Survivalist

I am going to Yosemite National Park for a couple days.

Completely free.

I am going without computer and cellphone. I'm even leaving the mp3 player behind.

Yeah. I'm kinda like a lumberjack, a mountain man, able to rough it.

Yes, of course I will update as soon as I return.

It's "I Don't Have Anything Worthwhile to Say Today, So Let's Just Steal from Boing Boing" Day!

Sea Pig!!!
















EMBP invades Tokyo Fashion Week...




Why America is crumbling from the inside...

Click Me


No more itch.




Nerd Bling. I've ordered mine.















This one is completely disgusting and not really recommended for anyone, except maybe Meighan. When I saw it posted, I had a vivid memory of sitting in the passenger seat of Meighan's truck on a rainy afternoon outside Chris' house. Tom had left for Pennsylvania and we were all in charge of keeping her happy. Jason was sitting between the two of us and Meighan was going to town on his serious backne. Enjoy?




The best fortune cookie fortune EVER. From a restaurant in Chicago.














Ninja Mike, these are for you:






Um...


























Hmm... I think that's all. Time for a shower.

Oh, wait. I almost forgot to include the best...

The Wheel Turns...

Everything cycles, I suppose. Or so teach many of the Great Traditions and who am I to dispute them?

I have gone for a few days sleeping very little, instead just thinking. You know, about stuff. I think about life. I think about travels. I think about karma. I think about friends and family. I turn over old stories, funny and sad. I think about thinking. I dream up ideas.

I'm actually quite content with it. It's what I know.

The day before Mother's Day, I had a very long conversation with my Mom. We talked about all kinds of things and caught up. Then the conversation moved to what I am doing with myself. At one point we talked about how I was as a child. I explained to her how I would lie awake at night at the first house we lived in in Bloomington, between the ages of 5 and 7, thinking about how minutes were slipping past. And hours. And days. And how they would never return. I don't know why I thought about those things at that age. I remembered bits of an "episode" in our small front yard when I freaked out because someone rode past on a bike and I didn't get to see their face. I wanted to chase after them to meet them because I knew I would never see them again and that opportunity would be lost. My Mom had to hold me and calm me down.

I guess I would lie awake at night when I was a toddler, too. Apparently I didn't cry much about it, instead just staring off. Or standing up, waiting at the edge of the crib. My Dad told me of waking to see me standing at the edge of the crib, looking across the hall at them sleeping. He just quietly waved at me and went back to sleep.

I would be terrified of such a creepy kid, peering off into the darkness silently or staring at me while I slept.

My parents took it in stride.

My Mom said they chose to call me "quirky" and thought maybe I would be the next Einstein.

I thanked her for using "quirky" rather than "crazy".

I should probably say thanks again because I'm sure they probably still use words like "quirky" when talking with each other or friends about me. Thanks guys.

It's funny that my friends seem to know me so well. I received a comment from Jeff the other day, saying that he always thinks of me when he hears this song and sent me this clip:



Back to the topic at hand...

Sleep is still a struggle for me. I feel like going to sleep is giving up. Throwing in the towel for the day. Maybe not always consciously I think that there is usually something else to be squeezed out of the day. Every last drop. Until it is bone dry.

Am I actually getting something grand out of each day? Nah. Not always. Sometimes it just ends up being wasted time. But I have lived this way for so long, I don't know what else to do. It is comfortable. I run pretty well each day on less. In fact, 8 hours of sleep kind of tires me out.

But this only goes on for so long. My mind and personality may think it is great, but my body and brain don't always agree.

I have two whole days off right now. I can do anything I want.

You know what I've decided to do with it?

Sleep.

I slept in, then ate some breakfast and went back to bed. I lounged around a bit, took a shower, ate some lunch (to any grandmothers reading this, I have taken good care of myself today), and am writing this. Then I'm going to take a nap before embarking on something adventurous for the night.

There was a lot I could have done with my time. There is a lot I could be productive with. But this feels right.

The best part? Other than coming up with this stuff to shout out into the void, I've hardly thought at all today.

And it has been nice...

Dance White Boy, Dance White Boy, Dance!

Emerging from the funk (just checked in a woman from Korea born on Groundhog's Day, just like my cousin, and images of emerging from winter and all that sort flashed through my mind).

Yesterday was quite long. Me, sitting at the desk of the hostel for 11 hours, feeling the funk. A quick shower and rushing to move my car before the show. I sat down and ate, something I've been doing pretty poorly lately, and had some quality conversation. Important conversation, I suppose.

