Every time I go outside, I sense a different unique mood in the world, the nature, around me. And every time the weather changes, this mood also changes radically. The variety is so remarkable that I couldn’t possibly predict how it’s like before I go out.
Today it’s been windy with a few scattered showers, otherwise sunny. Wind of these proportions are rare here in Oslo. Any wind at all is rare here. It felt reminiscent of home in many ways. And when I finally went out to get some groceries, countless old feelings rushed through my head. The sound of the wind, the humid smell and feel of the air, the changing light from small clouds blocking the sun and countless other impressions pulled strings in my brain that led way back, and all sorts of related feelings and half-memories popped up. I felt feelings I’d felt during similar weather back in my childhood, and I could picture it, but all pictures were general and possibly even generated in my head, and not specific memories.
It was time to return to the forest, so I jumped on my bike and sped off north. This time I decided to take the other way around the small nearby lake, which turned out to be an interesting change, as was the fact that this was two hours earlier than last week, so the lighting was different. After biking past plains and forests and quite a few people, I eventually found the place I sat last time; a rock some five paces from the road, with a view down to the lake above a diagonal sea of green. Sitting there again reminded me of the endless variations in nature, and in our minds. It was not the same as last time (not that I expected it to be), but no less pleasing. It was way hotter now, but that just confirmed my belief that I prefer warmth over cold. I sat there relaxing and absorbing the sunlight until the ants got to me, then I decided to go find other kind of settings and other kind of moods in the forest.
After just a few more minutes on my bike, I stopped by a side road in the forest, by a small bowl-shaped miniature valley around a small stream, all covered in pine trees and clovers, yet sparse enough to let through some sunlight here and there. And incidentally, two squirrels went up one of the pine trunks just that moment. They glared at me and tried to look scary, but somehow, perhaps due to their fluffy tails, that attempt failed quite miserably. At that moment I realized I really need to get a digital camera. When I realized I might be scaring them, I walked further down the hill to look for four-left clovers for a while, but then I decided that this section of the forest was too dark to be staying in at such an hour.
When your mind changes, you move across that internal timeline. That’s how I define it. And it’s quite the opposite of the regular timeline in that it’s shortest where the regular is longest. Think about it. When you grow up, your minds develops though many stages, until you’re grown up and have about three times your age left to live. Yet, in those 3/4 of your life, your given purpose is doing the very same thing, based on the very same mind, possibly not ever changing again. So you might’ve reached the end of your mind’s timeline even before the age of 20.
Myself, I wish to counteract that as best I can, by constantly introducing changes in what I do, how I do it and most importanly, what my mind is doing. Or else I’ll be too prone to fade into the gray again and live on autopilot, never knowing what I’m missing.