on a wire
Have you ever wondered where the things we leave behind go? Or the people? Have you ever wondered how so much time passed before you realized that element of your life was a certain thing of the past? Like, “wow, I wonder what ever happened to X . . . “
This isn’t about blogging, not by a long shot. I’ve come to grips with the fact that I walk a road littered with the remains of my former pastimes. But sometimes . . . sometimes the road loops around and I find myself — not scratching my head in wonder at the forgotten art but throwing myself back into it as though I’d never skipped a beat. You do step one, step two, step three . . . you give it a little of your own personal dazzle, show it to the world and hope that someone would rather have it than see it committed to the artist’s secret reliquary.
Recently I became disgusted with the loss of the path I had been on. I mean, I have really come to appreciate my work, which I threw myself into at the cost of my hobbies. I love my job, but to get to that point I had to cut and run with all kinds of balls in the air. Now that I’ve got my mind right, I decided, I have to get back to figuring out myself.
Because that’s been my one steadfast quest, stretching back to the day I woke up and realized I wasn’t doing any good for anyone, least of all myself.
I could spend my entire life chasing the tail of the beast that swallowed me. I probably will, leaving all sorts of things in my wake — people, places, activities, objects — and don’t believe for a moment that I won’t appreciate each and every one of them, because you never know when the road will loop around and hook you up again.
Old friends will be made new, lost items become the finder’s fortune, and nothing you do is ever truly in vain.
That’s why they call it “adventure”.