“Turn off your mind, relax, and float downstream.” – John Lennon I can’t remember when was the last time that I, willingly, turned off my mind. On that Saturday night though, when the clock ticked twelve and I turned 25, I decided it was about time to do so. I still don’t recall much, as […]
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On When I Stopped Running

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“Turn off your mind, relax, and float downstream.” – John Lennon

I can’t remember when was the last time that I, willingly, turned off my mind. On that Saturday night though, when the clock ticked twelve and I turned 25, I decided it was about time to do so. I still don’t recall much, as I was tipsy from that seventh glass of wine, I was sure that no good could ever come up from that, taking decisions while I was in that state, I just had that feeling, deep in my guts, that I wanted to throw away that poise I held for so long, the allure of being prude and correct. I took the call, I was going to stop running and start living my life as I should, while I still can.

Time is,after all, our greatest asset, no matter how rich, resourceful, or powerful you get, when your time is done, that’s it, there’s no going back. I sat in the corner, reminiscing on all the moments I lost because I was tight, over-analyzing, or being tactful. I was feeling swamped and things seemed to be overwhelming, I took a step back and started to wonder why.

I was drowning in sorrow and desperation, when he came near, held my head in his hands, and looked me straight in the eyes, I couldn’t hold his gaze long enough, I felt as if I was bare in front of him, as if he could gauge my reactions and read me like an open book, going through it page by page, he could sum up everything I held inside, all that I couldn’t confess, not even to myself. He was totally different, careless and relaxed, he didn’t worry about the big pictures, enjoyed the simple things in life, and I envied him for that.

In that apartment, I decided to stop running. There, I found myself, sitting on the floor, I laid back my head, the sweet lyrics of that old song were humming in my ears, the weave of fresh air filling my nostrils and lungs.

On the night I turned 25, I decided to stop running. I’ve strolled ever since, in the streets of the city, going to that same apartment day after day, where I could sit on the floor, turn off my mind for a while, old music playing in the background.

I learned I could not fight alone.  I needed to discuss, to ask for help, and, in moments of relaxation, to have someone with whom I can sit, reminisce and recall tales of my battles.

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