Feel the moments

I'm sort of going through something at the moment in my office, which I can only really say is... unnerving. I won't get into much detail, but the dynamics in my team at the moment are, quite simply... messy.

I didn't mind working where I work for a long time. I was even excited about a particular project that, which I blogged about in February (which, by the way, has been getting some really excellent feedback, and I am excited to be able to showcase it at some stage or another.)

I like people in my immediate team most of the time, and they can be fairly harmless, however, something is going on at the moment, and I am not sure what, but there has been some drama lately, which has a tint of "things are going to get a lot worse before they get better."

I left the office, and made my way home at about six o'clock, jumping on a train to the airport, changing to another train which was heading to Amsterdam's west, and then managed a direct connection onto a tram to my hood. I was feeling pretty pleased that I would be home before six thirty for the first time in what feels like a long, long time.

I'm wearing a spring blazer over a jersey black dress which I suspect is a little too short for conservative office attire. The muggy, thick air made it unbearable to have my arms covered, and I find myself clicking around in little heels, occasionally tugging at the hem of my dress when I'm feeling shy, my blazer draped over an arm as I meander along on my usual travel path home.

As I get off the tram and start the short stroll through the couple of blocks to get to my apartment, I soak in every moment of feeling warmth on my skin, and keep my head held high, observing my neighborhood's summer rhythms.

The cheap women's wear boutique on the corner of the intersection where I connect trams in the morning has flowy, crepe floral dresses in the front window. Above me, doors leading to small balconies are wide open, and curtains flail in the breeze, sometimes revealing partial views into mysterious living rooms. The local florist looks at me curiously as I walk past the storefront, and he steps out of his front door to close up for the day.

Upon landing infront of my front door, I slot the key in the lock and twist it with the secret maneuver which has the door slide backwards in welcoming. I am met with the sight of my flatmate planted centrally on our wide couch, watching a Wimbledon match. He is surrounded by several ripped up muesli bar wrappers, and calls out a greeting without even turning his head.

"Andy Murray, right?" I say as I kick my shoes off, and settle my bag in the adjoining kitchen and pour myself a glass of water from the kitchen tap.

"I think his facial expressions are just a bit too vulgar sometimes." he muses as he contemplates the scrawny tennis player's latest serve.

"Scottish isn't he?"

"Yeah," he acknowledges with a knowing face. "That would be it. Barbarians."

I get changed into clothes for the comfort of cycling, and hurry to pack my things for my writing class, and leave him to watch the game in peace.

The class was quiet with only two of us attending, but it was a different dynamic - more expressive and informal, and I find myself having fun with the lessons, which surprises me, as considering what has happened at work for the last couple of days, I didn't think inspiration was going to be something that was going to come easily that night. I was a bit disappointed that time is ticking along so quickly.

When we pack up and leave the building, it's almost ten o'clock in the evening.

The air is cool, and has thinned out considerably from earlier this evening. I'm cycling down the Rozengracht, an inner city arterial road that leads to Amsterdam's western suburbs. On my right hand side is Westerkerk, a famous Amsterdam church, renown because of it's proximity to the Anne Frank house. To my left, a scooter is noisily spluttering it's way past me and my feet pause peddling momentarily, to allow the scooter and it's driver to pass. Hidden by some clouds, the late evening light throws the sky into a luminous deep blue, and the city's population is still making the most of the heat, lazing and socialising on outdoor terraces. Sprawled out on tables, evidently enjoying being able to parade their summer attire, peering at passing cyclists and each other through chic brown and black lenses, despite the slow but sure fading of the day's light.

IN that very second, I love who I am AND what I am doing ;

I am cycling home from my fun and engaging creative writing class to my beautiful apartment in Amsterdam's west. I know when I get there, I am going to hang out in comfort and ease with an easy going and relaxed flatmate that I click with. It's a summer evening, and I am making my way there on my best friend's bicycle, as we have swapped for the season for the hell of it - the breeze is in my hair, and keeping me cool I ride over familiar canal bridges and weave myself arrogantly in between passing and parked cars, cheekily ignoring red lights.

When I make it back home, flatmate is in his room, and asks me to come in and take a look at his monitor.

"I started programming this little game. I'm pretty glad you went out because if you had stayed home, I wouldn't have done this, I would have just hung out infront of the tv. Every time you go out and chase your writing dream, it makes me want to do my game programming dream thing. So, yeah, kind of happy about the progress I made today."

It hasn't been a perfect day, but there were a few moments where I was pretty happy.