I’m not dying yet. I’m getting older. Last week I was in Paris. I have been to Paris three times. In my teens, twenties, and thirties. I liked it best in my thirties. I felt more confident speaking failed French. I tried to make it funny, like throwing my hands around. It worked. Accentuate the failures. I think. I’m not dying yet. I’m getting older. In Paris, I biked or walked. I felt more in control of the city when I biked, even when I got lost. The feeling had something to do with momentum.
Tomorrow, in Los Angeles, I intend to walk down Sunset. I don’t want to be in control. I want to be slow. I want the world to creep up and around me. I want to set a new pace for the year. I don’t mind walking for hours.