"Don't be so Dark Art. You're much more fun otherwise."

Haha. If it were so easy.

It probably is.

Chris and I met up at 1015 Folsom for the show: Busdriver, El-P, Dizzee Rascal, and... and... special guest, Aesop Rock. I was truly excited. I've managed to miss catching Aesop for years. I missed him in New York, I've missed him in Chicago, I missed him in San Francisco... it seemed I would never see him live. And I missed Busdriver right when I showed up in San Fran. Two of the most literate rhymers around. What a shame.

Well, it changed last night.

Busdriver was amazing. This kinetic mess bouncing around the stage, vibrating with energy. His style makes my head spin a little. Quality stuff.



His set was really short, partly because he just put out so much energy, partly because of technical difficulties. Things broke down just as he was getting "Imaginary Places" started and this brought the set to a crashing halt.

His set made the whole show worth while.

Chris and I walked around for a bit. 1015 is a pretty big club and a perfect setting for a show like this. We spent time catching up and dug in to some of the things going on in our lives.

Then El-P rolled up onto the stage.

Hmm...

I won't say I didn't enjoy any of El-P's set. Or that he is a bad guy. He started Def Jux and has provided me with some quality music.

But...

...he's also ridiculous.

He came on stage with some guy whose name I never did catch. El-P was too busy mentioning the fact that Dizzee Rascal would be coming on stage later.

How to describe El-P? Imagine a party where some drunk guy comes up to you, giving you that glossy, quiet, drunken stare, much too close for comfort. Maybe you can feel his warm alcohol breath on your face and a bit of spittle hits your lip when he talks, sending a shudder through your body. He says, "I know you," poking you in the chest softly. More staring. Then, throwing his hands up, he loudly says, "Whoooo!" and stumbles off until dancing loudly, awkwardly in the center of a group of people, throwing his hands more.



That's the kind of presence El-P brings to the stage.

The poor Nameless Guy along with him was really just on stage to serve as an echo for El-P, punctuating his words at times and throwing in a "Yeah!" or two. What that says about someone when they need another person to provide emphasis for their performance, I don't know. I'm no artist, I guess.

Most of El-P's performance relied heavily on calling out to the crowd to repeat "Yeah" and "Ho". He would occasionally stop and urge the crowd to cheer for him.

I'll stop the analysis now.

I will close with this: I had a hard time deciding whether during El-P's performance he was drunk, stoned, or just plain white. Really, really white.

Maybe a bit of all three.

He had Mr. Dibbs as his DJ, which was good to see. I've been a fan of his for a while. He didn't do much of his own stuff, though, instead using hip hop beats rather than his usual metal and blues riffs.

During El-P's performance, we finally got to see our favorite special guest, Aesop Rock. He crept up onto the stage, without an introduction, grabbing a mic and digging right in. He looked like he had a blast the whole time. He cruised around the stage, looking relaxed with a big smile on his face the whole time. He was only there for 3 songs, but it was worth it.



Aesop then slid off the stage as easily as he arrived in the first place, without asking for applause or acknowledgment, a refreshing change of pace from El-P's constant, desperate pleas.

El-P yelled "Yeah" for a few more songs and told us about how each song was about pain and Nameless Guy backed that up.

When they were done, I slipped away to the bathroom quickly and by the time I got back, Dizzee Rascal was already on stage. There was some endless loop of a girl on all fours shaking booty playing above his head, over and over and over.

Chris and I lasted for almost two entire songs.

"This is shite," Chris said. I looked at him and nodded once.

"Ready to go?" he asked.

I just grabbed my jacket as a response.

We were pumped about the night, talking excitedly about Busdriver and Aesop. Chris and I drove for a bit. He was patient while I vented a little more about my anxieties this past week or two. Then he dropped me off.

Whatever it was about the night, I felt a hell of a lot better.

Shades of Gray

The doctor said, "Your condition is quite rare. You'll have to wear these rose-colored lenses."

(true story.)

"My whole life?" she asked, barely concealing the concern in her voice.

He rested his hand softly on her shoulder. "I'm afraid so, dear. It's simply the only way you will see. You'll find it's not so bad."

And so she did.

She selected a pair of simple, old horn-rimmed glasses that suited her very well.

And all around her, things changed.

Maybe it was the way people would mirror her expression and squint a little more when around her. Some say this was because the sun shone a bit brighter on her and they wanted it to do the same for them.

