Sometimes I just post a smattering of thoughts. This is such a time.
- Time evaporates. Make use of what you have.
- It’s a big world out there. Get lost in it sometimes.
- When I grow up, I want to be carefree. And aware. Always.
- Alone is good, but so are people. When meeting them, it’s easier to find flaws than positives, but more rewarding to make the effort for the latter.
- Nothing pains me more than confessing I’ve not yet gotten around to an experience. So it’s time to get around to getting around to it.
Every night I’ve been walking down to the cliff to look at the light changing on the mountains for a few minutes, smoke something, and ponder life.
It’s easy to forget how big and unforgiving nature is, and when I do, I think myself larger and more significant than I really am, and then my problems magnify in their “importance”.
To be reminded of my smallness and my not-even-a-cog-in-the-wheelness is what happens when I get my face too close to a mountain or a lot of rural dirt in my bike chain. I need that smallness reality check to confront the evil bigness of life’s challenges.
I require disconnection from the scattered pace of the real world sometimes; I’m reminded here how seldom I’ve done that in the last couple of years. I’ve let the concrete jungle make me its bitch. I’ve lost my soul a little as a result.
I’ve been the kind of person who’s not satisfied just getting out in nature, I have to pull an Ansel Adams and stop to watch how light moves across a landscape. There’s something mystical yet existential in watching light move. When shadows are cast from clouds in transit, or the line of pink from a sunset drops lower and lower on the horizon, it’s really hard to deny that time’s always moving and our existence doesn’t even leave a speck on the cosmic passage. The next thought should naturally be that our lives are similarly expansive landscapes, and the problems of today will be the forgottens of tomorrow. Why fret it now?
Of course, my philosophical take on all this is lovely but naive. Harder done than said.
When I’m on my game, there’s no one faster or wittier at the wisecracks, even in person. Zing-zing-zing. Trouble is, “on my game” is synonymous with “blue moon” and “hard to come by.”
I want to find that place from which my creativity comes. I want that electrical current of inspiration to go zapping through me more often. I love that hyper-alive feeling that comes from slaying with chuckles. And the writing thing could use a little boost, let’s face it.
I still don’t believe the hype, but this is the only hype I want to believe. Wish I did.
My grandmother, who died at 88 years old, apparently ate a McDonald’s hot fudge sundae every night. My aunt would deliver it. She lived till 88! Had a piece of chicken, took a nap, never woke up, how my aunt says she hopes she goes. Ha. Well, so do I, if I can reach 88 in reasonable health like Grandma. Damn! And a sundae every night!
*Note: The photo’s shot by me, frm Mission Hill Winery, and is not, sadly, the cliff I walk to. But, boy, is it nice. This is in Kelowna, BC, Canada’s Wine Country, with dozens of wineries that would probably blow your mind. I may review one here shortly when I enjoy my expensive bottle of small-batch Black Cloud Wine this weekend.