It was a mess.
The consequence of unfortunate choices made one fine night. For one, I think it turned out that if I had left earlier as I originally wanted, the possibilities would have turned out different. None of what happened next would have happened.
Yes, this is part of the story, a repeated trope, a refrain.
But there is another part.
It was a mess and I would move on after doing my best to fix it. Or cut clean. Or just leave things as they were and move on.
This particular mess did make some things possible. I gained a new respect for what one of my friends was responsible for creating–a time of fun and learning that focused on what interested a particular geeky set of people. I understood that, though I also succumb to this tendency now and then, irresponsible use of social media is dangerous for relations between people. Most of all, it opened my eyes to a new set of choices.
I chose to start what is turning out to be the most precious of things. It is a friendship with someone where our encounters are infrequent and short but, when these happen, become times to treasure.
I also came to believe that part of my relief lies in music. I chose to engage with music and musicians in a more profound way this year. Last night, at a gig of a rock production due to close a week from now, I admitted to a friend that it seemed “too late” for me. But it is turning out to be different. It is right on time. From where I sit, where sometimes I lack the language to tell some of my stories, there is music around to tell those tales. And maybe I too can help tell these musical stories someday.
I parted ways from a mess.
And I started facing the music.
This post was written not far from Herrera Street. Some of my close friends may know what this street means for me.