not me, apparently. Something within my psyche has shifted. It's not even that I'm aware of my thoughts changing; my impulses are changing. Where once I would've greeted someone and carried on my way as though I were on an urgent mission (even though I usually wasn't), lately my reaction has been to turn and walk with them.
I'm still anally punctual to my classes, but now I'm not so uptight about my free time.
I have been amply rewarded for this new...what do I call it? Instinct is technically incorrect, but like instinct it feels. If this action were any farther from conscious decision, it would be right up there with breathing. I like it.
I've gotten to spend time with unexpected friends, both old and new. A few people I hadn't seen in a while. One person I'd only spoken to once before.
There's an ephemeral quality to friendships here at college. Some are forged to last, but everyone has such a crazy schedule that it's hard to find time to spend together. Other friendships get you through a semester or two, but dissolve like memory when you no longer have classes together. There are the friends you smile and wave to when you walk past, but you can't remember their names. It's a treat to get to catch up with some of these people.
Another reward for following my feet and walking with these friends is that I find myself on strange sections of campus at unexpected times. It's like a mini-adventure. Suddenly I get to see an old world in a different cast of sunlight.
I love the changes I've been noticing in myself lately. I love how deep they go. They're not superficial. They're bone-deep improvements. I know that they're improvements. Anything that can make me feel this joyful has to be good.
If this makes no sense, that's what I get for trying to write and watch Avatar at the same time.
Listening to: Avatar
Reading: Snakecharm by Amelia Atwater-Rhodes