Dad

Maybe it was just because I wanted someone to tell me "No", and because I was tired of the empty admiration of the poeple I would share my plans with, people who are unschooled to the pecimism that wisdom brings. Leaniancy is all I was looking for, some wild card hope in his eye, some benefit of uncertainty that I would capture and run with, the same uncertainty that lets a kid dream bigger than his surroundings ever allowed him to. My Father sat quietly as I walked him through that same ambitious plan, the personal Rosetta Stone with which I will  illogically reference and rationalize every decision from this point on. He read the words as the came out of my mouth, tonguing and maneuvering around each one and reciting them to himself under his breath. His face was unreadable, until he broke in with a usual pained expression that has worn well into the lines in his face; a mix of bitter disappointment and pleading, sorrowful grace. As it began to unravel before him perhaps it was the formative years of his life that spoke to him and begrudgingly spelt out the subtle nods that urged me on. He wanted me to believe the things that I wanted were impossible, that surely I would find the woman that would tie me down and keep me from pursuing that road where illusive spirit lies . He's afraid of these mistakes because he once called them his own, the ones he's made his peace with. The mistakes I was describing that night will surely surpass his own wildest 22 year old imagination. By convenience or coincidence, by design or by fate, picture the words and believe in them; hope will not leave me blind, and ambition never loses it's attractiveness. Find the road.

Mom

Near closing time on a late March evening, in an almost empty restaurant, I sat there with mom, who by then was completely frustrated with my habit of quick flings with California. Believing she actually had a moment with me to herself may have seemed too surreal, not that she would ever let me think so.  

If only I could fit all the necessary catching up into the neat ten day intervals in which I found myself there anymore. I could finally feel justified in all the things I imagined coming back to, instead of seeing them as the guilty pleasures of an embellished past. California is the imaginary place that I idolize and adore. The home I gratuitously boast about being from, and am not deserving of.  

It's the way I think of home as the place that I'm always leaving behind and never coming back to. Anything more than a visit to this place would just bring out all the ugliness that exists in everywhere I stop and look for it. The way we embrace and depart so impersonally, perceiving life as effortless, soon it's all a memory. I see California as a case study of my life. Being able to both cherish and reject all the things I despise and urge to change about myself can be found here. The weaknesses and imperfections that validate the uniqueness and fragility in each one of us have a  way of floating to the surface, granting us humility. These are mine. There's no sphere of control over events that mold us into the people we are, I truly beleive that. The average moments are the ones not worth holding onto, not fantastic enough to stand out amongst an endless series.  Some though, resonate on a more personal level, stretching beyond practicality and usefulness, that night at the restaurant was one of those.  

We ought to so warmly regard and identify with our most desperate and intimidating moments, realizing the beauty and emotion they elicit. It's the way we pause and feel the time as it washes over us, never growing old and never wanting to. As if we could live everyday reciting the mantra of treating life as it comes; as single day. As if we could sit solemnly there at the table, and as if being the only two people in the place meant our food was practically waiting for us when we sat down. As if that prolonged grace period hadnt led me to tell her precisely how I was going to contribute to the world over the next ten to twelve years. And what if she didnt, for once, hold in her complete confidence the direction and conviction of my most vivid dreams. I love my life, not necessarily for what it is, but what it will be, and what I believe it can become... 

 

My, Community?

So ill tell you this much, this present moment, for me, is emblematic of my entire life at its present state. Its a friday night, Im sitting at my kitchen table eating Cheerios out of the box,  a twelve pack of rolling rock being picked out of the fridge one by one. My shoulder is contorted to keep my phone pressed against my ear as I converse with my girlfriend between sips, staring in front of an intimidating blank page and wondering what kind of sheltered life this really is.

Of course I wouldn't be blogging if I didn't absolutely need to. No, for this I would some substantial incentive other than say, personal pride. How about a career choice? Maybe singling out undergraduate journalism electives will one day pay off in the big picture, real world kind of way. Ah maybe, but where's the urgency? Right, a procrastinator, well we'll just say its for the sake of self exploration then. That way it's non-committal for me, but rather obligatory, and essential. 

First off let me just say I realize the irony. If i cant get this part right; recording and accurately portraying my own life, how am I supposed to be an authentic, ambitious, chip on the shoulder, naive, pain-in-the-ass journalist(some day). (?) 

Getting it right was never about reporting facts with me, it was about capturing images. Like the one with me in the kitchen, steadily nodding along with the conversation as if she were sitting on the other side of that table, as if she could see me sitting there in my drab, unwashed sweatpants, wasting my good sweater not for the occasion, but for the open window and its late evening cold. The reality is, she's in Mexico, and im in the opening moments of what will become a classic hangover. She took a job there last month and said she'd be back in a year, making me promise not to forget her. 

Having moved into her place and gotten a job near by I've now adopted the life I'm desperately hoping she'll come back to while trying not to forget the one I left behind. First of all, I love her. And its not just her, it's the idea behind her, I get it, this place and theses people. She lived with a lead singer of an indie rock band called Wheeler, an old buddy from high school. Now, of course, I live with him. We all had our connections, I lived with the other members of Wheeler for almost seven months before I started spending my nights with her. We met at one of their concerts at a bar on South Hennepin. She was beautiful and stood out amongst her friends, and even through the brightest shining lights of the stage. Fetching enough to pull eyes from all across the bar and tender hearted enough to let a gangly North Easterner buy her a drink. I didnt know if she knew these guys the same way I did, she probably knew em better, growing up with them in a small town, but I knew em different. I knew the bus eric took to get crosstown to the studio garage. I knew the alley where marc dumped our trash so as not to burden us all with the price of a weekly haul. And I knew the riff on third set that ryan, the drummer, wrote and donated to the band. These guys were my guys.

And when we did move out of that God-awful place in North East, (or Nordeast) It didnt take long to realize where I'd end up, or wanted to for that matter. "Her place" was just a way of saying how I felt about where things were going. We spent the entire summer exclusively dedicated to being with each other. We were both done with class for the summer, she a teacher and I a student. We had nothing to keep us from being the people we were in the city we were in. We shopped organic, we lived in the sun and supported independent action and expression. We went to parties, and watched old movies in the park. We saw art, we walked everywhere, and we watched our friends make music.

The thing is, she's gone now, and these are things Im not going to stop doing. I moved into her place in Uptown and I feel as though I'm just now becomming part of the community. Now I would explain to you what that means to me, but, I already have.