Maybe it was the way the way they felt like they had aged a year in an afternoon and didn't mind one bit. Some say this was because your face stretched and ached and wrinkled from smiling just a bit more.

Maybe it was the extra colors in the sky, frustrating because they didn't even have names yet.

It didn't really matter.

People were happier and they didn't even understand why. All because of those lenses she wore.

Things can't always have a neat ending though.

You see, for all the smiles and squints and colors, oh the colors, she couldn't really find happiness in it.

Because, when she looked at herself through those lenses, all she could see were shades of gray.

My Father the Pirate

My Dad went in for surgery for cataracts yesterday. They made him sit back and let them get worse so they can operate later. That day finally came.

Everything went fine but he has been wearing a patch over his eye for the last 24 hours.

I could use this opportunity to behave as an adult and discuss the feelings that come along as you realize more and more that your parents are human and fallible and are not going to be there for you one day...

...or I could use that opportunity to draw a picture of my Dad as a pirate.



When life hands you lemons, you paint that shit gold.

Mike

Mike has spinal muscular atrophy or SMA. Over the course of his life, he has slowly lost his abilities.

All of them.

The ability to walk, to lift, to move, to breathe, to function on his own. Six months ago, he choked on some pineapple juice and almost died (for the third time in that year). When he woke up, he discovered they had to put in a trach tube, which meant he could no longer speak, eat, or drink on his own. Cut off from the world, left totally dependent.

He now "eats" through a feeding tube and speaks through a computer. He can use facial expressions to say "yes", "no", "reset", and "panic". Otherwise, he uses the thumb that works on a withered hand to spell things out slowly on a computer that speaks for him. A sentence takes several minutes.

His life is constantly at risk. He recognizes fully that he has little time and could go at any moment.

His mother takes care of him full-time. But he decided he needed an escape and hired himself an assistant. He also put up a personal ad on craigslist and has a girlfriend.

Mike found ways to escape, to take advantage of his life, despite the massive hurdles that stand in his way. Yeah, he gets horribly depressed and worried at times. But he gets out, sees the world, goes to movies, keeps a blog...

So what real problem do I have? Any? What reason do I have to complain about much of anything? How about a little gratitude, Nick? At least for the day...

Thanks for some perspective, This American Life.

The Further Adventures of Nick

Before I set out on this trip, I attempted to write a manifesto...

...and failed miserably.

But something good came out of the exercise. With the help of friends, I wrote two rules for the trip in the very first entry here. Those two rules have served me well this whole time and have aided immensely in shaping this entire adventure and made some very positive changes in me.

I am coming back Home soon (First Home? Second Home? Home Home? Original Home?) and am excited to see all of you. I will be back for a bit. But then it is off to other adventures again. This time will be different.

So, here's your chance to influence the experience.

Write me some rules.

5000

I have been on MySpace for a long time.

I was there before MySpace was cool.

I was there while MySpace was cool.

I am still there, long after MySpace stopped being cool.

And, despite being a part of it for so long, my blog has managed, in a few short months, to get more hits than my MySpace page has in all this time.

Does this mean:
A) I am terminally un-cool and should be grateful anyone even reads anything I have to say?
or
B) I am totally awesome because the MySpace era has kind of come and gone and my blog rocks?

I'll choose the latter.

Actually, now that I think about it, just writing this post at all kind of makes me default to the former.

Dammit.

Etiquette Class

Good morning class.

When working in a public setting, one that requires near constant interaction with complete and utter strangers, there are certain things we Do and Don't Do. It's just the way society works. Common courtesy.

Random members of the public should not be subjected to you or your problems. You are there to serve them, not to interact with them on a purely human level. Keep this in mind. It will do you good in many aspects of your life.

For example, say you were at work the other night at... I don't know... say at a grocery store. And imagine that you were having another one of those infamous existential crises you seem to be oh-so-fond of and had managed to get yourself worked up into a state of near total panic right there in the midst of everyone. Now it doesn't matter how many hours you try to sit through this or what level of anxiety you are reaching or whether you think, "Sweet Jesus, why don't these people get it?" with each new transaction. Remember one thing. You are there for them. Not the other way around.

If a customer says, "Hi. How are you today?" the only acceptable response is, "Oh, I'm doing great! And how are you?"

Just to make sure this is crystal clear, here is a list of answers deemed NOT acceptable:

"Does it really matter? I mean, really? Does it matter?"

