On Shared Experiences
I often think about the things I used to take for granted. For instance I never thought much of the fact that I live a short distance away from the ocean. Then one day I met someone who had never seen the ocean and her longing to do so and realized I had never given the Pacific much thought.
As a resident of Los Angeles, seasons never really existed for me. I understood the concept of seasons, I had experienced the middle of seasons through travel, but that transition from one season to the next, the mental physical, and behavioral changes one goes through were not a part of me.
My brother, upon moving to Moscow, told me how strange living through seasons were, claiming that he was cheated by growing up in Los Angeles. I was intrigued by this, and encountered it myself the first year I was in Armenia.
Many of the Armenian I met that year were dreading winter. To them snow was a nuisance, heat hard to come by, patches of deadly ice abound, and the extreme cold constant and painful. I, on the other hand, loved it. I loved the cold, the snow, the way the look of the city changed when covered by a white blanket. I was overjoyed at the icicles that would form in beard, and most of all. But most of all I loved the snowfall; the gentle glide of those white flakes, like the surreal products of a fevered mind.
Spring brought about a new face for the city, fresh food, the resurgence of city life.
With the summer came the tourists, and the heat, and the ice cream vendors with their soft serve machines, and the cafes filled with youth and life.
Then the autumn again, with dying leaves, darkening skies, and rain filled nights to complete the cycle.
It occurs to me that everyone longs for the foreign and exotic. Something new, and amazing is always in conflict with the routine and mundane. The desires may vary, but the existence of that desire is common in us all.
When faced with the reality that nothing new is coming my way, rather than yearn, I have learned to not take for granted the things I once deemed common, instead choosing to experience them again for the first time.
As a resident of Los Angeles, seasons never really existed for me. I understood the concept of seasons, I had experienced the middle of seasons through travel, but that transition from one season to the next, the mental physical, and behavioral changes one goes through were not a part of me.My brother, upon moving to Moscow, told me how strange living through seasons were, claiming that he was cheated by growing up in Los Angeles. I was intrigued by this, and encountered it myself the first year I was in Armenia.
Many of the Armenian I met that year were dreading winter. To them snow was a nuisance, heat hard to come by, patches of deadly ice abound, and the extreme cold constant and painful. I, on the other hand, loved it. I loved the cold, the snow, the way the look of the city changed when covered by a white blanket. I was overjoyed at the icicles that would form in beard, and most of all. But most of all I loved the snowfall; the gentle glide of those white flakes, like the surreal products of a fevered mind.
Spring brought about a new face for the city, fresh food, the resurgence of city life.With the summer came the tourists, and the heat, and the ice cream vendors with their soft serve machines, and the cafes filled with youth and life.
Then the autumn again, with dying leaves, darkening skies, and rain filled nights to complete the cycle.
It occurs to me that everyone longs for the foreign and exotic. Something new, and amazing is always in conflict with the routine and mundane. The desires may vary, but the existence of that desire is common in us all.
When faced with the reality that nothing new is coming my way, rather than yearn, I have learned to not take for granted the things I once deemed common, instead choosing to experience them again for the first time.
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