Sipping beers in a bar with pianos as tables, I was struck by how open communication can be with strangers. I miss being around people who know me so well. Yet there is also something liberating when you can have genuine conversation with someone completely new; just jumping in, getting glimpses of their history but never having the whole story (which you couldn't have even if you'd known them their whole life).
I was struck by this, and also a little saddened by how quickly apparent so many of our scars are, even when shared as something already passed. So transparent, as old heartbreaks bubble to the surface three hours in. Are my own sorrows and insecurities so apparent as well? It makes me wish I could meet myself in a bar, chat objectively, just to know how blatantly these hurts show. Then again, maybe I don't want to know.
I've been gone almost 100 days. How startling. How urgent. Having my ticket to Barcelona somehow makes my time here feel more real and fleeting. While very aware of the complexity of this statement: I am learning to be happy here.
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