Better As A Passenger
Whenever I try too hard to control or push or augment, everything comes out wrong. The colours run and bleed off the page. I finally have some moments to think and pull together the quilt of the past few months.
I think my desire to tour across Canada again came from an inborn desire to keep pushing. Keep moving. Keep creating. Keep gettin' er done. Keep making hay while the sun shines. But sometimes, we need to take inventory of all our efforts and see what barns they've been stored inside.
Today, I find myself in a place where most writers would curse, but where I somehow find peace - a mall food court. Bags of plastic materialism, echoing baby cries and fake ceramic backsplash create a buffer between myself and the world. I'm finally having a moment to sit and think and take an inward gaze. A moment I haven't allowed myself for a while.
I think at times, I allow myself to get too busy with projects to really take stock in all that surrounds me. I get away from the thankfulness and I teeter on the side of desire and productivity, and I feel like I always need to be doing more. I can get irritable easily during these times, and I probably don't explain myself that well to others. I just expect people to blindly understand. I think about homeless folks, who either cross my path or just in my subconscious, and I wish I would push myself to do more to help. But I roll up the car window and pass by and explain away the reasons why I don't. I've always had an inkling towards social justice and getting more active in that regard, but I come home from work and would rather drink a beer and watch something light and amusing on YouTube and 'take the edge off'.
Regardless - we are all hypocrites in one way or another. I'm reminded of Louis CK. - And I realize that even by writing the above paragraph, it makes me even appear more fake-saintly than most - not because
I actually did anything - but just for even thinking about helping people. Just for having the thought. Man. I can be a real dick!
I'm looking forward to the fall. I think as we get older, the summer is a time of frustration and unfulfilled dreams because we are reminded that we are not young anymore. The days of youth are a pathway that disappears behind us as we walk further down the winding forest trail of existence.
I'm looking forward to letting friendships and family relations breathe and twist and grow like the elm leaves in the deep woods of autumn.
I'm looking forward to being more active - both physically and communally and creatively. I'm looking forward to long walks in the damp leaves with a new, smiling companion.
I'm looking forward to an upcoming festival that has become one of those strange distant families - it's a collective of folks who I would have never seen myself get tied to, but somehow, and over many years, I am a small part of that colourful patchwork fabric.
I'm looking forward to getting closer to a another family of mine that has become very prominent in my life. The Kemptville Krew. They have all added much spice to an otherwise bland existence, and I'm thankful for each of them in their unique artistry and kind welcoming hearts.
I'm looking forward to a new and unwritten chapter in the story of me, and for another spin around the sun.
Thanks for being along for the ride. I hope I can be there with you in your story too.
