Turning and turning in the widening gyre. The falcon cannot hear the falconer. – Yeats I write this on the eve of yet another birthday and, never one to view things linearly, or rather, being of the mindset that a cyclical worldview maintains youth in light of another year flipping page in a “you’re too old to act and think this way” book- my mind goes to cycles and their particular prevalence as of late. Touting myself, again, in student shoes, I find I am faced daily with the oscillations of another time. Beyond relearning the art of the study space, the study buddy, the study time, the studying- I seem to find the new repackaged; old ordeals masquerading around in new forms. Turning and turning. I see hometown friends whizzing past on bicycles. I hear catty gossip behind backs. New friends are old friends with new faces. I chart out new terrain, Los Angeles, and who I am within it. And life is breathed back into the hollowed memories of things I thought had come and gone; now mutated versions of the quaintly, quietly familiar. Dumbfounded by the second and third retelling of an “age-old” story, I have to assume there’s meaning behind the actions of a cosmic force that deigns revisitation (read: pains in the ass) necessary. And though by now I have suffered from the preeminent stages of vertigo, if life is a terrible journey that ends with us battled and bruised, ye-hawing “what a helluva ride“- then I guess I’m in for another year bootstrapped to the misfortune of déjà vu. To everything turn, turn, turn; there is a season. And for this turning, I am eternally thankful.

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