"Well, to be perfectly honest, I feel a bit shaky after just realizing I forgot to eat or drink anything all day long and my vision is a little fuzzy. I seem to be having difficulty seeing people today because I just kind of stare through them, instead more focused on the thoughts playing over and over and over again in my head. My heart is pounding. My hands are clammy. I'm thinking of just walking out in the middle of this whole thing..."

"What?!" (also unacceptable: "Huh?!")

"I think I just threw up in my mouth a little. How are you?" (partial credit is awarded here as you remembered to bring the focus back to the customer)

Blank, slack-jawed stares are also completely out of the question.


If you follow these simple guidelines, you can't go wrong! Remember, no one wants to hear about your crap, OK? Keep it on the surface and don't bother trying to make any real connection with someone. They are not there for you. They are there to get some eggs, a gallon of milk, and maybe some sugar they forgot they needed for the Annual Optimists Club Bake Sale. Don't weigh them down with your rambling.

And don't forget to smile!

Of Neuroses, Pt. 1

Seriously, can you all just cooperate and face the bills in the same direction?

Is that too much to ask?


And while you're at it, alphabetize those damn CDs and DVDs. They're an eyesore.

Tip of the Day

When sleeping on the beach early in the morning for several hours, make sure you rotate regularly so you don't get sunburned.



I guess things aren't so bad...

Apologies, Clarifications, Etc.

I would like to try to be more clear about the recent "Revelations" post.

First off, I am genuinely sorry because I feel as though I may have offended or hurt some people who read this thing, particularly close friends, none of which I intended and I will try to clarify a bit of that.

I was also probably too vague while writing this thing and upon further review, it turns out I probably didn't present what I felt at the time as well as I meant.

I would also like to respond personally to some people, but this is just kind a blanket statement here.

Let's give this a go...

The first thing to touch a nerve is my discussion of "simple" and "complicated" things. I wish there were better terms to describe what I was going for, since these terms seem to carry a sense of condescension or superiority with them.

I am truly envious of the "simple life". I don't mean in any way that it is less than or mediocre. I think it is beautiful. I think it takes courage to raise families and grow roots. I think it takes high quality people to make commitments and stick with them. I'm discovering I'm not there yet and might not ever be. I fall short in certain categories and that makes me completely unfit for some of these simple pleasures. I'm also discovering that I seem to go out of my way to make things complicated. Someone commented on the other post, "Are you sure that you're not choosing the simple puzzles and marking them up until you've convinced yourself that they're the difficult ones?"

Valid point.

I considered that possibility right after posting that one. In all the situations in my life that "Sudoku" seems to apply to, there might only be one common denominator, right?

Me.

These things don't escape me. Nor does the fact that these blog writings are frequently selfish and entirely self-centered. I guess that's kind of the point sometimes. I wanted a forum to get all these thoughts out so they don't bounce around in my head all night and all you lucky souls get to listen to it and realize just what kind of person I can be when I'm left alone to my thoughts. Welcome...

Back to the topic, I wholeheartedly believe I complicate my life. I go out of my way. I make every issue more difficult than it needs to be and am totally incapable of making decisions most of the time.

Time to jump this train of thought back and forth a few times...

I feel restless. It was pointed out that I have settled in San Francisco and am no longer wandering. In fact, that point has been made repeatedly by a wide variety of people since I landed here six months ago. And it's entirely true. I have set up shop here. For a variety of reasons. I feel good in San Francisco often. This is one of the more interesting places I have been. The people are highly volatile and regularly crazy, which has a certain appeal. But I also realize why I rarely meet people raised here. It is near impossible to maintain here for a seriously long period of time. This city will drive you mad. It's lazy. It's bizarre. It doesn't follow "the rules". Most people I meet love this place, but they are self-described transients and are unlikely to live out all their days here.

My time here has been made easier by the steady flux of people from around the globe coming and going everyday. I am constantly surrounded by people who are entirely foreign to me. It makes me feel like I'm moving without ever actually going anywhere (I should listen to my own advice: Never confuse movement with action...) That has made it easier to stay here. But it wears on me, slowly. And now the itch is there again. I have complicated things here and, in some ways, made a bit of a mess with my situation.

Again, it seems to be something I'm good at. Maybe I should list it on my resume: "Able to take perfectly good, happiness-producing situations and run them into the ground with constant over-analyzing, chronic self-doubt, and bizarre/inappropriate bursts of self-importance. Self-starting go-getter!"

