We were up early this morning, taking Kate’s mother to the airport, which meant being on the highway around 5am. I’m always surprised by how many people are around at that time in the morning, at just how busy it is (busier than certain times during daylight). It’s a different story driving to the highway, with the familiar streets around us almost entirely empty, and all the businesses and houses on other side dim and quiet.
Years ago, a lifetime ago, I would often find myself walking back home from a girlfriend’s apartment at inhuman times of the morning. This is when I lived in Scotland still, and in Aberdeen; I’d be walking the distance — maybe a couple of miles or so? Perhaps more? It took about an hour, all told — at somewhere between, say, 2 and 6 in the morning and I loved it, no matter how tired I was or whatever emotional state I was in at the time (Almost always an ambivalent emotional state at the best; this was the end of a relationship, and it’d be so late because of difficult and circular conversations that rarely left either of us elated). The city was like a ghost town at that time, and I felt like I was floating through it like a spirit myself, touching nothing and unseen by everything. I’d walk while listening to music, and I always chose something to fit my awkward mood, something dissonant and meaningful if only for what I was bringing to it as a listener. I was young enough to find both calm and beauty in my unhappiness, and walking through the city at that time fit that feeling entirely.