Love The Way You Walk Away
There's something about the cool, calming tones of fall that make me a little more reflective and reflexive all at once. The days don't seem as intense. People just sort of start to wilt and wither into their sweaters, heavier threads, beds, comforters and extra hot cups of caffeinated bevvy's. Friends don't try as much to get together - everyone just sort of soaks in the dying rays and then departs for their respective lodges. Quilts are knitted. Darker beers are drank. Meats are smoked and dried. Leaves become colour-molten. Blitzen Trapper is played at medium volume, and the sunsets get a little more grapefruity with every afternoon commute.
I've been seeing friends fade further away. Close ones. Not so close ones. The hiders are hiding. And I'm still traveling the same paths I always wander down. Making mistakes. Skinning my knees. Being the sometimes kind, sometimes dickish me.
In the midst of all of that imagery barrage, I've been working. Clocking hours. Writing songs. But in a way, I've been in a weird semi-autopilot mode. And honestly, that may not be a bad thing. I can remember the days where everything was all too ultravivid all the time, and that can be an unbearable hotbed of intensity. It's great, and it's poignant when you sail through the storm, but the storm itself can suck the wind out of your soul. I haven't been thinking all that much about the big picture, or what 'the big picture' even means. I've just been pushing on. Through change. Through new discoveries. Through intimacy. Through connection. Through pay checks. Through pint glasses. Through windshields. Through meals. Through sleeps. Through rearviews. Through guitar strings. Somehow, the summer is gone and September is soon to quickly follow at the smoke of August's heels.
I'm going through something. That's for sure. I'm not even sure what it is, or exactly what it looks like, but it's certainly centred towards pushing on. Making projects happen. Punching clocks. Trying to make bank. For what, I'm not exactly sure, but just trying to make hay. Storing up for winter. Something like that. And yeah - trying to make peace.
And I really haven't been feeling like writing. For anything or anyone - and that includes myself. Even before writing something today, I did a million things before I finally sat down and started letting the words out. They've been caged animals inside me, and I'm not exactly sure what they will look like, or what trails they scamper down in the forest of my mind. I guess I stopped the one-blog-a-day campaign back while I was on tour across Canada, and since then, I haven't really had a moment to think. But I suppose that there have been a few moments of clarity - while stirring a massive truck filled with poplar, cedar and pine shavings, like a massive cauldron of hamster beds, I've been thinking about friends and family who are no longer with us - the departed. The ones that went with age. With grace. And the ones that went too young and too soon and with a lot of unanswered questions. And I think briefly about what that means. And how maybe - just maybe, I can glean a sliver-frag of an important part of being human.
And maybe it's about keeping the peace...and saying the things you need to say before your ship sails away.
Because they are gone. No longer here. They can say nothing. And we can say nothing to them. And we are here - pushing on. Trying to find the keys to the doorways in our minds. Struggling. Persevering. Searching. We want to say the things that never got said, and swearand the words shoot into the air like toy cap guns. A quick, short bang that does nothing. Momentarily sounded off, and then smoked out in the atmosphere.
As sad and as hard as it is to accept, we have no control over the choices of others. People are fucked, and they constantly fuck up and fuck over the lives of our friends, loved ones - and us. The most we can do is make peace with what we have in this very fleeting moment, and be okay with that. Every minute of every day, we are learning to let go - even though we don't realize that it's happening. I've been wronged - oh, have I ever. And I have also been the wronger. Nothing is perfect and everything is fragmented. And gawdam - some of these grudges and monuments of rage we hold, and the problems that we see as massive are so fucking small in the grand scheme. What's the point? Some bully hit you? Some parent left? Some past moments of passion? What are we holding on to? And by no means am I saying 'GET OVER IT NOW!' because that would be inanely stupid. Movements and overtures take time. But maybe a new step or a new thought is the first building block towards something better. Something peaceful. If we let the anger take us, the puss-filled, insecticide spewing anger wins. Every time. But if we let the cool, tugging sea of forgiveness wash over us and pull us into the tide of acceptance, forgiveness wins - and maybe kindness can reign.
And here, on this fall Monday afternoon, I stare into the sky and wonder if my words even mean anything. But I'm thankful I pushed myself to write. Maybe I'm talking to no one, or mostly just myself. Whatever the case, I am trying. I'm pushing. Pushing for peace. And forgiveness. And love. And self-acceptance. And if nothing else, I hope that's something I can leave in the vapour-trail of the mustard burp of my existence.
