"Home"

The nomadic nature, the youthful traveler and the constant voice inside begging to move on, to put the past behind and forge a life not yet discovered, has slowly died. The desire to run, leaving all semblance of normalcy, no longer has the draw it once did; in fact, the dream to get back to the place he once called home, where the majority of his friends reside, now constantly permeates his thoughts.

Sunday Scribblings

This week’s work is Follow:

Her posture, back story, obvious intelligence and beauty told me that this was not a woman to be missed. In the haze of a lifetime not yet spent together, I saw pets, babies, homes, cars, smiles, tears, pain and the best life I had never known. A lesser impressed man would have chalked this instant insanity up to the copious amounts of beer already consumed on that as of yet unremarkable Thursday night, but not I. This was my moment, and no excuse was going to let me fuck this up. Instead, I waved goodbye to my previous self, and wished me all the best. She was going to be my alter, answer, and leader. Walking out of that bar, I knew my role, and that was to accompany her to the ends of the earth. Like any true believer, I have faltered, forgotten my path, and wandered unaccompanied during our days, but I always know where my salvation will come, and that is at your side. So with this, please know that I, your devote disciple, will follow you regardless of the cost, and still know that you are not to be missed . . . . ever.

Sunday Scribblings

This week's word is Language.

Language, “a body of words and the systems for their use common to a people who are of the same community or nation, the same geographical area, or the same cultural tradition.” www.dictionary.reference.com/browse/language. The full meaning of this word was lost on me until I moved to an island where my words an system, my only form of communication, was not the accepted norm. I have traveled extensively, married a woman born outside of the place we both now call home, and studied (not hard enough) a language not my own. Still, until I thrust myself into a land where my preferred form of communication, and butchered pronunciation of the native tongue, immediately marked me as an outsider, that I fully realized the beauty of commonality associated with language. I could have gotten this from my time in California, where “outside” members of the non-English speaking population were treated as pariahs for their failure to grasp instantly one of the most complicated languages on the face of the earth, but I did not. Thankfully, I understand now why like speaking groups build communities around each other, and sometime shun the world they do not understand and cannot, regardless of how hard "we” try and force them, fully communicate with. For no matter how many words individuals will learn, and whether they can converse with the “natives”, by asking people to scrap their life-long dialect and adopt that of their current land, without regard to what they are giving up, is telling them to not only cast aside an alphabet, but also to leave much of their cultural tradition behind as well. To be clear, this is NOT why I have failed to grasp the tongue of the land in which I now reside, that is based purely upon my own laziness. In fact, people here go out of their way to accommodate my ineptness. I only wish I did not come from a land (and “we” are not the only one) where we demand (or make it incredibly difficult to function otherwise) uniformity of words, pronunciation, and dialect. For language is so much more than words spoken or thrown on a piece of paper, computer screen or street sign, it is a way of life that should be cherished, and understood, by all.

Words

Words. I am of the opinion, and come from a world and an educational background where each and every one has a purpose, a meaning and an intended consequence. There are no mistakes when is comes to them. People say and write what they mean, whether thought out or off the cuff. Some are of the belief that statements made during moments of inebriation paint the truest picture of ones person. I both agree and disagree; for all words, regardless of when they are spoken or written, whether crafted in moments of comedy, sadness, anger, happiness or exhaustion, carry a meaning and are intended for a specific purpose. Human being are crafted in such a way, and with the cognizant ability, to make every comment pointed and meaningful. This, as I believe, is what separates us from other life forms. We know, and have felt the affects, of a timely placed criticism/comment. Too often people hide behind the “unintended” affect of said words, knowing all too well what result will grip the listening/reading party. To hide behind ignorance is cowardice. Maybe I am wrong, I hope I am; that I hold people to an unattainable standard. If so, there are past friendships I need to repair. If you have an opinion, please let me know because I am struggling with this.

Rainy days

Is it raining where you are? Do you find it impossible to raise your weary head from the pillow as the light reflects off of the clouds in the early hours? I ask because in my story--the one where you can be found permanently in my mind--you are fighting a constant downpour and have been since you cast me from your everyday. I imagine your days gray, nights buried feet below the watery surface and sleep restless. Your memory is me, the good times and nothing else. Please tell me it is so. . . . Nevermind, I do not want to know, if you kill that image, my peace, then I have nothing left but reality, which is that you have transitioned seamlessly into a life that is happy, complete and better without my presence.

Subday Scribblings

This week's word is Scary.

I am scared to do those things I long for because I am good at what I hate. There is something out there that I am here for, but . . . .

Sunday Scribblings

This week's word was "celebrate"

The goal--my goal--is an intrinsically selfish form of self expression. It factors in nobody and cares little about the hopes and dreams of those around me. I spend hours of my life running to nowhere in particular, at the expense of spending free time with you out there, in the hopes of entering a few cherished (at least by me) “races” a year where I will move from point A to point B in a time many hours behind the “winner.” Throughout the months of training, pain and complaining, my “failure” is guaranteed. For I will never break a paper banner stretched excitedly across a finish line, nor will I grace the cover of a magazine or earn a single dollar for my effort. In fact, this obsession costs me, my family, and friends, thousands of actual dollars a year (it is impossible to factor in the value of the time they put into scratching my itch). Nonetheless, I am energized by this wasteful journey. I have not a clue where it will end, but I know, at least for now, it helps me face endless days wasted in front of a computer screen. This weekend, as they (at least she) have done so many times before, the family came together to cheer me on in my attempt to complete a run I was not prepared and/or physically healthy enough to complete. Despite this, they showered me with support and pushed me to finish my greatest challenge to date. Without their presence, I may not have toed the start line and finished in the bottom half of a beautiful run through the roads and hills of the western United States. While they were there to celebrate my “accomplishment” (or ability just to survive such a stupid and ill conceived endeavor), it is them who should be celebrated, for they did not knowingly sign up for this craziness when I entered each of their lives, but they have supported me nonetheless. To each of you who were their this weekend, supported me from afar, or just got stuck listening to my constant chatter about chaffing, blisters, shoes, spandex, lube, socks, technical t's, or the value of sodium intake, I love you all. I am eternally grateful to each of you for not only dealing with me, but also for helping me reach my goals by refusing to let me give up, no matter how hard I make my life seem. Even though I will never be greeted with a trophy. Finally, to my crew chief, how you have endured my ridiculousness for years, is beyond me, but know that you are a saint, and I owe you more than you will ever know.