More Precious than Diamonds

Coming back from Islington on the bus tonight, we passed a Cartier shop on Sloane Street, going towards Sloane Square. I only checked myself when I noticed that my eyes glossed right over it. I suppose it’s part of the overall oversaturation that I fear I’m beginning to suffer. I feel like I have to force myself to pay attention to what I’m seeing, to really see it, rather than just letting my sight slide over it as though it were nothing but a bunch of random flat colors and shapes. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve seen nice jewelry before, but there’s no sense in taking it for granted that, right now, I live right around the corner from such a place. It’s one thing to drink in sights and sounds with the intention of later analysis; it’s another thing entirely to let them wash over you in a meaningless wave. Have I truly grown so numb?

The closest business to my home in the U.S. is a gas station with a Burger King. The next time I drive ten minutes from my house to get there, will I remember how I gawped mindlessly at some of Europe’s finest sights? Will I remember how I sank into an exhausted haze and let the clock run out? Or will I fill up my tank and eat my hamburger cheerfully, content in the knowledge that I pushed myself, and really absorbed everything that this nine-month marathon threw my way?

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