A Mindset

is very much like

a page

in a novel--

it is your surroundings at

any given moment:

 

it is the atmospheric conditions

that envelop you--

the weekly forecast on

your phone’s app,

long-sleeve weather, T-shirt weather;

the warm indoors, with warm company

gathered around the Christmas candles,

or the openness of late summer

(who cares about the heat,

it’s the first week of classes!);

 

it is the setting

of a scene, with

its own ambience--

the lights that might be

bright or

pleasantly low

in the place

where you work,

where you study,

where you eat,

where you pause for a moment

on your way out of class;

 

it is the things

in that setting--

the tree, or the bench, that you

take notice of each time

you walk by the lake,

that one book always on display

at the library where you work;

all your accessories

accessorized,

organized (more or less)

on your bedside table;

your backpack,

set down at the back

of your desk

for no other reason than

that’s where you put it

yesterday, and the day before,

and the day before,

right up to the day

you loaded it up for

the first week of classes;

 

it is the person you are

with,

the conversation you are

sharing,

cherishing,

drawing out

under the ambience

for the first or second

or even nth time,

and the possibility you feel

therein;

their voice,

their grin, still resonating

at the forefront of your senses

shortly thereafter;

and in the lulls between

these interactions,

it is the people you will see

next,

the frequency with which these

opportunities will present themselves

starting tomorrow,

if, of course,

the plot advances

accordingly...

 

for a page consists in

the here

and the now

but also the what will be,

the what you expect--

or what you hope--

will be on

the next page.

 

And as you read

a page you find

particularly absorbing,

you immerse yourself in it,

in the essence, in the ambience,

determined to enjoy it

down to the very last

word;

and as you draw toward

the bottom,

you might, instead of going on,

wish to go back and hide yourself

among the words, entangle yourself

in the spaces between words,

between letters,

squeeze out every last

bit of meaning

you did not pick up

the first time around...

 

Dare you turn the page

to see what comes next?

Or, once you turn the page,

will you put all your energy into

looking back,

trying to preserve or even re-create

the frame of mind you just

left behind?

 

And would you be more likely,

more willing to move on

if you knew that

the next page might be

every bit as wonderful,

but

different?