I hate that sentiment.
It’s true. It gives me more anxiety than actually trying to be everywhere at once. But it’s the way my brain now works. Some say it’s a decent brain. It’s stewed soup to me. Forty-six years of hard and soft landings, looking for recesses and wide-open spaces and being unable (unwilling?) to stop the curiosity. Lots of confusion, too. We don’t get far without confusion.
As I type, I feel like I did last night - nude, lakeside. Sort of hiding, sort of in the open. In the distance there is a couple pushing kayaks around. Can they see me? Who cares. And the parking lot by the dock, four overstuffed SUVs, Asian tourists holding mocha somethings and looking at me emerging from the wild, butt naked, dripping in cold waters from my favorite secret New England lake. It’s 47 degrees. Couldn’t tell you what the water temp was, but I could feel it’s chill in their stares.
Here I am. There it is. And here I go. I dove in that lake and inhaled so deep that all my cells understood focus. Going to try and do the same now.
What is this about? What passes as the simulation known as me. A self-observation research project. A one-man quandary. A solo magazine of the lumps and bumps I own. Fever dreams maybe printed one day. Maybe the drafts enter you. Warm like spring of course. Please subscribe if you find an affinity for any of the following that I’ve come to see matters most…
what is wild
Thank you Edward Abbey for being one of my favorite paradoxes and writer of stuff that sounds awfully true to me. Your imperfections are ugly, glistening, and real - just like that pickup.