Home (is where I want to be)

This isn’t going where you might think.

It starts with a passion.

I can’t remember the last time I felt a passion. I’m tingling with it right now. I feel like I woke up one morning recently and remembered that I speak a different language. Not one that I learned over years of study, but one that I always knew. The language of my thoughts. The language I communicate through. Somehow I forgot, and everything was this secondary, translated form of communication. Nothing felt right the way I said it, or thought it, or felt it.

And then I remembered what it’s like to feel passion.

Do not assume this is anything uncharacteristic or romantic (which I acknowledge would be completely characteristic of me – I do fall in love frequently and easily in an objectifying way). My passion is a simple thing – a band. I recently came into possession of the entire catalog of a band that I had neglected to research and procure for years. I lack the words to properly describe it all without it sounding like anything other than an obsession. But I promise, its more than that. Its touching, and moving, and tear-inducing, and speaking to soul-parts. It’s such that I will talk about it endlessly if asked, but will never try to push it onto another person, for feel of taking their rejection of the music as a rejection of my person.

Its that kind of connection.

We all have those connections in life. Our things. Our people. Ourselves. That which, when stacked into a pile, starts to become a pile of things shaped exactly like us. All of those things that, on an infinitesimal level, are the very molecules of matter that makes us ourselves. Here’s another large heap!

I have to say that its been a very selfish year. I say that not in a self-demeaning way. I think, on some level, it’s what I needed to get to where I am right now. But it has been a year of me me me me me me me me me me me me.

That’s been changing.

It’s not my place to speak about the woes and troubles of others. But we’ve now reached an age in our lives when trouble doesn’t come as frequently, but it comes more profoundly. In the last two weeks, several friends have had their lives affected in unspeakable ways. The drama of our youth was fickle and overblown and in some ways contrived. The troubles of adulthood strike hard and deep. With just enough years under our belts, the things that can hurt us now hurt not only our status quo, but reach back to our pasts to rip away something we believed to be forever. Friends, loved ones, memories.

I am not the only one who has felt pain. I have spent too long in that place. As life continues, life continues to hurt sometimes. I have to leave this place to make room for others who are in need, who hurt. I’ve taken this spotlight for too long. And I don’t need it anymore.

I don’t mean to find solace in that. I am not self-assured by the hurting of other people. More so, it just served as a check on my status quo. Its no longer me who is the one most in need. It’s no longer me who hurts. It’s time to be there for someone else, instead of constantly asking for someone to be there for me. It’s time to let my friends be there for someone else.

This is a good thing. This is the realization of strength, and progress.

This is the way life goes now:

I woke up with a minor hangover. Its unlikely it was the beers. Its likely it was the bourbons. I had just enough time to shower, throw on some clothes and rush to McDonald’s before breakfast ended, then jump on the Metro to head to Courthouse. For the first time ever, I carried coffee with me on the Metro, and kept looking over my shoulder for fear that the “Food and Drink Metro Cops” would find me and ticket me for my indiscretion. Thankfully, I made it.

The car battery was dead. To start and run the vehicle, Micah kept the battery from his boat plugged in. We couldn’t stop the car at Rudey’s house, and I will tell the story as if we had to keep coasting up and down Rudey’s street while he ran alongside the car, tossing in the car seat and buckling Mr. Muscles in while we coasted up and down again. Then we headed to Rudey’s parent’s house to board the boat.

We boated towards Tim’s Rivershore for lunch. I say “towards” because we got almost there, stopped to gas up at the bikini gas station (not a joke), and then the sky turned black. The Nothing was closer than I had ever seen it. Wisely, we high-tailed it back to the Elder Rudey’s where we decided on a more casual lunch of Gin & Tonics, Wine, Beer and food from the earth. Literally. The food was pulled from the garden, cleaned, cooked, and served.

Except the salmon and steak. That was pulled from the freezer.

Anyway, what follows are some pictures from this lunch.

The thing I wanted to say, though, was this: today reminded me of how lucky I am to be alive, and to have the life I have. Today was an experience that grew out of mishaps and complications. And it, for whatever reason, was my favorite day I can remember for years. At one point, riding the chop and admiring the mansions on the banks of the river, I just smiled and turned to Micah and said, with as much genuine affection and love as I have have ever felt – “Life is effing good, man. Life is effing good.”

It is. And I am so sorry that I forgot that for so long. I hope I never end up in that dark place again, so full of hate and loathing and apathy for myself and my existence.

Life truly is wonderful, and I am finding out what Home really is.

You can still see the dirt on the veggies from the GD ground they were just pulled from.

Phallic Squash!

G&Ts in progress.

Trub limes.

Da's potato boil.

The lunch spread. The yellow tomatoes were unbelievable.

The aftermath. Wine, beer, coffee, cordials, chocolate cookies, stomachache.

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