luctor et emergo

“So when are you moving to Europe?” was the question asked by one Matt Joyce in the street outside of the White Heart after coming from a rehearsal and a free beer.

Matty Joyce. Matthew Joyce. The man-in-himself. After three years hiatus and a car crash that should have killed him, the former roommate and one of my best friends in high school is back in Portland, walking around drunk on wine and slamming at the North Star. We talk, walk back inside. He pays for a celebratory whiskey shot and we talk a little more. A bit of Maine humor: he’s now living in The Big House, my old roommate Nate Amadon’s former apartment, a place I didn’t know he had any connection with. Small state.

But then the goodbyes and the talk about Europe. Consensus has it amongst those people I’ve fallen out of contact with that I’m moving to Europe soon, no one knows for how long or where exactly but everyone in their turn points to the eastern sea and says that I am going.

So there it is, stark and obvious. If you act in a paradigm long enough it will become you. The little boy who cried Europe. I’ve got to do something big now. I’ve talked a great deal about all of this. Time to start the gears in motion. Who knows how soon, but I feel I need to make it soon, while the time is right. I’m not going to blow all this that I have here and take off, but I cannot renege on this now. I’ve got to start working.

Vanesa always said that I made the most of my time when I could set myself a goal.

I’ve got to leave.