for jean

there's glimpses of the perfect life that come at the oddest times. perfect, or actual life, the way maybe it's supposed to be lived. pockets of complete serenity that pounce on you when a subjectively perfect song, momentary scent or barely recognizable memory pass you by when you're sitting in traffic on a gnarled and depressing freeway in hayward, california. i don't mean perfect like the way i maybe imagined before. two and a half offspring, good salary, well-trained dog that admires me unconditionally and has a hilarious name, dynamite vacations that help to partially cancel out swedish pastiness. all elements of a life well-lived. all elements that i'm discovering can be exponentially enhanced by something far more intangible and evanescent. it's something that i'm only realizing as i move closer to 30 years of actual life. granted, i don't have 2.5 kids, but what the fuck is half a kid anyway? in fact, what the fuck is just about anything if you're not living life on your own terms? i'm slowly confronting that passivity and acceptance is the arch-nemesis of just about everything i want in life. maybe this is the natural learning curve for most folks, but if it is, maybe it's been hitting me at a sharper angle lately.

the moment reaches in and grabs you back to when anxiety in itself was as unfamiliar as the precipice you know you have to step out onto to even approach that place again as an adult. all you know is that scent, that song or memory is the sweetest, purest thing you can recall and you're more convinced than anything that it can be realized again. not just in your mind on some god-forsaken five-lane in the east bay, but time and again. if you'd just act on it.