The iPod touch has Wi-Fi, but that doesn’t do me much good if I’m not near a hot spot.  Plus, my cell phone is a few years old and could be replaced.

Maybe I should just get an iPhone.  After all, the monthly plan isn’t really that much more than what I’m paying now.

But there are rumors that a 3G iPhone is coming out soon.  Maybe I should just wait for that, because why settle for second rate technology?

I guess this is how it starts…

It’s hard for me to believe that trip to Boston in my last entry was over six months ago. It’s kind of interesting to re-read that post and realize I had no idea what I was going to decide to do a few months later. (I think the three people who read this all know what I’m talking about. In case you don’t, email me, and I’ll catch you up.) It reminds me of how limited my view really is. In my life, I often feel like things are going to be the way they are right now forever, which can either be a really great thing or a really bad thing, depending on what is going on at any given moment. Sometimes I wish I had a timetable that would tell me when I would get to the next mountain top experience or when a particularly frustrating time in a valley would be over. And yet, I realize that having such knowledge about my future would be more of a curse than a blessing. I would probably spend so much time counting down to the next event that I would be unable to enjoy each day for what it is.

Driving towards Boston over the Tobin Bridge at night with the skyline lit up in front of you.

Walking from the Boston Common(s) to Government Center to Faneuil Hall to the farmers’ market at Haymarket to the North End and back again.

Watching the ducks swim by the weeping willows in the ponds in the Boston Gardens.

Eating arepas for breakfast, carnitas and fried plantains with fresh, homemade guacamole for dinner, cannoli from Mike’s Pastries, and ice cream from JP Licks.

Staying up past 1am every night, with conversations ranging from work to relationships to the best new a cappella music.

Visiting MIT and feeling old when you realize that the people who were freshmen when you graduated are now seniors, but still running into people you know all over the place.

Walking across the Harvard Bridge and watching the sailboats play on the Charles.

Hanging out for four days straight and never running out of things to talk about.

When we stepped out of the van at the hostel, Evelyn and I looked at each other.

“It’s so quiet!” one of us said.

And it was. For a brief moment, before we had to deal with our bags and checking in and figuring out what we were going to do next, the stillness was absolute. We couldn’t hear cars or birds or even the ocean. It was like a soft blanket of peace had been wrapped around us, just for a second. I don’t think I realized how much noise I live in every day until it all stopped.

The noise isn’t all external, either. I often leave my music off during my commute to and from work each day, but I wouldn’t call those rides quiet. My mind spends the whole time running from thought to thought: what I did yesterday, what I’m going to do tomorrow, emails I want to write, made up stories set in made up worlds that I probably will never write. It all goes round and round in circles.

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to be quiet and still for a day. To sit in front of the ocean and just watch the waves crash. Or by a lake, watching the clouds float by overhead. How long would i be able to stand it? How long would it take for my fingers to start itching for a keyboard and a wireless connection? Would I be able to sit still, quiet my mind, and just listen? I am curious what an hour (or even more) of silence and stillness would do for me (although apparently not curious enough to have tried it yet).

I think I read once that in the Bible you get descriptions of heaven as a place of rest because people in those days worked hard all the time. Rest was something they longed for. Now when we hear about heaven as a place of rest, we think it must be boring. A whole eternity of Sunday afternoons. But I wonder if it’s because we don’t know what rest really is. And perhaps because we don’t know what work really is. Or at least I don’t think I do. I mean, I sit at a desk all day and type. Even though I come home exhausted at the end of the day, it’s an exhaustion born out of boredom. My job does nothing to feed my soul. And then I go home and immerse myself in movies and TV shows and other things that occupy my time in meaningless ways. And so I don’t really work, and I don’t really rest.

Sunset on the way home.

My new toy

Snow!

But the thing is, I’m supposed to be moving soon.  Like this weekend (although that probably really means next week…).  I haven’t even bought a bed yet.  Or attempted to pack.  Or really started beliving that I am moving.  It’s not far, mind you.  Same town (same job, sigh), just my own space (well, including a roommate).  I think I’m looking forward to it.  I think it will be good.  I just don’t know how it’s all going to happen.  And I’m trying so hard not to think about it that it’s kind of hard to think about anything else.

And now it’s November.  The leaves seem to have changed while I was gone, and suddenly fall has arrived.  Thanksgiving is two weeks away, and then Advent and Christmas, my favorites of the seasons, arrive.  I’m really looking forward to Christmas this year, and I don’t know why.  Maybe it’s because I actually have a little bit of time to think about it (or I will, once I’m moved).  Maybe it’s because we’re having a lot of people over (for our family, anyway).  Maybe it’s because Christmas always gives me (or reminds me of) hope.  Whatever it is, I can’t wait.

I shared my fascination with this place with my friend, Evelyn, who I knew would at least appreciate the beauty of the photographs (not to mention the blue paint). I think somehow she understood how I felt, because when I left MIT last year to move back home, she gave me what is probably my favorite present ever. She painted me a scene from a photograph of Santorini she had found online. On the back, in typical Evelyn fashion, she had written, “Don’t forget to go!” I’m sure when I saw that I said something like, “I’ll go someday.” But practically speaking, a trip to Santorini felt like it was pretty much in the same category as a trip to the North Pole - technically possible, but highly, highly improbable.

And yet, here I am, less than three weeks away from the beginning of a trip that will take me there. After a few days in Paris to take in the sights, Evelyn and I will board a plane for Athens and then a ferry to Santorini. I’m not really sure what to expect, or what we’ll even do there (besides trying to find the church in Evelyn’s picture). I think what I’m really hoping for is a taste of the magic that has been hinted at in all of the pictures I’ve seen but that can never be fully captured by them.

When I meet my great-x-18-granddaughter in heaven, will I find out that somehow we both love the same song, but that we know it in entirely different forms?  When she sings me her version, will I wonder how a sane person could ever enjoy something like that, or will I see in it the same beauty she does?

And how much storage space will it take to hold all of the music we have now, plus all the music written between now and then?  Not to mention all the movies, books, paintings, and whatever else that get created.  Is that why only the best (or most popular, I suppose) stuff survives?  Lack of storage space?