You'd hire me, right?

I wonder why anyone is still reading this at the moment. I can barely tolerate myself sometimes...

So, yeah, I'm going to run again. Time to venture out. It has built and built.

I had another important realization the other day. See, I used to keep On The Road tucked away, stored in a box and out of easy reach of my grubby little hands. Cliche as it may be, that book had a truly strange effect on me. Every time I would pick it up and start flipping through, this overwhelming sense of wanderlust would course through me and I would itch to leave. I had a conversation with someone when I worked at Chestnut about this and how I had to keep myself away from that damn thing. She encouraged me to just pick up and leave. I was almost entirely fresh out of college and was young (still am, I guess...) I said I couldn't because of a career and maybe future school and a relationship and blah, blah, blah... Well, almost 4 years have gone by and those things didn't really quench that thirst. So, I pulled the book back out, threw it in my backseat, and started this trip. Back on track though, the realization was this: I know why I was putting off getting a passport all those years. My dad told me to get one, over and over again (although his advice was less based on travel and more based on his belief that I should be able to bail out of this damn country whenever things end up getting ugly, which they probably will, but that's neither here nor there...) The procrastination occurred over and over again. I would tell myself it was too much trouble (turns out it wasn't, I filled out the paperwork in 20 minutes and waited in line for 10 at the post office). I would tell myself the fees were too high (and then would go out to dinner or movies or out with friends and spend almost as much in a couple days). I would tell myself I was too busy that day (and then would take a nap or stare at a TV absentmindedly or check my email for the thousandth time).

All bullshit.

I finally applied and got it. And now I realize why I put it off.

Now I just want to leave. Once it arrived in the mail (with a 3 day process time!) I suddenly truly realized that I could go wherever I wanted, whenever I wanted.

And can't stop thinking about it. Now I know this is why. Like hiding that book from myself, the passport was the same thing. Do I have the money to travel? No. Not really. Am I going to be totally irresponsible and do it anyway, because I have this drive in me to do this that is not easily explained but totally overpowering? Absolutely.

See how I complicate things for myself?

This is not exactly what I had imagined or hoped for myself, but hell, it's me and I am accepting it. I'm the closest to happy this way.

Another part of the realization is that I find a lot of enjoyment in being partly miserable. Maybe I'm just choosing to be lazy rather than work to put an end to some of this misery. Maybe I'm an emotional masochist. Doesn't really matter. The result is the same and I kind of like it. Another part of complicating things. I put myself in situations that are likely to cause me some heartache. Even when given a way out, blatantly, I choose to dig in and keep myself there, prolonging that feeling. Maybe it's because when I was a kid I used to shove my tongue into the empty spot where one of my teeth fell out. Or because to this day I still have a fascination with touching my own bruises or pushing my tongue against the roof of my mouth when I have burned it. Reminding myself that I'm alive when I find myself uncomfortable. Or maybe it's because I want stories to tell. I guess maybe I find stories about heartache and loss and loneliness infinitely more exciting than happy stories. I recently told Dave I was on a quest to have as many stories as I possibly could. Maybe I just want something for people to talk about at my funeral (as morbid as that sounds when I actually write it out). I want the messed up stories for people to tell. I'm literally afraid of not having enough interesting stories to tell. Is that crazy?

So, I'm going to head out to create some more.

Yes, I know I could do this at home, with roots. I just get uncomfortable.

Again, blah, blah, blah...

I am the common denominator.

I am the problem.

I am OK with it.

I miss and love you all back home. I am really bad about keeping in touch and seem to be getting worse. I think part of it is the realization that I have kind of settled here for now and I feel like it's kind of disappointing. Without further adventures, what do I really have to say? What stories to tell?

"Gee, today I was at Trader Joe's and customers were really self-centered and stupid. I fantasized about walking out but didn't. Because I'm broke and need that crappy paycheck. I worked 60 hours this week and sometimes feel like I'm back in the same cycle I was in a year ago. Isn't that exciting?"

The moral of the story is Nick is still suffering from a bad case of terminal uniqueness/loneliness/fantasy-living with no real hope of recovery.

Touch my bruise.

Cloud Cult

They played at Bottom of the Hill last night.

And were great.

I've been waiting a long time to see them again. And they didn't disappoint (although, if they were to read this, I would tell them to include "Transistor Radio" in the set-list again...)

