Sunday, November 20, 2011

One night in November

So anyone who knows me, knows that I can't really hold my liquor anymore. At 28, I just decided that the drinking life wasn't for me anymore. However, Sunday night (I am still on vacation folks) we went out for dinner and I drank a little more than usual. For some reason, I got to thinking about the pull between a younger carefree life and the responsibility that comes with growing up. This is what came out of my head.....

I've been drinking. There is no question about it. But for some reason tonight, it hit  me.  Once upon a time, I lived in a tree house. I smelled the fresh air, rode on tops of buses with indians, and then cowbowys. I smelled the sweet scent of freedom upon the lips of young babes and old wise men. I turned the corner to see my destiny coming toward me, one million miles per hour.

And then reality, maturity hit. Now, I go to a desk 364 days per year. I punch numbers that nobody seems to care about. I think about buying a house in the suburbs, but that would seem to typical. So I think about buying a house in the city. Is that still too typical?

Technology comes at us too fast. It drowns us... can we ever keep up? My creativity was locked in a basement and now it's pounding to get out. Petaluma, Petaluma you are calling me? Are you my destiny? My truth? My maybe...... someday?

All I have is this moment, this little sumpin' sumpin' pulsing thorough my veins. With cold biting air, a moment of space, a glimpse at a possible future and a love sitting miles away.

It is that yearning, that calling that lives in the back of our hearts, the back of our minds. You push it down but it is calling you. Come out, come out of that desk job come, out of that apartment, come out of that life that doesn't let you live. We all have it in us, but we choose to do the laundry instead.

Is it gone?  Is that impluse, that fresh air, that indian and that cowboy gone? Or are they there, waiting to wake up. Or do I just hold on to a childish dream. Maybe the heart felt joy is for the young but I can't believe that to be true. Can you?

Photo of me in my tree house days. 

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