country
When I think of America, I think of all I've seen, the places I’ve been, the people I’ve known. I remember traveling across the country via rail. The sleepy, barren hours through Erie and into the Midwest. There was the 29 hour layover in Chicago, wandering the streets and falling prey to an impromptu, pricey shoeshine. Staying in a condo overlooking the hub city and reveling in the glory of youth gazing upon life from far above it all. I remember the "strangers on the train." All walks of life. The middle-aged burly surfer dude with blonde ponytail. The poker game in the "smoking car." Alcoholic beverages in cans. I recall the spans of vivid flatland red sands of the southwest. The authentic burrito and the copper and turquoise jewelry vendors on the train platform in Flagstaff. The train station in Los Angeles and wandering the streets in the immediate vicinity. Up the scenic California coast to Oakland and across the Bay Bridge into San Francisco.
San Francisco and coming to know the city by residing and working in its neglected, decrepit heart, the Tenderloin. All people from all walks of life encountered from behind a hotel desk. The hippies, the strippers, the thugs, the cantankerous retirees, the sick, the addicted, the lost. Learning more among the disenfranchised and disavowed than I ever had in the classroom. Not to disparage the importance of the classroom, though - books are a key to knowledge and knowledge is the key to self-empowerment. Film school and the development of my passion for the moving picture. A degree of wisdom gained from every aspect of life from the street to the lecture hall.
Whether my mood at the time was dour, sanguine, contented, restless, or any variation thereof, I usually smile now when I think of the people I've met on this journey. The small hours where I've reveled among the night owls in dark clubs and in pool halls and neighborhood bars. A random face or event sliding into my mind at the least expected moment. In my life now, an arbitrary memory from years ago as I ride the subway. The smell of the salt air wafting in from San Francisco Bay. The sounds of the languid sea lions sprawled on their wooden rafts at Fisherman’s Wharf. The jukebox at the Abbey Tavern. Shepherd’s pie at the Pig ‘n’ Whistle. The commutes to work via bus or train. The joys. The heartache. Loss and triumph.
And back in hazy youth, teenage lightning cruising the streets of a working class small town in an '82 black Mustang, immortal and never to age. A swaggering pseudo-punk in ripped jeans and black trench coat teetering on half-baked delinquency but with too much of a conscience to ever allow falling into unmitigated recklessness and irresponsibility. There was no tomorrow then, only the moment. There was no future because maturity was a shadow in the dark, a lurker behind the veil of adulthood; a thief biding his time to steal my adolescence, just around the next corner – a corner I believed I'd never turn.
College and exposure to new elements of life. People from beyond the pale and the boundary markers of childhood. Growing as the mind learned its potential. New ideas, feelings, and opinions impacting like darts on the dartboard at the local college pub. Generation X malaise after attaining the Bachelor Degree, grasping at thoughts for the future and realizing the path led far beyond a "McJob." Understanding there was a world to see. There was so much to discover and experience. People to meet and know. Friends to make.
The feel of the world around us. It's the country I explored. It's where I had to venture. I found myself among everyone and everything else. Times I felt I was atop the world and in hubris thought I could never be touched. Times I felt lower than the ocean bottom beyond the breakers of the Pacific and longed for anyone to alleviate insecurity, fear, and doubt. Loss and grief, anger and acceptance. Love, passion, and pursuit. Intimacy and loneliness.
Feeling and emotion mingles with sight and sound in this country I came to know. The country I began to understand from within, through travel and experience and an open-minded viewpoint. It's a dynamic world beyond the front door. I generally feel gratitude to most of those I've known, even if they were a part of my world only fleetingly.
Every night I spent with friends at the pub. Every laugh. Every word of comfort. Anyone and everyone who ever lent their ear to my babble, indulged my whims, tolerated my excesses. Grateful for the connection we all need to feel in some capacity in relating to our fellow human beings. Eye contact. A smile. A simple, insipid joke. Laughing even if it’s not funny. Cradled in the warmth of another. Super-connected.
And the world is drawn into your hands
And the world is etched upon your heart
And the world so hard to understand
Is the world you can't live without
-Smashing Pumpkins, Muzzle
San Francisco and coming to know the city by residing and working in its neglected, decrepit heart, the Tenderloin. All people from all walks of life encountered from behind a hotel desk. The hippies, the strippers, the thugs, the cantankerous retirees, the sick, the addicted, the lost. Learning more among the disenfranchised and disavowed than I ever had in the classroom. Not to disparage the importance of the classroom, though - books are a key to knowledge and knowledge is the key to self-empowerment. Film school and the development of my passion for the moving picture. A degree of wisdom gained from every aspect of life from the street to the lecture hall.
Whether my mood at the time was dour, sanguine, contented, restless, or any variation thereof, I usually smile now when I think of the people I've met on this journey. The small hours where I've reveled among the night owls in dark clubs and in pool halls and neighborhood bars. A random face or event sliding into my mind at the least expected moment. In my life now, an arbitrary memory from years ago as I ride the subway. The smell of the salt air wafting in from San Francisco Bay. The sounds of the languid sea lions sprawled on their wooden rafts at Fisherman’s Wharf. The jukebox at the Abbey Tavern. Shepherd’s pie at the Pig ‘n’ Whistle. The commutes to work via bus or train. The joys. The heartache. Loss and triumph.
And back in hazy youth, teenage lightning cruising the streets of a working class small town in an '82 black Mustang, immortal and never to age. A swaggering pseudo-punk in ripped jeans and black trench coat teetering on half-baked delinquency but with too much of a conscience to ever allow falling into unmitigated recklessness and irresponsibility. There was no tomorrow then, only the moment. There was no future because maturity was a shadow in the dark, a lurker behind the veil of adulthood; a thief biding his time to steal my adolescence, just around the next corner – a corner I believed I'd never turn.
College and exposure to new elements of life. People from beyond the pale and the boundary markers of childhood. Growing as the mind learned its potential. New ideas, feelings, and opinions impacting like darts on the dartboard at the local college pub. Generation X malaise after attaining the Bachelor Degree, grasping at thoughts for the future and realizing the path led far beyond a "McJob." Understanding there was a world to see. There was so much to discover and experience. People to meet and know. Friends to make.
The feel of the world around us. It's the country I explored. It's where I had to venture. I found myself among everyone and everything else. Times I felt I was atop the world and in hubris thought I could never be touched. Times I felt lower than the ocean bottom beyond the breakers of the Pacific and longed for anyone to alleviate insecurity, fear, and doubt. Loss and grief, anger and acceptance. Love, passion, and pursuit. Intimacy and loneliness.
Feeling and emotion mingles with sight and sound in this country I came to know. The country I began to understand from within, through travel and experience and an open-minded viewpoint. It's a dynamic world beyond the front door. I generally feel gratitude to most of those I've known, even if they were a part of my world only fleetingly.
Every night I spent with friends at the pub. Every laugh. Every word of comfort. Anyone and everyone who ever lent their ear to my babble, indulged my whims, tolerated my excesses. Grateful for the connection we all need to feel in some capacity in relating to our fellow human beings. Eye contact. A smile. A simple, insipid joke. Laughing even if it’s not funny. Cradled in the warmth of another. Super-connected.
And the world is drawn into your hands
And the world is etched upon your heart
And the world so hard to understand
Is the world you can't live without
-Smashing Pumpkins, Muzzle
posted by Walls Falling at 2:13 PM
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