I'm just going to leave it at "I'm really happy."

The Pope Believes in Aliens and The Vatican Finally Admits to Being Part of an Interplanetary Conspiracy...

...well, kind of: Vatican - It's OK to believe in aliens

A Guide to Enjoying Sunday Afternoon at the de Young

Just follow these simple steps to enjoy a lovely and free day at San Francisco's very own de Young Museum in beautiful Golden Gate Park.

Step 1 - Go to Golden Gate Park and walk around for a bit, enjoying the wonderful afternoon.

Step 2 - Mosey around outside the de Young, looking for someone with a member sticker to the museum.

Step 3 - Approach them, looking as desperate, young, poor, yet upstanding as you can muster in day old shirt and pants. Straighten your hair a bit, you slob. Ask if they are done with their members sticker for the day and then ask if you can please have it.

Step 4 - Watch as they uncomfortably weigh out their feelings about the fact that they have paid their hard-earned cash to be members of the museum and get these stickers, but also consider that they won't be using them anymore, no one gets hurt in the process, and they live in one of the most "bohemian", "free-loving", and "liberal" cities in the country. Even if this whole plan breaks down at Step 4, it is all worth it just to watch them mull this over for those few short seconds.

Step 5 - If they sigh gently and give you their stickers, place them on you shirt, jacket, poncho, bare chest, etc. and continue on. If they refuse, return to Step 2 and repeat.

Step 6 - Smile broadly as you enter the museum for free while museum staff open doors for you and thank you every 15 minutes when they see your member pass and express gratitude for your fine annual support of the arts, despite the fact that you look like this:



Step 7 - Enjoy the art in a way you usually don't because you don't feel pressured to get your "money's worth" out of the experience. Leave when you're ready. Then buy a cup of coffee for someone as a way of offsetting the karmic damage you have caused by stealing from fine culture, you rotten bastard.


Don't judge. You know you were going to wait for Free Museum Tuesday to even go anyway...

Further Complications

Here's an analogy for everyone:

I love Sudoku. I do. Many people who know me know this fact.

When doing Sudoku, I skip past the simple ones. I don't want anything to do with them. Instead, give me the most complicated, ridiculous one to deal with. The tougher it is to crack, the more pleasure I get from it. If there is a level of difficulty called "Crazy", it's the one for me.

Inevitably, I will run into trouble with it. I will start to get stuck and keep trying the same techniques over and over to crack it (what's the definition of "insanity" again?) It will start to look messy. I'll make little numerical notes in the corners and it will no longer look "clean".

Then, sometimes, I'll make a mistake. Now what? Do I stop?

Good lord, no.

I keep on trying. Now I'm scratching out numbers and trying to retrace my steps about where it went wrong. Where did I put the wrong number? Where did my logic fail?

I've gone so far as to go all the way back, crossing out all the numbers and trying to start "fresh". Only now it doesn't look so fresh. The puzzle is a mess. The paper is struggling to hold under the weight of ink or keep it together through all the erasing.

Most times I give up at this point. I cross the puzzle out and set it aside. I won't go back to it.

Even if I were to finish it, there sometimes isn't much pleasure as a result.



Why don't I just pick the simple puzzle?

Balloons

He yelled, "Margot, no! Come!"

I rolled my eyes while scanning his Pellegrino. "Hey kiddo. You like balloons?"

"No," he sternly interjected.

I wanted to slap him a little, but instead kept scanning and told Margot how I still liked balloons. She was a blond, sad looking girl, maybe 4 or 5 years old, being yelled at despite keeping completely silent and patiently waiting while some strange guy prepared their groceries for them.

She will probably grow up letting assholes tell her what to do.

I felt sad for her but kept working. Last night, I couldn't sleep. I lay awake all night, thinking how I should have put the order on hold just to go in the back and make Margot a whole bouquet of multi-colored balloons. Sure, her father would have been angry, but at least I could have seen her smile...

Revelation 1:1

You asked for it, you got it...

Demand for this blog entry has been high, for reasons unbeknownst to me. It is all a lot of ramblings to me, but it seems to mean something to some people, so here goes...

I continue to think I want my life to be less complicated, but all my actions suggest otherwise. I have opportunities that lie before me for the uncomplicated life. In fact, the Uncomplicated Life seems to have always been there, lying in wait, ready to pounce.

