“MOVE ON”, the Geneva Airport security check told me at 6:15 on Monday morning. To further illustrate its point, an illuminated arrow –> helpfully guided me away from a weekend mired with reminiscence and into a week of discovery, curiosity and adventure. I was ushered down the well-trodden path and urged not to look back by the impatient, frustrated crowd behind me.
So I moved on.
When you cannot turn back anymore, you have no choice but to go forward. When you turn around and realize there’s nothing there except a sea of misery and frustration, you have no choice but to look with a small glimmer of hope towards the future. And sometimes all you want to do is curl up in a ball and sleep for a year, refusing to acknowledge the absolute vacuum you have suddenly found yourself in – neither here nor there, not certain of anything, grasping to shreds of normality in the persistently buzzing memories. But sometimes in those moments, there is a sign. MOVE ON –>. And so you go on. Sometimes life is beautifully simple and simultaneously surprisingly poignant. Sometimes there’s no use in being tired, or afraid, or hopeful, or forlorn. You just have to move the fuck on. And it doesn’t matter how much you’d rather do anything but.