Lately I have wondered about a few things.
One, I would be rich if every single person attending a stadium show gave me a dollar coin each. I have thought about that one ever since I went to my first concert in 2007. The Red Hot Chili Peppers fans filled the seats like nothing I’d ever seen and it was then and there, as they all cheered and screamed and waved their shining mobile phone lights around, that I recognised my love for and fascination of masses, of people or things, matching, doing things in synchronisation and sameness. I could watch choreographed anything all day and never become bored.
Two, I don’t give animals enough credit for being incredible. An impromptu trip to the zoo made me realise this. They are so intricate and so beautiful. Moving and living and breathing. Fast and slow. With cold blood or warm. Amazing.
Three, are our brains different to the brains of people hundreds of years ago- I mean, what were those people usually thinking about? It would be interesting to shrink myself down and go inside their thoughts just to find out. Times like these I wish the Magic School Bus were a real thing.
Four, fireworks. I don’t understand them. But I love them. I don’t want to understand them and will never delve further into the internet to do so, because there is too much beauty in the mystery.
Five, dreams. Last night I dreamt that I looked out across my balcony into the windows of all the apartments surrounding mine, and every single person was playing a stringed instrument. My local community were independently an orchestral collection. I wish it were true. As part of my job I do a few errands. Once I was walking down the street and heard waves of glorious musical sounds come from the top level of one of the tiny townhouses there. A genius at work inside their home. I make detours now just to walk by that house, and have since had multiple private concerts unaware of who the musician is or what they are playing. And they are unaware of me, an audience, as well. This is something I love.
And six, and of slightly more value, or at least more brain power, a trend all too familiar: and that is of the pending life livers. Surely there’s a better wording, but it will do for now. I mean the thoughts we all have, myself included, about the future. Always thinking about the future. One day I’ll do this, and that, I’ll know that person and this person and we’ll do this and that. Being excited for what’s to come. Always. There is nothing wrong with that.
Then I started to think about the now. This present time. This year. This week. Today. Did we long for this day to come, back a few years ago? Do we know him or her as we intended to, and do we do that which we always thought we would? Contemplation is a fickle thing. It gives you something to do but gets you nowhere. Except a free ride to the land of fun inside your brain. And to me, that has value. And so much of it.
I read on the wall of the recording studio belonging to my best friend’s dad, a quote by Albert Einstein. ‘Imagination is more important than knowledge.’ And while this is true, to me, knowledge can expand imagination and vice versa. Knowledge and imagination are the perfect companions, walking side by side between reality and a super reality- life as we know it and life as it could be. Imagination is the motivation to bring current reality to a higher place, a better place. Or at least a different place. If we had no imagination, I don’t think we would be a developed race in the slightest. Imagination is the base of foresight, or prediction, of anticipation. It is crucial to expansion.
Future aside, here are some things, some observations, some life livings. From now. Today. This week.
Australian beach culture. We live in one of the most multicultural lands on Earth. How cool is that? Yesterday, a Fijian family bobbed in the water near me, their dark skin glistening in the 6pm sun. A group of Tongan boys buried their friend in the sand, his bald head the only visible thing. They were laughing, a lot. On the packed bus on the way home, a mum used her elbows to push through to the exit, protecting the sleeping toddler in her arms. That night, a taxi driver slowed down beside innocent walkers as they strolled down the street- hopeful to provide a service. Then there was the security guard at the supermarket, always checking the bags of the ‘interesting’ people from around here. But he has never said anything to me besides many friendly hellos and goodbyes. Apparently I don't look suspicious enough. A whispered ‘thank you’ from my friend Luisa’s 2-year old girl, as her Dad zipped her into her pyjamas. Her voice soft and sincere, her face smiling and celestial. Staying up stupidly late with siblings to watch entire seasons of the OC, belting out ‘Cal-i-fooorn-iaaaaaa, here we coooome!’ at the start of every new episode. Watering the plants. Closing the window. Filling up the kitchen sink. Striking a match. And then lighting a candle. Plugging in a phone charger. Finding the separation tear between garbage bags on a roll. And then getting the correct gripping to shake it full of air. Spreading a blanket. Then tucking it in. A door closing. Or a cupboard. Or the lid of a washing machine. Scooping the washing powder and sprinkling it inside. Texting with two thumbs. Running for a bus. Walking home in the rain. Switching off the light and going to sleep. Then dreaming of apartment orchestras. And imagining what will happen tomorrow. And with that, imagination and reality meet once more, holding hands and dancing in the moonlight of life.
If this isn’t living then I don’t really know what is.