When History Comes Around Again

During one of the darkest periods of my life, I was so down that -- no matter how I struggled to -- I could not remember what happiness was nor whether I'd ever felt it. But I had one thing going for me: I had work to drive me and to make me forget myself for many, many hours each day. Now I'm headed for a dark place again; this time, though, I have nothing to make me forget. Work doesn't drive me as it once did. If I have any goals, they're things I can accomplish from home; unfortunately, home is no place to be when you want to escape from yourself.

I'm trying not to fall into that cycle, but I feel history stalking me. I hear it whispering that it's time for a repeat. I try to stay one step ahead of the shadows, but only because it seems like I should. I've got no reasons to. No cares.

I feel like letting go; I feel like embracing the darkness. History may not be a welcome visitor, but at least it's a familiar one.

 

Getting Clear Away

I was in the mood for a long drive. Sometimes when I feel like getting away from myself, I hit the road and get away from home, instead. I chose to head south towards Oregon, and I ended up at Cannon Beach. I wasn't planning to stay, but once I was there I just wanted to find a place to park. The streets were too busy and the traffic too heavy. Every hotel I passed claimed to have no vacancies. I stopped at a place that looked nice and large. I figured that I had a better chance there, but they were also full. They told me that the closest vacancy was likely ten or twenty miles away, at least. And then, while I was standing there, the clerk received a call from a sister property down the block; there was a last minute cancellation, and I was "in luck". Even before I was handed the phone, I knew I would take the room. Of course the person on the other side of the line tried to sell me on the room -- a ground floor suite right on the beach, etc., etc. -- but I had already decided even before they told me what it would cost me, which was more than ten times what I would normally pay for a room. Though the cost gave me pause, I said to myself, "What the hell. I want a place to park."

After settling into my new room, I hopped into a courtesy shuttle and headed towards town. It was nearly dinner time, but I wasn't about to try making reservations anywhere. Instead, I tracked down a place that I'd heard made the best fish and chips anywhere in the world, a place called Ecola Seafood; they catch their fish daily. Admittedly, the fish and chips were very good. A nice and thin, crispy batter, and a homemade tartar sauce. Definitely worth trying, though I'm not yet convinced it was the best.

Then I walked around town, stopped in at a few shops and museums, rested at a beach lookout or two, and wished I had someone to share it all with. The shuttle driver had recommended I try a brewpub called Bill's Tavern, and I headed there next. I sat at the bar and enjoyed a pint of their home-brewed IPA. I also tried a sample of their blackberry beer. It was odd, yet light and refreshing.

Afterwards, a shuttle picked me up and brought me back to the hotel. I then went for a long walk along the beach; the water was freezing, but there's little that both sharpens and relaxes the mind so much as the cold sea along a quiet beach. The hotel was holding a wine tasting that night, but I'd brought my own bottle on the trip and I elected to taste what I had instead. I sat out on the patio, watched the ocean and read a book. When the sun neared the horizon, I went out to the sand and sat, watching it fall into the ocean while I nursed my glass of wine. When the sky darkened, I laid back and looked at how full of stars it was. I miss seeing a sky so packed with stars.

For the rest of the evening, I reclined in my room with a throw blanket over my lap, listening to eighties music and reading a book, all whilst the waves crashed against the nearby shore. The hotel claimed to make fresh chocolate chip cookies twenty-four hours a day, and I padded out to the lobby to verify it once or twice. Or thrice. Their claim was apparently true; that cookie jar kept filling up. And once while I was out there, complimentary cocktails were being served. Nightcaps. So I sat in the lounge and enjoyed one, a sweet whiskey that I can't recall the name of. Then I returned to my room, but not before snagging more freshly baked cookies.

In the morning, I ran two miles or so along the shoreline. Others were riding horses or playing in tide pools. There was a heavy fog, but I liked it. Sometimes it's better not to see too much; seeing my next step or two was enough.

After I checked out of the hotel, I drove north and visited my father. He was planting another tree when I arrived. We went out to lunch at a new Mexican restaurant in the small town where he lives, and then he showed me what he's done with his land since I last visited. I stayed with him for a few hours, talking about little things, and then I drove home. Before I left, though, he supplied me with too many veggies from his garden: a garbage bag full of swiss chard, a bag full of cucumbers, a bag full of green beans, and a bag full of beets. Unless I throw a party, I'm not sure I can finish eating all of it on my own. They are delicious, though.

All in all, I'm glad I took that spur of the moment road trip. It was good to get away. Even though I didn't truly get away from myself, I was at least able to gain some clarity. I was able to relax, and to be a bit carefree again. I needed that.


Kites and sea stacks at Cannon Beach

 

Noticing As They Go

A question that I often ask myself, and just as often fail to answer, is: What am I doing with my life? I recall that I never planned to live this way. If it was ever part of the plan, then it was supposed to be a small part, something to help get me to the place where I really wanted to be. Instead, I feel like I've fallen into the same trap that everyone falls into. I've become too comfortable with the rut that I'm in; you could even say that I'm fond of the rut.

And then I remember that this life is temporary, and it forces me to take a closer look at the rut I'm in. If I continue to cling to my current lifestyle, then the majority of my days will take the shape of the office that I sit in and the commute required for me to get there. My experiences will be mostly limited to whatever time I spend at the office desk, pounding out code fragments that are largely meaningless.

What if I were to say goodbye to this rut, though, and make drastic changes? What kinds of things would I do instead? Here are some scenarios that come to mind:

I would find myself a cheap house or cabin, a fixer-upper in a great location (on the beach, or beside a lake in a secluded spot in the mountains, etc.), something that I could buy with cash. I'd find myself some part-time work (manual labor or something creative, woodworking or farming or brewing beer) or work that I could do out of my own house. I'd write. Maybe my writing would become my work. I'd spend a lot of time outside, even if it was just reading in the hammock on my back porch. I'd swim. I'd boat, probably on something rickety and old. I'd keep a vegetable patch and maybe do some fishing. I'd mostly pretend that the rest of the world didn't exist, except for those times when I hopped in the car to take a road trip or to visit a local saloon or bookshop. Perhaps I'd occasionally teach a class at the community center, something about computers or literature. Sometimes, my road trips would have no definite end; I would just keep going from one small town to the next, stopping for a few days here and there whenever a place seemed particularly charming. Now and then, I'd drop in unexpectedly on friends and family.

Okay, honestly, I don't know if this dream scenario wouldn't end up being just another kind of rut.

I suppose the crux of the matter is that I don't want to be in a position to allow my days to slip by without my hardly noticing; I want to notice them going! I don't want to spend the majority of my life in service to something else unless it's something I care about intensely. I don't simply want to sustain my life from day to day; I want to be actively creating it! Every day.

So I guess the question is: Can I do this without making drastic changes?

 

Everything I Expected And Less

To continue with the theme of my recent post about being sheltered from the world, here is a quote that I find amusing and relevant:

"I didn't want to leave that party. It was great."

"No, it wasn't. The music was too loud, the food was cold, the drinks were too few and the people many. It was everything I expected and less. I'm never going outside again unless I need to find a place to throw up."

Excerpt from Black Books