I could easily have a simpler life. Jobs await in Bloomington and Chicago, along with friends I hold dear. Within a week, I could be reestablished back home, all things out of storage, home-cooked meals sitting steaming hot for me in the evenings, friends eager to sit around at night. Even a free room at first in Bloomington with Yo Gabba Gabba dance parties each day.

But let's be honest with ourselves, folks. We all know that wouldn't work. I would soon grow uncomfortable and wanderlust would set in, the itch that never seems to be scratched for this soul.

When I began my trip, I had grand fantasies about attaining the sense of Enlightenment I have dreamed about for years. Turns out, it was just that, a Fantasy. I imagined myself sitting atop a mesa in the desert, lotus-style, with a Great Blue Beam of Light striking me in the center of the forehead, giving me all those answers I have been so desperately seeking.

That wasn't happening.

Instead, the questions kept coming, a flood with no hope of reprieve. Not an answer in sight.

When I returned home in February though, I had the closest thing to a moment of enlightenment I think will happen for me. While staying with Tom and Meighan, better friends than I could have possibly hoped for, an important revelation settled into my mind.

I.
Can't.
Do.
This.

Tom and Meigs are one of the happiest couples I know and they do a wonderful job parenting. They have a beautiful home with wonderful thigs and know exactly what they want to do with their lives.

And that is completely foreign to me.

The very thought of being in their position frightens the hell out of me.

All of it scares me. Life has stood still back home since I left. Well, that's not entirely true. But it doesn't seem a lot has changed.

My ego got the better of me when I went back. I planned a secret trip back home for two reasons: A) I wanted to be able to see people surprised and happy for me to be back around - the winter had been kind of dark for me and I needed cheering up - and B) my friends had offered to buy me a ticket home and I realized I wouldn't be able to accept that, even as broke as I was. So, I went back and assumed that maybe it would shake things up for a week and people would adjust their schedules for some fun.

Whoops.

You know what happens when we assume, don't you?

Turns out the only people to makes schedule adjustments were Tom, Meighan, and my father. But let's be serious with ourselves, who the hell am I for anyone to change their lives around for? Really.

(Clearly some of my selfish tendencies have not changed.)

I disappear for months and lead a life of randomness while those around me have actual jobs and relationships. Completely ridiculous of me...

For the most part though, I saw everyone once, maybe twice. They had those lives to attend to: jobs, girlfriends, hobbies.

Their lives had gone on without me, which is great. I feel like I've lived an entire other lifetime since I've been away.

...time to get this train of thought back on track...

The revelation set in. I'm not currently comfortable with that stable life. It scares the hell out of me. I'm currently a lost soul. The real revelation was that I probably always will be a little bit lost. This settled in at one point while I was in Bloomington and a sense of peace came over me.

Enlightenment?

Hardly, but maybe the closest I can hope for.

I find myself envious at times of those who are leading lives on the other side of things. Regular jobs, families, kids, houses, marriage plans, video game playing, and movie watching. I'm not envious because I want those things right now. I know I can't. I'm envious because I wish those things would make me happy.

But there's the revelation. That isn't me. I've come to accept a lot about myself in the past couple months. And it's not all necessarily "good". But it's me.

I will be lost.
I will be a wanderer.
I will be a rambler.
I will continue to find more joy in asking the questions than getting the answers.
And I just might end up being a disappointment in the end, merely a collection of wasted potential.

There's only one real way to find out. Follow these shoes where they go. I have realized that sometimes it feels like they start walking without me having a say in the matter. I may as well stop fighting it. The river is going to keep flowing no matter how much I try to stop it.

Several years ago I was working at Chestnut and having a bite to eat in the dining room. I was by myself for some inconsequential and long-forgotten reason.

As I chewed away, I gazed out the window and into the field across the road. There, frozen in mid-air, was a bird. By frozen, I mean that it stayed in one place, suspended above the ground, getting nowhere. But not for lack of effort. This bird flapped and beat its wings furiously, attempting to fight the strong winds against it.

I sat and stared in awe. It was a rare occurrence. It went on for several minutes.

I thought to myself, this bird must certainly be confused. Doesn't it see that it's getting nowhere? Why does it keep fighting the stream? Why doesn't it use the momentum there to its advantage?

With these thoughts came a small itch in the back of my brain. Something about those questions...

The bird finally gave in at one point and made an adjustment to its path.

And soared away.

That brief moment had a profound impact on me. An image burned into my brain that would slowly snowball. The itch spread...

Maybe it's finally time to fly...

Really.

really?...