"Stop this Train" John Mayer

Tonight, I am in an apartment that I imagined I might have one day. Large windows, and shiny floors. Exposed brick and new chrome appliances. A couch that took 6 weeks to customize. I am packing for a business trip I thought I might get a chance to do one day. I've run out of cologne, but may pick some up at the airport. I look at the counter and see photos on rotation: This is me in Vietnam being led on a hike, and that is the Eiffel Tower of course, and this is a beach on the north side of Bali and this is a view of the Mediterranean from Alexandria. What a beautiful city that was. I played tennis this morning with an old friend, had breakfast and didn't look at the price. I earn more money now than what my parents did when I saw their tax returns once when I was in college. They raised six children with this money. My career is great. I have traveled the world. I was reminded last week by a good friend that I am loved. Even when all these things are in line and I see the trend lines inching up nicely, I am scared.

No need to be scared, he said. You've done well this far.

I know, I know, but aren't we moving a bit fast here? I'd like to know where I'm headed before I go.

He put his hand on my shoulder.

I knew when I was in Marakesh, despite the heat of that rooftop broom closet (converted into a bedroom) that I smiled for a reason and said to myself, "You'll think of this in the future, and wish for this simplicity." I had woken up much earlier, and took a walk before the city got up, smelling the cool air, breathing deeply in the silence of the emptied streets. Marakesh doesn't stay cool and silent very long. I was preparing myself for a life--this one--that I might have.

You know, this is the way it goes.

I know, I know things will be fine. Please understand, I trust myself, I know I can and I know it'll turn out fine. I have everything I want.

So what's wrong?

Things are changing so fast, I just want to take a deep breath.

I used to run around my house during the summer, throwing all sorts of jagged objects at my brothers. Then we'd scream until we voted for somebody who'd cook lunch. Spam and rice on most of those days, we'd eat it together watching Reading Rainbow on PBS. And in the afternoon before my parents came home, I'd go outside and just lie on the grass and look at the sky and wonder what might happen to me as a grown up, would I ever eat anything besides Spam and rice and Campbell's chicken noodle soup, would I ever see Paris?