The Weight of Unfinished Motion
It is 3:14 am. The house is holding its breath, and I am staring at the wall, thinking about how we spend our entire lives in transit. We are always between places, between decisions, between the person we were ten minutes ago and the one we are terrified to become. There is a specific kind of ache in being caught in the middle of a movement. It is the feeling of a foot hovering just above the ground, waiting for a surface that might not be there. We tell ourselves we are going somewhere, that there is a destination worth the friction of the journey. But what if the movement is all there is? What if we are just bodies in space, propelled by a momentum we didn’t choose, hoping that if we move fast enough, we won’t have to face the silence of standing still? The sun will rise, and I will pretend I have a direction. But tonight, I am just suspended.
José J. Rivera-Negrón has captured this feeling in his image titled Moment on the Walk. It reminds me that even in the middle of a city, we are all just trying to find our balance before the next shift. Does the motion ever truly end for you?
