Monday, April 20, 2009

It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing.



Everything looks different right before you're about to leave somewhere. A detail which would have been overlooked a month ago suddenly holds much more significance now that you know its days are numbered. When everything might be the last time you get to do it, it's hard not to eulogize the experience.

When I think back to my time in Columbia and the sleepy little one-bedroom apartment I've called home for the past two years, I will likely zero in on only one memory. Surprisingly enough, it won't be the fact that I was robbed or suffered through gas leaks or broken furnaces. It won't be the fact that I've learned to take navy showers because my drain is so slow or have gotten used to the way my toilet only sort of works when it wants to. Either I'm too forgiving towards my landlord or I'm too easily pleased... but either way, the memory I leave of this place will likely be my porch swing.

Who doesn't love swinging? Fact is, I have probably at one point or another gone swinging with all of my friends, whether it was a forced activity or a mutually adored one. There's just something freeing about sticking your legs in the air and gliding back and forth, dipping your head back and seeing the world from another angle. So having one to swing upon night or day has brought me a great deal of joy. It has greeted me early in the morning while I drink a cup of coffee, and provided the backdrop for many late night conversations with friends. I've caught up with old friends while I swung back and forth and made plans with new ones with it by my side.

I know it might seem strange to wax nostalgia over a swing, but as my time in Missouri draws closer to an end and I head towards a lot of adventurous question marks, it's hard not to be sentimental about things like that.

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