Raindrops patter on the awning and construction workers dig into soil just beyond as bustling bikers wheel through the dampened streets. My cup, three quarters full of drip coffee of unknown origin to me, slightly creamed, adds its own moisture to the already thick air.

Things aren’t so clear anymore. I observe the world around me as if I were in a foreign land, picking out objects without judgement and free from my previous perception of them. Yet, I now realize my eyesight has diminished. Objects in space seem slightly blurred.

The past month has shifted my world and my eyesight now seems to be a metaphor for how noticing has revealed clarity through blur. The story that I’ve told myself about my world, the contents in it, and where I am going has broken down. My newfound clarity regarding the lack of control I have regarding the events around me and my reaction to them envelops my sense of self, blurring my identity.

We all have a story we tell ourselves about world around us. I’ve always been romantic about opportunities on the horizon but now I sense a newfound excitement of the ephemeral. Like when traveling, I have both a narrative around where I am and why I’m there alongside a complete detachment from it.

If this is a story of ego, it’s also a story of attachment, non-attachment. The epic beauty of having an idea, an opportunity, or person in your life- even if it’s yourself- that comforts you through narrative. Breaking down that narrative is the fun part. What’s left is your true self. Embrace the blur.