Well Wild

Her mind was a great expanse, a landscape not rivaled, Ridges and valleys, canyons cut deep. Roads and paths, some well-worn, some seldom traveled, others forgotten. He wanted to travel them all. To peer into every cleft, every cave, every swath and slot and scene. The darkest corners intrigued him most. What would he find? Would he like it? Would it change her? Would her perfect waist and shoulders and mouth fade behind the clearer projection of her real self? Is it selfish, selfish to explore someone so thoroughly, all the while keeping your own self obtuse and calculated. Too many questions. But she asked if he loved her; “Pete..do you love me“. To answer truly he must first know her…but perhaps he already did. Why did the question make him shift nervously and sweat? He did love her..but she’s a stranger…but she’s not. Maybe he’s the stranger?

Agh. So much introspective bullshit. It’s a simple yes or no question. It’s simple. It’s life. You love her. She’s “the one”. What was it, “just be” thats what Helen always said, “just be”. What does that mean? Something different for everyone? Probably. But that’s hopeful right?

“Another”? “What?…oh, sure…a double”.

Christmas is in three days. The hustle and bustle around town is palpable; the collective stress level hangs in the air like a thick fog. The rain doesn’t help, everyones heads are down, as if to create an invisible wall against the weather…and perhaps the eyes of other holiday-prepper’s.

At a time when we do everything we can to create meaningful connections with those closest to us, we do all we can to avoid the prying eyes and thoughts of everyone else in line.

“sir…excuse me sir…did you want a bag for ten cents?” I nod yes as the seemingly too-young-to be-working girl bags my energy drinks and broccoli; the broccoli thrown into the cart to try and disguise my energy drink addiction…I don’t think it’s working.

“So hows your day going?” Her voice is too cheerful…why is she forcing conversation? Can’t she just bag my stuff and let me go? Ugh, what is wrong with me? Why am I so cynical? “It’s going great thanks” (awkwardly long pause) “annnd, how is yours?” I cringe.

What follows is far too much information for a complete stranger, and a very long winded explanation of the reasoning behind her hair style and nail polish coordination. But, I opened the gate. “Thats great…good for you…totally…” She’s still talking in her little-girl sing song voice as I shuffle towards the doors. “Merry Chris….Happy Holidays”. uh huh, you too.

I fumble for my keys, it’s raining again. Im on errand 3 of 10,000…I need to get gas. The only times I ever want to smoke are when Im drunk, or when Im standing inside a gas station store….but not today, complete fear of lung cancer 1, cigarettes 0. It’s pouring now..the kind of rain that makes you drive slower, squint more, and re-prioritize your to do list. “I can go to the bank tomorrow, I don’t really need that sweater, if I leave basil out it should be fine.” My love-hate relationship with Christmas music is in full swing, but somehow Terry Gross can make anything sound interesting, even why Silent Night is more important than anyone thought. Does a daily dose of NPR make me smarter, more well informed, or just more aware of everything in the world and in life that I have no control over? No, no…don’t go down that rabbit hole…Oh thank god, the post office is not too packed.

The Salvation Army needs a marketing make-over. No one has cash anymore, or change, and I would hazard a guess that nine out of ten people would cite incessant bell ringing in their top-ten most annoying things of all time. Just give those white suited do-gooders an iPad and a Square. Ba-humbug.

I love this time of year, I do…the smells, the food, the lights. But at some point the magic goes out the window and you live the entire season vicariously through your kids. Why? Stress, being an adult, responsibility…any other “Im a grown up now” buzzwords. What unsatisfactory explanations. I think it’s because we are scared. Scared of some unspoken social expectation of how to act around this time of year as a “grown up”. As a kid you get to be in a month-long state of pure joy, excitement, and anticipation. As an adult you’re expected, it would seem, to portray yourself as being in a constant state I like to call “pleasantly annoyed”.

I fall into the trap, a lot of us do. There is a lot of stress, shopping in the rain could crush the soul of even the most staunch optimist. And yet, a lot of it is a choice, an attitude. I suppose that can be said for every day, any time of year. But during this season it stands out against the stark back drop of winter. We choose. every day we choose. From the moment we wake until we close our eyes. What have I chosen today?

I brave the boulder size rain drops and make my way back into the store where my day began…I stand in her line. Her voice sounds the same…thats a solid 6 hours of cheerfulness, in perhaps one of the most thankless jobs. Impressive. The grouchy couple in front of me pay and shuffle on. The sing song voice…”hi, can I help you?” “I was in here this morning, and I pretended to care about what you had to say because thats.…I honestly don’t remember what you said…. I just wanted to say…um… I’m sorry…whatever it is thats making you smile, hold….you know what.…Merry Christmas!!” “Cool…Merry Christmas.”

I take a deep breath as I walk back into the rain; I think I’ll listen to the re-run of Fresh Air tonight at 7.

Choose wonder. Choose joy. Go out of your way. Pay attention. Let the cynics sulk in their ice caves. Hug someone for no reason. You’ll never really feel like an adult, it’s one of the great lies.

I’ll leave you with this…”We are shaped by our thoughts; we become what we think. When the mind is pure, joy follows like a shadow that never leaves.”

Merry Christmas!

There are no excuses for wasted days. Life is what you make of it. 48 hours of adventure is far better than 48 hours of wishing for adventure. Lace up your boots, zip up your coat, fill the tank, and hit the road. Run on the beach, sing in the wind, talk to strangers, and walk among the giants.

What does it mean to be a father? That may seem a silly question, but it’s one that has been on my mind incessantly the past few months. Is it simply a matter of blood? Proximity? Time? Is it any, or all of these things? Is fatherhood something that must be earned? Or do the vast majority of Dad’s simply fall into it by mistake and learn as they go along?

So many sobering thoughts crowd my mind as I await the birth of my son. An overwhelming sense of responsibility, but it runs deeper than that. Bordering on fear. Fear that unless my shit is in line I’ll never teach him what he really needs to know. But perhaps a healthy dose of fear is imperative to being a good father. Fear that nothing is ever quite enough, so we push a little farther, a little harder, always one step ahead of the curve. Even though we know, that for most, age is synonymous with irrelevant. How do you toe the line of mentor, leader, friend, caregiver, teacher, authority figure..when all along you know the day will come when he will think he doesn’t need you anymore. How do we impress what we know to be true on a  mind that we hope will fill with it’s own ideas and purpose?

I don’t want to be one way. I want to be every way. I want to have the foresight and ability and humility to transition with my son. To change as he changes, to walk in lock step and yet just a little out front to take a few of the shots that life inevitably throws. To show him that nothing is to be trusted implicitly except God and his own gut. How do I teach him to rise above the din of an ever louder world that offers nothing but comfort and passing fancy?

Roots. I want my son to have roots, deep and plentiful, roots that keep him grounded even when the wind bows his branches.

I don’t have answers. I have ideas, but they all require trial and error. I suppose all I can hope for is the confidence to tell him what I know to be true, the humility to tell him ‘I don’t know”, and the energy to say “let’s find out”.

Here begins a journey. One with no destination. Welcome.