Into the Woods

The heater/air-conditioner—whatever the frack it's called... ah, a McQuay Seasonmaker. How 70s of it. It makes a funny noise. It... putters. No, it chatters. Like cold teeth in December, it's always chattering. Behind me it resides, just under the old windows of the old mansion that is now my office building. Yes, I work in a mansion, though really, the novelty wears thin after the first month.

So here I sit at work on one of those random holidays that few get to observe. It's Patriots Day in some states and Emancipation Day in Washington, D.C., if no one told you. That's why US taxes aren't due until 11:59 p.m. TOMORROW, April 17th. The IRS had a three day weekend while the rest of the country helped raise the stock in Tums, Rolaids, Malox, and Pepto... last minute filers, all putting off to the last minute what they've had months to do.

Sounds familiar.

It's still chattering. Oddly enough, it'll stop if I move towards it. Sometimes all I need do is look in its direction. Like a pet crying out for love and affection, as soon as it has my eye, the damn Seasonmaker goes quiet and zen-like. And just sits there. So I turn back to my desk, to my computer and the work piling up, and... yep... chatter.

Haven't blogged in ages. And I was just getting back into the swing of regular blogging as March limped out like a wounded lion (trust me, it definitely wasn't lamb-like, but that wasn't any lion worth writing home about). Teasing Mother Nature, by the by, is not something I would normally advocate. I feel though in this instance that I taunt the month of March... so I guess I will watch my back come Match 2008, when the offended month seeks its bloody revenge.

Back on track—so not with the blogging much these days. First, let's all bring ourselves to the same page. In the time I've been away from Thwarting Complacency I've celebrated a birthday. Then celebrated the birthday of the woman I love. There was Easter. Some writing. Some rehearsals. Lots of work at the day job (it's our busy season—if communications people have busy seasons). And probably lots of other random and not-so-random events transpired in the past—wow, has it really been two and half weeks since my last post? That was rhetorical.

I will take a moment here to offer up some thanks to a certain group of people who recently gave me a wonderful gift. I wish I had a picture of it to show you all. In simple terms it is a picture surrounded by the mission patches of all the Apollo space flights that flew for NASA, and one patch from a mission which soared only in a tiny theater back in March. In harder-to-put-into-words speak, it was... frackin' awesome. Very moving. And it was immediately placed into the category of things that I will treasure. That I'll hang above mantels or in offices for decades to come. I guess only two words could accurately convey my thanks to these friends of mine: FIRE UP!

And yet for all the good times I've experienced these past couple of weeks, there still sits with me a vague melancholy—a veil of apathy that covers my spirit and dampens the passion within. And why? Maybe it's because right now I'd rather be writing. Like Keaton, I too wish to find a place to relax and write. Maybe not the beach like him; though the ocean is usually enough to refuel me. But maybe this time, maybe the desert. The Grand Canyon would truly be an awesome sight. Or Paris on a foggy afternoon. Or a field in Ireland, just after a rain. How about a wheat field in Arles. Or better, a forest of kings called Hyperion, Helios, and Icarus. Anywhere but here. At work. The day job. The mind wanders today, flirting with the edge of the universe even though its presence is required at a 10:30 a.m. meeting with the boss to discuss priorities. Schedules. Tasks.

Such a harsh word: task. Simple yet equally fierce—we do them everyday... usually for others. It's one thing to say "I have to do this thing," but to say "I've been tasked with..." sounds so much more... grand. It's also a humbling word. Sometimes you're tasked because someone believes in you. It's not meant to be a burden, but a challenge. An opportunity. Still—it evokes thoughts of rough times, hardship... and I suppose other redundancies (I'm big into those these days).

Not sure where I'm going with this. I guess I'm trying to speak of the things I want to do verses the things I have to do. And also... that sometimes the things I want to do require a little hardship. A little work. Some compromise. Some love. Some wisdom. Some patience.

Keaton recently posted about reconciling the man he is and the man he seeks to become. And I get that. Because we're all kind of right there, aren't we? A generation of dreamers who looked around and found themselves grown up. Comes as quite a shock when you realize it. Though you could ask any one of us dreamers and we'll laugh when you call us grown-ups. I don't feel grown-up. Feels like I'm playing the part well (I like to think well), but I'm not quite there. So when will I be? There? Grown-up? When I'm a professional writer? When I own a house? Have a family?

Here's a thought... maybe the man I want to be... maybe I'm already him. I say it too. "The guy I was". I say that when I speak of the eighteen-year-old me who went off to college all those years ago. It's a phrase I'll use even when I'm referring to myself just four years ago when I returned home after a longer than planned absence. Maybe I'm grown-up... I'm that guy... maybe the man I'll see in the mirror seven years from now is the same guy who was shaving dangerously just after eight in the morning today as he was more than late for his day job.

I'm not really bummed or anything—not anymore than any other bloke sitting at his boring office desk, gazing out at the sun-kissed blue sky which makes him think of ways to extend his lunch break without penalty.

And I'll get to those places. Those havens where I will stop and take stock. Take a breath. Take a moment. Where I will refuel. But for now, I'll have to find other ways to invigorate myself. Like cooking a meal... driving with the windows rolled down... watching the world through the eyes of Apollo... reconnecting with friends... sharing stories...

...going downstairs to find a chocolate muffin even if it does mean I'll be a skosh late for that meeting.

Ah, the quiet rebellions. The small personal victories. They are like honey and I shall lap them up without hesitation. You must never hesitate. Life would be frightfully dull if you did.

I think I've been hesitating. Out of fear or confusion or ignorance, I don't know. But it stops. Now. No more waiting in the wings. It's time to live deliberately.