Opting Out...

I was waiting in line at the Chick-fil a drive through last night; the 2-lane drive through just a sea of tail lights waiting in line.  Surrounding me were shiny, clean, new, expensive vehicles which cost more than I make in a year. All around me were people waiting in line in these over the top/status is important/don’t you want what I have vehicles. The drivers were fully absorbed in their smart-phones, most likely frenzied as they felt compelled to take care of that last deal, that last job to be done to pay for these expensive toys.  

I was once that person who thought that if I just had “it” I would be fulfilled and could at some unquantified point in time, throttle back.  The problem with this logic, however, is quite simple: the more we have, the more we want.  It is an unending cycle of I want, I have, I want more, I have more.

I have been toying with the idea of drastically scaling back. Of editing my life of unwanted and unneeded detritus. Sitting there last night solidified my decision because here was the thing. Not one of these people waiting in this double drive through line, in their much too expensive cars with their “don’t you see that I have the latest Apple phone” seemed happy. They just appeared to be stressed, worried and agitated.

After placing their orders to that anonymous person on the other end of the box with combo numbers aching to be called, they pushed that button on their electric windows to block out the world once more.  No notice was given to the warm Texas night, to that sun which was sitting in vivid purples and pinks on the horizon.

I laid in bed last night and wondered, “Am I the only one here who is ready, happily ready, to opt out?”

I know you, my friend, and you know me...

If we are fortunate enough, those most fortunate few, who in this life have had what we have had. That  childhood friend who is that person when whom asked, “Who was your best childhood friend?” we automatically answer by default, of course it's you. We are naturally, intuitively bound, we are grounded to that friend.  All are not as fortunate as we are to have this bond which we share. 

We are much grayer now and our bodies, much softer. I now recognize that that the lines on our faces tell a story of where we have been.  But our hearts, deep-down in our hearts, tell us where we have yet to go. You dwell in my heart, my friend, where only a very few people and God reside.

Our lives have remained intertwined  through all of life’s passages: marriage, childbirth, divorce and maybe a marriage again, thrown in for good measure. We met when we were young, maybe 5 years old, give a month or two. We were innocents then, but having lived some life, perhaps not so much now.

We are older now, and I do hope wiser. Our edges have been smoothed and refined, much like that stone you may hold in the palm of your hand. Despite our journeys in this life, those times together, those times apart, we will, we always will, have that natural, that intuitive bond.

So, life goes on, day after day, as weeks turn into months and  months turn into years. We are sometimes together, sometimes apart. I see this melding of our lives as the most sacred of things. I hold these feelings and memories near, to remind myself how truly fortunate I am to be able still to call you my friend.

There is a bond, a melding of which we still fill in each other’s lives. In this sometimes chaotic, difficult to understand world, I know you, my friend, and you know me.

I knew...

I knew the moment he kissed me

my life would never be the same.

“Maybe that’s enlightenment enough”/an homage to Anthony Bourdain….

I am not certain why the death of Anthony Bourdain has made such an impact on me.  I am so saddened and find myself wondering why a man who seemingly grabbed life by the tail; who had everything, would choose to leave this Earth behind. I certainly was a fan of Anthony Bourdain’s shows, his books, his devil may care attitude.Somehow what he said and how he lived his life resonated with me.  I love travel and I love to discover the food as it is intertwined those people who are much different than myself.

The beauty of Anthony Bourdain's work, the honesty of his work, of melding travel with unique food, made sense to me.  It touched me deeply, on a visceral level.

On one hand I felt betrayed and angry at his taking of his life.  On the other hand, I understand the deep pain and loneliness, that deep loneliness that crushes one’s heart. It seemed he made this decision to end this feeling of despair which is buried deep down.  He made that final decision to let go.  

“Travel isn’t always pretty. It isn’t always comfortable. Sometimes it hurts, it even breaks your heart. But that’s okay. The journey changes you; it should change you. It leaves marks on your memory, on your consciousness, on your heart, and on your body. You take something with you. Hopefully, you leave something good behind.”

“I’m a big believer in winging it. I’m a big believer that you’re never going to find perfect city travel experience or the perfect meal without a constant willingness to experience a bad one. Letting the happy accident happen is what a lot of vacation itineraries miss, I think, and I’m always trying to push people to allow those things to happen rather than stick to some rigid itinerary.”

“If I'm an advocate for anything, it's to move. As far as you can, as much as you can. Across the ocean, or simply across the river. The extent to which you can walk in someone else's shoes or at least eat their food, it's a plus for everybody. Open your mind, get up off the couch, move.”

“Food is everything we are. It's an extension of nationalist feeling, ethnic feeling, your personal history, your province, your region, your tribe, your grandma. It's inseparable from those from the get-go.”

“Maybe that’s enlightenment enough: to know that there is no final resting place of the mind; no moment of smug clarity. Perhaps wisdom … is realizing how small I am, and unwise, and how far I have yet to go.”