<p>The distance I have traversed. How far have I come since this (last?) summer. Reminiscing over a one-way relationship, speculating where I would go, boring some to tears, providing some food for thought, and others material for gossip ... fulfilling my (our) narcissistic tendencies - </p>
<p>Time heals all wounds. It's been two months since the start of school. First day - I couldn't even bring myself to look around my calculus class for her. The expectation had been set so high; a mere glance would send me hurtling over the edge and into the abyss. I needed more; I practically expected my arms to be jumped into. </p>
<p>First day - lunchtime. A glance, if that, and nothing more. </p>
<p>But it's been two months since. And time heals all wounds, all vacuums. That's long and gone. No one remembers. Friends forget. Teachers forget. I forget, and I find myself searching long and hard to recall moments previously actively occupying my attention. </p>
<p>The past has been shelved away. I will still harp back occasionally, but the present holds my attention. </p>
<p>Previously a nebulous hope, now materialized; I never seriously saw myself as addressing crowds of seven-hundred. I have finally been given a voice. That, and more; I am much more than Kurtz. Not only a voice, but also a personality. </p>
<p>We do arrive at every moment improvised. So perhaps I am a good actor. I know I am a good voice actor. </p>
<p>Other previous, nebulous hopes have also been fulfilled, leading me to wonder if we (our kismets) are really at the mercy of an external force or an external someone. Three people. Three new acquaintances last year. Acquaintances, and nothing more. But this year, they've each, one after another, become more than just acquaintances. I've too become more than just the quiet person in the corner sharing a class period; I've developed a voice, a personality, and other traits that tend to endear. And I've experienced a tantalizing share of zeniths, peaks, and apexes (along with their accompanying troughs). "More," my brain demands, unable to overcome millions of years of evolution. </p>
<p>I still remember befriending each three with trepidation on Facebook. Just a few months ago, I would never have imagined become anything more than virtual friends. I suppose it's my (rather unique?) quality to constantly seek to improve myself. After all, no one told me to study for the SAT. That was my own undertaking, and I think I did well. No one told me to take four SAT subject tests. That similarly was my own undertaking, and I think I did admirably. No one told me to take up running. That was my own undertaking, and now I'm hitting fifteen miles on weekends and doing seven-minute miles. No one told me to change the status quo. But I challenged the status quo, and I've repainted myself in the eyes of some. I've exposed my voice and my buried fun personality from behind a facade of seriousness. </p>
<p>I am not bound to those whom I met only last year. Another, we "known" each other for five years. And to think that we only really started knowing each other after five intervening years. Where had the time went? Had all that time been wasted? </p>
<p>Perhaps I do know where the midnight train leads. Perhaps the future is not some sort of darkness I tackle blindly. Perhaps I do not arrive at each present moment completely improvised. Ahh, a new optimism. Perhaps I can at least influence where the midnight train leads. Isn't luck just preparation and timing? </p>
<p>Whatever. Who cares. I too have found my philosophical musings to be less amusing and not very philosophical in the first place. I find more truth in song than I do in my writings. I do live just to find emotion. And I work hard to get my fill (of emotion). I live for the thrill, and oh, have I found how much I would give just for a simple thrill ... sacrificing what I formerly designated as untouchable (my grades) ... for a simple thrill. Just one more time! I'd do anything to roll the dice for the simplest of thrills, even if it is uncertain.</p>
<p>Just one more time. Reminiscence is a powerful tool ... tool of pleasure. When we refuse to confront the present, or the uncertain future, we seek refuge in the past. And the past. I'm guilty of it. The people who planned my homecoming are guilty of it. Tom Cruise is guilty of it. Me, harping back to last school year; and, in the latter cases, the 80s. But there is nothing surprising. How much we wouldn't pay for that thrill again. Fortunately, it's free, and it's all in our minds. </p>
<p>I just hope I don't wind up actually wishing that I could pay to go back and experience it all again. Me? I prefer experience to memory. So, onward with my existential philosophy of being true to my own will!</p>