Peregrinations, sort of.
February 13, 2012 § Leave a comment
I am moving back to Portland. My cabin time is over. I feel it. I gotta get outta here. I had no exit plan when I decided it was time to pull a Thoreau. I just figured I would do it until I didn’t want to anymore. And I don’t want to do it anymore. Honestly, I thought I’d last longer. But I cannot. And so in a little over a week, I’ll hit I-94 and back to beautiful, wonderful Portland, land of beer and music and mountains and good people, I will go.
I have learned many things in the four months I’ve lived along in the woods. Here are some:
People and their presence are very important. Any people, not just people you care about – because when there are no people, you care about everyone you meet. I have learned that there is a degree of recognition of the despair that is human life that we all face, and indeed a little relief from it, even in the must mundane and superficial of human interactions. Telling the cashier I have found everything okay today now feels as though we are saying to each other, “Yes, we are here. Yes, we understand. I found this okay, but the rest ain’t so easy, huh?”
Balance is critical in all things. When you have all day to write, you will not write. When you have only two hours to write, you will cherish those hours and use them wisely.
Even with the best of intentions, left to your own devices you will wither. You are not a good enough reason onto yourself to accomplish many things, such as waking at reasonable hours, showering regularly, shaving, not finishing off the bottle of scotch, at least after a certain number of months.
The leisure of time and mental freedom to think endlessly and without purpose is a form of paralysis and is a curse.
To go days and days without laughing out loud is not just sad, it is dangerous.