well, we have been slugging away at this blog for sometime, and I am happy with what we have achieved, having gone back and read some of my favourite writings from two of my best friends it makes me feel proud, that i am a part of this slight bit of creativity. We are going to make a little change, in order to keep our blog more active and to share more of what we are seeing, feeling, thinking, I will be taking on more regular blog posts, perhaps less in depth or detail, but good posts nonetheless. Chad and Greg will continue to fill out the blog with their great passion, amazing insights, challenges and more in the hopes to allow us to share more and have this project grow!
"but i've grown to see the diamond thrown in just for me"
It's hard to think about, its hard to do. I don't spend a lot of time thinking about the man I have become. I spend most of my time thinking about the man I want to be. This may be a mistake, but as we all know there is no manual for life so we are all just making it up with some type of bullshit confidence so that we can at least convince ourselves, if no one else. It is hard to always see the things the way they deserve to be seen, its hard to think, I guess what I am getting at is I am more and more seeing the value of thoughtful living. Its one thing to want for things to have gone differently or ride out those highs or good rolls, but it is another to live up to the person you know you are and it not just be fueled by passionate decisions. We are only so capable, the rest we have to build and grow and fail and start back up again, to then expand that capability. Potential is probably the most wasted thing, yet it will always be there, and it always should.
I was somewhere in Michigan when she
told me she'd found the perfect place. She was in love with this
apartment. I wouldn't be home for a few days but I told her I trusted
her opinion and that she should submit the application. I got a
chance to stop by and check it out when I got back in town and I
agreed; this could definitely be our home. I had to head back out on
the road two days later. I remember getting into town in the evening
and heading over there. Walking in to half painted walls, no
furniture, the sound of the Velvet Underground, and the girl that
made it all happen, hard at work. We walked around and laughed at
the crooked doorways and uneven floors. It was exciting. It was a
beginning. It all felt right.
For over two years, I remained on the
road. I lived for the brief moments that I got to spend in this home
of ours. When my feet would hit the steps of that wooden fire escape
all of the tension and loneliness and fear would disappear. A safe
zone in a game of tag where my job was it. And though my time
at home was always far too brief, the rooms quickly filled with
memories. We made the space our own and we learned how to live
together and understand each other. To keep loving and supporting
each other through aggravation and fights and constant distance; the
great distance I always seemed to find myself from my home and the
girl I love.
Then one day, last fall, something
terrifying happened. I was far from home, as usual, and headed
further and I wouldn't be home for about another week. It was a terrible accident. Three semis. There was a
massive explosion. A fireball that shot into the sky like something
from a movie. The sky filled with black smoke for miles. People died.
People that I had made eye contact with just seconds earlier and even
waved at, and had I not been paying attention and reacted when I did,
I might have too. I decided then that I was finished with this life
on the road. I didn't want to be so far from the people I love.
Whenever I got back from this trip, that would be the end of it. A
couple nights later I found myself in New Jersey, staring across the
Hudson River at the New York skyline. I was a raw nerve. The enormity
of the world seemed to be mocking me in my efforts for control and
understanding, and even survival. I knew that hundreds of miles away
there was a small space where I was safe from all of this weight and
my insignificance had its place.
And so, for the past nine months, I
have gotten to truly live in this apartment. To curl up next to Reesa
in our bed every night and kiss her goodnight. To settle in and not
have to put so much pressure on this home to make my brief windows of
time off of the road feel sufficiently lifelike. It has been
wonderful. Delightfully mundane at times. But now, we're moving on
from this place. It will be hard to leave this apartment. These
crooked doors and uneven floors. It's sad but exciting. It's a matter
of convenience and of experience. New rooms to fill with new
memories, and now even a yard and a basement. And as long as that
girl is there with me, anywhere we might find ourselves will feel
like home.
Another story:
A couple weeks ago a truck driver from
Fargo invited me into his truck to show me the elaborate recording
setup he had put together in his sleeper. It was impressive. An
8-track recorder, a loop pedal, a processor, a guitar and a bass. His
name was Dock (that's how he spelled it) and he was in his late
fifties. He explained that he played jazz. Didn't really like rock
and hated country. He asked me if I wanted to hear some stuff he had
recorded. I said sure and he put on a song that I can't remember the name
of. The sound quality was surprisingly good. It was smooth jazz. He
explained that it was just a backing track, and then proceeded to sing
along loudly, directly at me. It was immediately apparent that his
lyrics were Christian themed. He confirmed this after the song ended by
explaining that ever since being stationed in Germany while in the navy
years ago he has been a believer of the bible, word for word. I was
prepared for the pitch that I assumed was soon to come, but after a
bit more explanation of his beliefs he returned to talking about
chord progressions and equipment he'd like to get. He said he wished
he could be home more to spend more time working on his music, and
then he played me a song called, “The Man With a Tattoo on His
Soul”, explaining that he was talking about the 666. He wrote down
his name, address and phone number and told me that if I was ever in
town and wanted to jam to give him a call. I told him I probably
didn't have the chops to keep up, but he said it didn't matter. The
experience was certainly awkward and surreal and funny, but his
sincerity and vulnerability and passion was also very moving and a nice surprise on a Monday afternoon.
