My Dogs Walk at Midnight
I walk my dogs at midnight and a journal entry from across the pond.
Remember when I used to publish this in the morning? Now it’s five minutes to midnight. Last week it was ten. I started writing this blog in May, while I was still living in Costa Rica. I had more time then, so it came out early Sunday morning. And they were lengthier. The same is more or less true when I published a post while in Nicaragua and Mexico. On the road, the days have more weight. They feel longer. More emotional.
It’s three minutes to midnight. I’m going to publish this (because consistency is important) and return to finish it after I walk my dog. Stay tuned.
It’s now 1:30 PM Monday. In case you’re curious, no, my dog walking did not take eleven hours. I returned home and simply became too tired to finish it. Does that mean my streak of consecutive Sunday posts is over? Or does my mini-paragraph still count? Regardless, there was a point I wanted to make.
The point was that, while traveling, each day gives you a full day worth of emotions, memories, and moments. Sure you forget what happens hour to hour, but whether it’s taking a shuttle van to an Airbnb condo you and a group of friends booked for a weekend or getting fitted for a wet suit for snorkeling in the Caribbean, these moments become enough to write about on their own. So, blogging about them in the morning was an easy and logical thing to do.
Now, however, as I’ve returned to the so-called “real life”, posts have come out increasingly later on Sunday. My theory for that is because it takes a whole week to review the week and cherry-pick interesting things worth sharing, or any emotions that should be captured. The feeling of walking my dogs at midnight was one of those but was quickly overtaken by the feeling/need for sleep. There’s some philosophy in there somewhere, but I’m not sure where.
*****
I took three steps outside to walk my pitbull-boxer mix last night, before turning around to go back inside to get a jacket. This sudden change of events must’ve been wholly confusing for her, saying as I decided to put her in her kennel, leash and harness on, while I went upstairs to grab it.
I did not need any other sign to understand/realize that fall had come to the desert. The leaves won’t change colors, and snow won’t fall, but light jackets will be grabbed when leaving the house, and jeans will become a better option than shorts. That’s fall in the suburbs of Phoenix.
I’ve stated before that I’m a boy of summer, and this is true, but I do appreciate the fall. In large part, I appreciate the fall because there’s always a warm fall day, like it is today, that gives me a sense of nostalgia, and reminds me of four years ago, when I was one month into my study abroad program in a small town in Spain, along the Mediterranean sea. I kept a journal through that whole experience, and any time I go back to read it, which is far less now than it used to be, I’m immediately brought back there. To how I felt, to who I was with, and to where I was in life. To this day, it’s still the only full journal I have, and the only one that I “finished”. It started in the last week of August and finished a week before Christmas. It spanned six countries and storied a lot of special memories and moments that I later came to realize, most 19-year-olds didn’t have, and couldn’t relate with. Later on, this would spawn a sort of depressive/loneliness period as I returned to the United States. No one talks about that part as much. In the years since then, I’ve only met two people who had a relatable experience. One, was one of my roommates in Portland after she had returned from her study abroad in Tanzania. And the other is my cousin. He and I haven’t talked about the return effect of traveling as much, but I’m sure he’s felt it. And so, I tip my cap to him as, in layman's terms, someone who gets it.
When I looked in my study abroad journal, I hadn’t written anything for October 11th, but I had for the 12th. So, here’s that. Typed as it was written:
10:44 Thursday, Oct 12
-Retiro Park — Madrid, Spain
First, this is my second time in Madrid in 36 hours. How beautiful.
Second, continuing chronologically from Portugal —
That night (same as castle day) I went to el barrio alto. A hub of a neighborhood packed with bars playing all sorts of live music. Jazz, rock, fado, cubana, etc. Also a number of pubs, clubs, and other enjoyable places. I listened to American Jazz for a while before going to eat swordfish at a nearby restaurant. It was a solid night, but I should have been more social. I had a few conversations, (aside from the tour) but I need to approach people more.
So, another solo [solo as in traveling alone] traveling guideline.
-Do what you can to make conversation-
Meaning, if you see someone else standing alone the way you are, talk, get involved if people are dancing. (I did, should be noted) but keep dancing. Talk to the people at the bar, etc.
I leave for Italy in a few hours — : )
— And I’m looking forward to using what I’ve learned. Especially because if (once) my Italian fails, I can speak Spanish and it’s understandable. So, bueno suerte a Solomon Lovejoy del futuro.
- 7:20 train woke up at 7, made it at 7:17 — : ) Took the train to Madrid with Gabrielle who was going to Madrid to meet her mom Beth and her sister Sara. We talked the whole way —
Now I’m back in Retiro and I’m mulling over ideas to make a short film/promo trailer type…movie.
Contemplating using just shots of the park, but I know it needs a little more. I’m at the top steps of the…forgot the name (goodness) but I’m overlooking the water, two lion statues, and the cafe where my best day took place. Live jazz is being played across the pond, the leaves are turning orange on the trees, the sun isn’t too hot and the park is already alive.
Madrid just might be my favorite city.
— First I fell in love with Retiro —
Until Wednesday,
Solomon
