I was re-taught a very important lesson this past weekend:
"I hope you know that in the future - when it comes between the new sofa and a trip around the world, you choose the trip around the world."A very quaint, soft spoken old woman was looking for a safari hat for her adventure. At first, I assumed it was just some lame tourist trap of a safari that she doesn't
really care about and just wants to make the claim that she's seen some animals in the wild. I helped her find a hat that fit just right and was the right color. I asked her where she was traveling to for the safari, and I was surprised when I got the response back, "Well, my husband and I are going to Botswana." This intrigued me for obvious reasons, and I pushed it a little further to fill my inkling of desire to know more deeply about the travels of this woman's life. She began to tell me these grandiose stories of traveling the globe, and seeing far off cultures, of living in Japan, of walking small paths and side streets in Cambodia, of seeing South America. It takes most people their entire lives to fill up one passport, however - this woman was on her third after this trip. After crossing from country to country on the other side of the water, she was able to fill up pages upon pages of lasting stamped memories from her adventures. She remarked, "I am so fortunate enough now to travel in leisure as I have never had the opportunity when I was younger. I traveled the cheapest way possible, and I don't think in my age that my body could hold up to that anymore!"
We stood in a corner in my department for 15 minutes, while her husband unknowingly was waiting in their car in the parking lot. I lived off of these woman's words, telling me about her travels and I lived vicariously through someone's life who had seen much of what I can only dream of at night. She left me soon after our talk, in need to aid to her starving husband. But not only with that lesson, "Well, [looks at my name tag].. Chris, I hope I have inspired you. Remember that you will get there. It's only a matter of time." I told her to come back after her trip and let me know how it was. She told me she would specifically ask for me.
It's really important to me to examine your life and the places you've been. I think this time of year, more than anything, creates a longing for more and as the season grows on into winter and the snow starts falling, I will keep thinking of the places that I have been and the places that I still wish to go.
My parents adopted a new dog this weekend. I think my father started to get lonely without little paws walking around the house, clicking and clacking on the wood floors. It was time for my dad to get a new dog, but I felt really uneasy when I put it in context of what it really is. I didn't feel comfortable yet to replace the idea of Xena with a new dog yet. I remember I was about to leave for my trip, and I was sitting on a stool in my kitchen. Xena was sitting on the ground like she always did, her little tail wagging and her cute, enormous puppy eyes looking up at me 'cause she knew I had to go. I carried the pack of water out to my car and came back inside to say goodbye. She jumped up into my chest when I knelt down. When I came back from my trip, after things started getting really awful, I felt much closer to her than any other person in my life. I counted on Xena to be there, laying in my bed after a shitty day at work or another day of being made promises I knew were going to be broken by someone who I loved. Her death came at the most inopportune time, and since then, I have never dealt with it like I should have. I miss her. I just don't think I'm ready to move on yet. She was my best friend when I felt I had nothing else.
In my literature class, we had a guest speaker come in who's book of poetry we read and there were many intriguing stories that he had written about in his prose. As an introduction to preface his life, he informed us all that he had traveled 9,000 miles, hitchhiking the United States in the 80's. Sure, there were people that could have killed him but they were all really nice, and he is quite sure that there are still those nice people today. The collection of poems were about the meaning of life, dreaming, death, how things change - general themes. One of my favorites was called, "The Tail".
After a rich night of dreams
I woke up this morning with a long ponytail.
This is the way it was years ago, yet how could this be?
I stood and peered into the mirror. It was no lie.
Overnight it had returned, neatly braided
and cinched with bright elastics.
green, blue, red.
My wife was delighted and wanted to
unbraid it and make love immediately.
I thought she might have sewn it on
in the night, but her quick tug told me
it had grown from the scalp.
I had been reading about Indians
for the past few weeks, and I knew
the power of language. Lame Deer's words
read carefully enough,
combined with a certain dream,
might produce a little hair.
But this familiar appendage seemed returned,
filaments conducting some message.
I examined the tail of brown and gray
strands. Somewhere, I realize, they've elected
more Republicans. In a small town, someone
just told a musician he needs to get a real job.
Or a woman mouthed off and the billy club came down
again. Across town, perhaps, a CEO dipped his foot
in the pool to see if the temp was just right
In a jungle or a desert somewhere,
another city kid just crossed himself and kissed his dog tags.
In a minute or two, each strand had a voice,
each strand had weight, and the community of hair
became a rope that pulled me into their choir.
[And I still sing in that choir..]
After class, he signed the front page of my copy of his book. "Dear Chris - From one radical to another.." was enough.
Sometimes, we are so lucky to be a part of a really great moment in time and get the chance to have a breeze of fresh air linger through our lungs and up through our mouths for minutes at a time. If we have the ability to hold on to those moments and truly take them for what they are, there is no way our hearts can be diminished or taken for less than they are. It's a great mystery, living and learning and moving on and every complexity of human life. You look at everyone around you individually and everyone has their own story of their lives and where they are and what they hope to accomplish and the things that are dragging them down or weighing their hearts to the pit of their stomach. I have them, too - deep down in the confides of my soul, there are secrets that I will never tell and stories that I want to speak and people that should hear the words that circle themselves inside my head. It's an intricate web and if you take yourself away from it for a few minutes in your life, it's really a great feeling.
My posts came in great bursts, maybe I will work on trying to write more frequently so these posts are easier to read. I want to try to write more honest, more open as well. Help me with this.
