Look, I don't want to complain. What I want to tell you (me, when I re-read this later) is that I went on a road trip and figured everything out. I want to tell you I climbed up somewhere high and looked down to realize how petty my worries are. Wait, not that, because that sounds trite. Let me try again.
I want to tell you I went on a trip, and it was so beautiful that finally, the entire meaning of the universe exploded out of my chest and rang around the neighborhood and that everyone who heard the sound of it woke up just a little bit and felt happier, like they'd eaten Lucky Charms but gotten the nutritional value of kale. I want to tell you I waded through my own personal detritus, gathered it up, melted it down, and used the shimmering essence of it to guild the door I walked out of. I want to tell you I learned how to fuse all these half-hopeless days where I wait for my life to happen into something purposeful and pure, turning every day I wait into a step on a ladder to more awesome.
Instead, I can only tell you I had a kick ass time with people I love and it made me miss them so very much. I had a barn raising time with my family and it made me wish I lived closer. I had a soul-filling time in my home area, the towns and areas where I have logged years of memories, and it made me yearn to still be a part of things.
And now I just have to stay put and work to earn money. Not actor work, which feels different and personal and exciting because it activates some need to tell stories I have, but work work. Offices and children and data entry and endless phone calls with poorly organized co-workers.
How do I get past the quotidian to the ineffable? And how do I ever write that down again without sounding like a complete jackass?
No comments:
Post a Comment