Parking on campus can sometimes be a bother. There’s this sort of knowing fickleness and character of the various parking lots across campus. You need to know the schedules and routines of them or you won’t get a parking spot. A good rule of thumb is to just show up anywhere before 9am and you can usually snag a place.
But I’ve found that even though I could still easily park in the lot next to my building, I don’t. I don’t park in the 8-minute walk away lot either. Why? Because I enjoy the walk.
I park 13-minutes away so I can walk through the campus; through the hustle and bustle of the morning class change-up, the slung backpacks, trailing scarfs, and optimistically-chosen footwear. I love the people-watching and the constantly changing scenery of faces and textures. There are so many interesting ways to wear clothes, so many overheard snippets of conversation.
I like my commute because it gets me interacting with the community, no matter how small. I also spend so much time in my office/indoors/in class that it’s good to actually be out in the fresh air and get some sun.
Maybe some people would find it strange that I choose the longer commute, but when you think of all the things you’d miss otherwise, I still find I’ve made the best choice.
Slanted reality – looking at the world from another direction.
I’m sorry I’ve been gone so long. Here’s a picture I took the other day. I’ve been wanting to try out some of these experimental puddle/reflection/abstract pictures and so yesterday when it rained, I seized my chance. I know I looked weird crouching on the pavement, moving my iPhone one way and then another, but I wanted the perfect angle. A couple of cars drove by, and I wished they’d slow down so I could cheerfully wave my hand and tell them I was in fact, not insane, just a photographer. Still, I like how the photo turned out.
Call me a winter person, but there’s something remarkably refreshing about a brisk, cold walk through a snow enveloped land. Something about the crisp air and the seemingly damp & dreary atmosphere makes me reflective.
I feel Narnian.
I want to curl up and write a novel.
I could dismiss all my responsibilities and traipse through the snow for the perfect picture.
But the back of my mind tells me I can’t. It stomps the rampant thoughts and ideas whisking through my head. It brings me slowly back to reality. My duties. My work. My commitments. And then I console myself by marveling at the landscape. Taking in every last morsel of winter and wonder. It’s what I’ll store in my head as I work. What I’ll do come back to eventually.