I ran through a stop sign today. Went right through it without ever looking. That’s bad, Į know. That’s a really bad thing. I wish I had it to do over again, maybe I’d… No, I’m sure I would stop if I had it all to do over again. But, like everything else in life, there are no do-overs. You do it once, and it’s done. Whatever that may be.
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I flew out of Indianapolis International a year or so back, bound for San Francisco. I had a connecting flight down in Phoenix, and even though I usually tried to get the non-stop, Sky Harbor Airport is normally a quick turn-a-around. So, I didn’t see any problem with landing at San Francisco around 11:30 pm, catching a train uptown, and then making it up to my apartment.
My rule of thumb is that those in the know, even in this day and age of sweatpants and flip-flops, always dress up at least a little bit to take a plane. And so, I cruised up to Indy, and marched into the terminal wearing a nice sport coat, clean jeans, and some shiny black slip on dress shoes. For me, no big deal. That’s just the way I like to look when I fly… you know, like you belong to be there. Besides, I’m old enough to remember when flying was actually kind of a big deal, and most people back in the late 70s and well into the 80s would dress up a bit to fly.
Anyhow, I was feeling pretty good about myself that night, and just went in, hit the restroom, checked myself in the mirror, and then off to catch my flight. On my way to the TSA security lines, I’m looking around at all the other frequent fliers in their pajama pants, house slippers, and head phones.
“Pathetic,” I thought aloud, “They all look like they’re going to Walmart at midnight on a Saturday to get potato chips.”
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I insist on hanging out in bars. It will ultimately be to my detriment and part of me knows this. Still- at times, I can’t help myself.
I neither feel good or bad inside the all too comfortable confines of these establishments, I’m just “there”. I rarely go to any that are within my home zip code- preferring instead some kind of anonymity. I’m not sure that the effort pays any dividends for it is painfully clear to all within the place that, upon my arrival and then demeanor, a non-drinker; more specifically, a recovering alcoholic is within the midst of an otherwise good time. But, I can say that if I were to go to my former haunts, the chances of my actually starting to drink again, due to peer pressure and out and out memories, would be far too great. I can’t really have that, besides- to drink or start drinking again is not what I’m after. Actually, it’s the last thing that I’m after…
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I ran through a stop sign today. Went right through it without ever looking. That’s bad, Į know. That’s a really bad thing. I wish I had it to do over again, maybe I’d… No, I’m sure I would stop if I had it all to do over again. But, like everything else in life, there are no do-overs. You do it once, and it’s done. Whatever that may be.
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It’s all that divides me from the outside world, and vice versa. In the window of my office, built long before double pane and vacuumed sealed units filled with argon gas, the window is but ¼ inch thick, and in the grand scheme of things, that is a substantial barrier.
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Driving down the road the other day, I was struck by how wonderfully beautiful a day it was. A nice blue sky, done fluffy, white clouds. It’s at times like this that a guy thinks, wow, what did I do to deserve this? Cruising down the road, wind in my hair… Alright. So I look over to my radio, all good times like this need a soundtrack, and start dialing in the tunes. Now here’s the really good part, I’ve got one of those new Sirius satellite radios. Now– I’m sitting here thinking, “what would be something good to listen to”? Let’s make a short list; end of summer wide open highway, no place special to be, good lookin’ Senorita ridin’ next to me. Easy… Buffet.
Jimmy Buffet
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I awoke this morning to a sharp realization in which I compared my time in San Francisco this last year alongside the personal relationships in my life… of family, friends, and acquaintances. I mean, we’re all interconnected to some degree, and at different junctures, the severity and/or intimacy only depending on the particular person or relationship in question. If this weren’t the case, then how would we be related at all?
At any rate– I was struck by the recollection that even though I spent approximately 4 months in San Francisco, known by the locals as “the City”, I was dismayed for not having pursued the City’s identity sooner.
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The Pacific ~ Jim Steele
Viewed in that way, that picture- much like our lives- is now worth more than a million words, and an absolute meaning will never be achieved. Still, as a writer I try to put into words what others may hear, see, or feel. I attempt to convey emotions: Love, Hate, Bravery, Fear- Birth, Life, Death, and Dying.
It all goes together. We are all made up of millions of bits and pieces, put into words.
Listen as I tell our Story.