The day that closed the holiday

I took a nap at noon today, the first in a very long time. I had trained myself to do without one because I believed I could change any habit I chose. Lately I have slept too little at night, though, and I needed the rest. Waking felt like restarting a computer after clearing out clutter.

Yesterday’s heavy snow has become a mixture of water, mud, and dust on the streets. I walked carefully, wanting one more look at my hometown before leaving and one more taste of the holiday. The cold air cleared the last of the dream from my head. Snow that had looked pure when it fell was now dark slush underfoot, yet it felt like a real farewell to this place.

I often seek order, in financial reports, code, and the projects I build. My CyberPup and Hugo blog have clear instructions and structures. Feelings about home do not. Red lanterns still hang along the street, and the festival crowds that usually seem noisy are dear to me because I am about to leave. Even the messy pavement seems worth lingering on.

At a bookstore window I caught my reflection. At twenty-three, I feel pulled between accounts and software, markets and experiments, the hometown behind me and a journey ahead. The nap has not solved those tensions, but it has lightened them. I no longer need to defend a rule against napping when rest is plainly what I need.

I kept walking more steadily. I can carry this afternoon with me: the snow, the mud, and the feeling of belonging. I will go on building CyberPup and looking for value in work and markets, but I do not need to erase home to do it.