Category: General Musings

“…inflamed disc, it could make it worse if he has surgery, so he’s hoping the injections take…”

I’m coming to the realization that I have little patience for small talk.

“…feeling better, but have a lot to catch up on. And this project, with the multiple ICs involved, will be on my plate for at least the next three months…”

For a project manager, he’s a nice guy. I have to nudge him to stay on the right course sometimes, but he gets the job done.

But he sure likes to talk.

“…catalog, requested a rush-job. The car has a hundred and seventy thousand miles on it but its a Mazda from the eighties, was made to be turbo-charged…”

Why won’t he shut up? I tried turning away to check some e-mails, but he just kept talking to my back. I’ve got eight hours of work left to do and three hours to get it done in.

“…break him in easy, give him a project with the on-campus team that is just starting off so he can get in at ground level…”

I like people. Really. And I don’t condone murder on general principle. But if I shot him, would it really be such a crime?

I’m going to be one cranky old man when the time comes.

Tomorrow, I jump out of an airplane.

I’m of mixed feelings about this. On one hand, I know it will be exhilarating – those minutes of freefall are the closest I will ever come to knowing what flying feels like.

On the other hand, I’ve never jumped out of an airplane before. And I know, that while at this moment the idea of it doesn’t scare me, not even a little, when I’m standing in the airplane, ready to jump, I’ll feel that sliver of fear. I’ll hesitate.

Fear is the surface of instinct; tasting it is to savor our sense of self-preservation. A reminder that underneath it all, we all have a strong drive to live.

—

Postnote, 11/12/06: I did, indeed, jump out of an airplane; in all truth, I can say now that the idea of it was more intoxicating than the experience itself. For me, there was no adrenaline rush while free falling from twelve-thousand feet. There was no fear at the plane’s doorway.

But there were other unexpectedly remarkable moments that made it worth the trip: the opening of the plane door as we approached jumping altitude – looking out at the ground below and knowing I’d be heading downward the more direct route; tugging hard on the control lines to force the descent into a brief, but pulse-poundingly fast, downward spiral; viewing the world from a perspective that cannot be described without experiencing it yourself.

I write with purpose.

I write with terror in my veins and hunger in my gut.

I write with desperation. I write with need.

I write with candlelight and razors.

I write with music, but dream of silence.

I write to understand.

I write alone.

I write to not be alone.

I write to make it hurt more, but matter less.

I write for acceptance.

I write to believe. I write to define.

I write best when not thinking.

I write to read my own words.

I write for proof.

I write selfishly. I write to myself (but I write for others).

I write to be immortal.

I write to be sane.

Today’s installment finds our hero waxing philosophical. Will he manage to unravel the secrets of the universe? Will he experience a spiritual reawakening? Will he discover some fundamental stepping stone on the way to true enlightenment? Will he save Penelope before she is run over by the locomotive, sending the dastardly villain’s plan awry?

Sometimes I feel like I am living my life on the edge of some dangerous, elusive, truth. Except it’s not truly elusive. It’s simply forgettable.

—

We are not so different, you and I.

I think of those who, rather than face the decrepitude of reality, find solace in madness. And I understand its seductive pull.

I think of those who find hope and determination when confronted with illness and mortality. And I believe it possible I could do the same.

I think of how close we all are, all of us pages in the same book. The language and stories differ, but we share a common theme.

I think of how I want to find a way out of the box, as if the limits of my mind are contained in the frailty of the human animal. As if mental ascension was possible.

I think we all want to be unique but find comfort in how much we have in common.

I think the human condition is a shared experience, whether we want it to be or not.

“I don’t plan to have children.” I said; the things we speak of when making small talk with coworkers, small candy-sized pieces of daily life, religion, and politics we share to fill the void.

He chuckled and glanced away from the road for a moment, “Neither did I.”

“It’s not that I haven’t thought about it. Children are our immorality. But, for me…” For me, I didn’t see myself being in a situation where child raising was an option.

He nodded, “You know what it is for me? Fatherhood?” He left enough space for me to speak, but it was an artificial pause, a politeness, “When I’m out driving, I’m not anyone. When I’m walking the neighborhood, I’m just a guy, no one of any real significance. When I’m at work, I’m not the boss. Even my boss isn’t the boss. We all report to someone. I pay my taxes, but I don’t really get to decide where all that money goes.”

“But when I get home every night and my two kids see me, their faces light up. I’m it. I’m the man. I’m everything to these two kids. They run up to me and wrap their arms around my legs, look up at me, and there is nothing but trust and love in their eyes.” He made the turn into the gate that led to work. “I know it won’t last forever. They’ll hit fourteen or fifteen and I’ll be the bad guy for a while, but until then…” He parked and turned to me. “Until then I know there is one place where I am someone, no matter what else is going on in my life.”

Sometimes, I think we are all of us little men wearing very large boots.

I wish I could dance.

I will let you in on one my guilty pleasures. “So You Think You Can Dance”*. I didn’t think this would be a show I would enjoy, but between watching the pasa doble and the zombie-inspired dance that opened a recent episode* – well, I have become a fan. But this isn’t about a reality television show. It is about dancing itself.

Dancing can be highly ritualized. It can be free-flowing and organic. But no matter the form, the expression is the same – sex and violence, love and hate, separation and discovery; the fall and the redemption.

We respond to dancing the way we respond to music. Where a good book may leave a lasting impression, dancing gets under the skin the moment you are part of it.

Watching someone dancing makes me want to get dirty. Dancing is the way sex is meant to be.

—

* To see this, go to www.waderobson.com, click on ‘so you think you can dance’ at the top, and then select ‘ramalama’.

Actions derive from thoughts.
Thoughts derive from place.
Place derives from movement.
Movement derives from action.

The worst kind of traffic isn’t Stop and Go. It’s stop!…go, go, go… stop!…go, go, go… stop!

It’s like playing Red Light, Green Light on the freeway. Not nearly as much fun as it was in my backyard as a kid.

—

What if true joy is only born in experiencing new things? What if our sense of wonder and our ability to feel true happiness are tied inexonerably together?

It would do a lot to explain why the older we are, the more experienced we become, the more difficult it is to hold onto those moments of joy. Those who manage to maintain their connection to their sense of innocence and wonder are the happiest amongst us.

The rest of us must work harder to find those moments. Or perhaps that is the wrong approach; it isn’t that we need to work harder in general – that might actually have the opposite affect, pushing happiness away rather than bringing it closer. We just have to be more vigilant. We have to be aware.

Life is in the experiencing.

—

Off to the lake house, will be gone until next Sunday.

Behave yourselves while I’m gone; don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.