11 days ... aka no words...

When I was 17, my dad asked me what I wanted to do. I said “I don’t know.”

When I went to college a year later, I had one visit with my advisor. He asked me, “so, what do you want to do?”

I said the same thing.

I drove 4,000 miles a few years later with my best friend. We talked, he drove. We listened to music. We crossed the border. We drank beer. We watched the movie “Speed”. He never asked me what I wanted to do.

I met a girl and fell in love. At that point, I thought I knew what I wanted to do. Be a journalist. Be a happy person. I’ve learned the two weren’t compatible with me. Not that they aren’t for others. Just not for me.

I broke her heart one day on the telephone. It was going to happen sooner or later anyway. But that day she forced the words out of me.

A couple days later, a girl asked me “what do you want to do?”

I said “fall in love again.”

I was drunk. I was sad. I didn’t know anything.

A few months later, I fell in love again. It was slow. It was hard. It ended up being perfect.

Six years later, on the phone, she broke my heart. She asked me a variant of the same question. I said “be with you.”

I sat and stared and drank and cried and drove for the next two years. Had a girl for a little while. Then I sat and stared and drank and cried a little more.

One day at work, I got a phone call. I got fired.

I left North Carolina. Drove back home with my tail between my legs.

I met an old friend for drinks. We talked about what we wanted to do then, and what we could do now.

It’s been a constant conversation with us two ever since. She’s had job after job after job. I’ve turned down four jobs then got one. So I could live at the beach. I turned down on really good job. And I was asked why. I said “because I want to do something for me for a change.”

So I moved to the beach. Always wanted to do it.

Now, a year later, I finally had a party here. It was fun. I kissed a girl that night. First time in almost three years. It felt good. Nervous, but good. It was the second date. She wanted a kiss on the first date, but I didn’t. I needed to not.

The same band was playing in the background of the first date. The moment was there and I went for it. I never go for it. Well, I used to not ever go for it. The last four kisses have all been me first. Maybe that’s a sign of finally moving. Or maybe it’s just me overthinking things that don’t need to be analyzed. I’m good at that.

The record player is off right now. The birds are singing some sad song. Well, it sounds sad to me. I think about getting up, putting on a record and going back to wherever it is I was. But I don’t. Atrophy doesn’t look good on me. But my roots are starting to show.

The pen doesn’t run out of ink if it’s never used. The brain doesn’t breathe if you don’t feed it words.

I haven’t written in over a week. I haven’t read in over a month.

So I sat down and starting typing. Just words. Just thoughts. Just whatever needed to spill out of my head. Slow, steady and sad. Those three words just seemed to be all I had at that moment. That instant. So I typed them. Fast and slow.

I was asked again yesterday what I wanted to do. I still don’t know. It’ll come to me, though. I have faith that the last 40 years haven’t been wasted. They’ve just been practice. Experience. I’m good at longing for something. I’m also good at chasing things down. But when I get them, it seems I’m always disappointed. Either by them, or by me. Is it ever enough? Or have I just not found the right it?

Words. That’s all they are. Actions are better. Even when actions involve just words. Remember that, will you? It’s the most important thing to remember. At least right now. At this moment. It’s what you need. It’s what you are.