My sleeping eyes can only see nostalgia. This overwhelming awareness of the beauty that has passed, has faded. It comes with the notes, with the dreams, with the lingering and haunting memories. Sitting in a place, nothing less than stifling, I wish I could go back: to a moment, of snow, of fires, of hearts and of coffee. There’s a remembrance for something that once was. There’s a romanticized, over thought story that seems to bring me achy peace. There’s a craving for something other than now. This desire for late mornings, falling snow, chilled air, Asian dinners and wool socks consumes me. I’m missing winter-time, thankfully the leaves are starting to fall. I want to carve into snow, with music echoing the beauty of the mountains. I want the break from routine, only to make a fire every night. I want a setting aside of habits, only to drink more coffee. I want a setting free of the mind, only to fall in love with a moment.

I hope that someday, this winter-time nostalgia stays forever. Someday my peace will be allowed to come from the outside. Someday my days won’t be filled with florescent lighting. Someday the mountains will call early, early. Someday my awareness will settle.  Someday that simple feeling that comes with a good song, good friends, good yoga classes, good bike rides, good talks, and warm toes in good sleeping bags in good places will stay forever. Someday it won’t hurt quite as much, or haunt me quite as deep. Someday I won’t be looking for someday, but today.

“Sad realities,” says my judgment: a world without inspiration. Academia has perfected ways in which to inhibit an awareness of the universe on any real level. An education, full of interests, that leads to the most consistent of miseries.  A means to an ending, which no one really knows, or cares to consider. I’m in love with the blessing of knowledge, but in revulsion of these locked doors- in this place where no one seems to have this nostalgia of something better. Where does the balance exist? A passion for why you wake up, but a realistic and sustainable way of life.

I’m constantly searching and craving, in the humblest of ways, for a daily relationship to life that holds something more. After I write 1,000 more essays on opinions not cared to argue, after I complete 1,000 more math problems not applicable, after I learn about 1,000 more people that helped us to be fucked, will I be a better person? My gut instinct utters no. 

I want to be a better human being: by being in sync with the cycles, by fully being with this sense of connectivity, by helping others discover their peace, by engaging with the mountains, by using my creative process to inspire other people’s inspiration, by waking up in the morning content that some say we’ve sinned, by bringing organic movement into our souls, by fully loving myself and yourself in every moment of my existence, and by never forgetting how precious is this prana that runs collectively through our veins.

It seems as though my desires for something more can coexists with my present reality; even with my numb butt, and achy spine. Letting my words and Bon Iver unwind my hatred for this moment. A peace now overwhelms me: the joy of lingering childhood. An understanding that I can create exactly what I desire.

This understanding keeps my awareness alive around children with IQ’s and pressure too intense to ever “be.” Someday the nostalgia will be of this moment. But today I’ll be a better human being. And tomorrow I’ll be in the mountains.