The Storied City

A week ago today I moved to a new land.

All at once everything feels different and then nothing feels different at all.

I feel like I am supposed to be here, this strange place. I feel like I don't know where I fit, this strange place.

What do you do when you're anonymous in a new place?

You get out and see the world, that is all you can do.

I promise there are more pictures, friends, but true to my life, I am out now, at a coffee shop no less, and my phone has died once again.

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I have had a couple distinct coffee encounters so far in Phoenix (I will write about them in a few minutes, I promise), but for the most part I've only been able to take in all that is happening around me before actually engaging in it too much. I have always been one of those people who has to understand a little before moving toward.

I want to engage this storied city, but everywhere, things are different. Truth: I need to understand this place a little more but the stories are still here, still coming. They are coming in bits and fragments, and I don't understand how they fit together yet. But that's okay.

The group next to me only further confirm and inspire in me the idea that I may have landed in the desert, but this place is flowing with creativity, diversity and art. They seem to be writers, maybe screenwriters. I am trying not to eavesdrop too much on them but I keep hearing about skits involving clown strippers and puppets on trial..Who are all these people???

It's amazing to be somewhere new, not just for the point of a short travel where time moves quickly and you still see from a distance, but with eyes up close and when foreign meets familiar. It's starting to happen but slowly, or maybe quicker than I imagined.

How much do we forget that we are creatures of habit? What of life when we lay open to what a day brings us? What a place and its people bring us? And when we CAN'T be in control because everything, everything is new?

There, perhaps, is a blessing in disguise.