I’ve been avoiding driving long distances since the snow storm. Yesterday however I was dragged out by good friends to meet and discuss a project somewhere in Jabal Amman.
With reinforcement against what’s supposed to be the beginning of winter (Yes, turns out astronomically what we saw last week wasn’t winter, it was the just trailer) I set out at around 5:30 from my home since we agreed to meet at 6. Usually this would be early as it normally takes 15 minutes to get to Rainbow street from where I live, 20 with some traffic. But what I saw on the roads yesterday wasn’t traffic, it was a country-wide fire drill.
As I was stuck on the uphill climb leading to Abdoun my eyes roamed the roadside looking for the snow that was jamming the roads, but there was nothing. Just cars inching forward like old tortoises.
But to tell you the truth, I don’t know which was worse: the traffic or the radio stations. I mean, from an annoying, nerve-provoking talk to a horrible rendition of “Goodbye My Lover”, and then Abu Wadee3 poped out of nowehere saying “Lissa eddunya bkhair”… Lissa eddunya bkhair, ya 7abibi!
Anyway, I reached my destination, which was thankfully and surprisingly not crowded at all and I parked quickly. While I was there I ran into John, founder of Project Pen with whom I worked last year before I left the project as a permanent member for lack of time and nerves.
So, we talked about Pen and he looked as excited as ever. I couldn’t help but say: “I admire how you can keep being excited about something for such a long time.”
And then on the way home I thought about that, and I thought about the way my life has been shaping to be. You know, I realized recently that I don’t have a big goal in life, no one big project. One day I’m giving lectures at schools about exra-curricular stuff, the other I’m traveling to some conference somewhere, and then I’m writing a book. It feels funny when people give me advice I should follow if I want to be a big novelist, while I never thought about becoming a big shot novelist. I write because I feel like it. And yes, I do like to write more books, it’s just not a goal in itself anymore. For me, it’s all about the small projects.
And I like it this way, which I’ve come to discover. After all it’s nice to look back on your life someday and see a collage of colors, dozens of faces and to know that you’ve done lots of things, experienced a lot of things, lived a lot of things.
I guess I don’t take life as seriously as most people do, just seriously enough for me.
Is this the right way to go? I don’t know. After all, is there such a thing?