“Do you ever get the feeling that you’re not where you’re supposed to be?” I asked my friend. We were driving home from the county fair. I love the fair. Everyone walks around, funnel cakes in hand, gazing at the farm animals contentedly. There’s something satisfying in the simplicity of it all.
But the thing about simplicity is that it makes you think about things that are quite the contrary, quite muddled, quite complicated.
“What, you think we’re lost?” my friend said, looking left and right at the road signs.
“No,” I said. Then I looked around myself. “Wait, are we?”
“I don’t think so. I’ve done everything the GPS told me to. Says we should be home in about 8 minutes.”
“Oh, well that’s good. But it’s not what I meant.”
“What did you mean?”
“I meant like cosmically. Like in the grand scheme of life, do you ever feel like you aren’t in the right place? Lost sort of?”
I put a pinch of tobacco in my pipe so I can be like my father. He used to smoke a pipe as my sister and I, both no more than seven years old, sat on a shabby couch in our cabin watching Bruce Lee movies. My mom was there, too, her arm around my sister or me, laughing at the silly voice overs.
I sit here now and smoke a pipe, not to look cool or to start a buzz, but to feel like my father must have as he watched over us, his family. I want to see through his eyes, to look back into the past when to me, Bruce Lee seemed as almighty as Christ himself, and all we needed was each other.
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Thanks for flying with us. Keep up the good blogging.
This notification popped up on my WordPress dashboard today. My first thought when I saw it was, “Holy shit…I’m old.”
I’m not that old of course. Only 22. But when I look back at when I started this blog and compare it to where I am now – sitting in a coffee shop, next to a bald man with eyebrows so bushy you could get lost in them who’s reading a book on Celtic heritage – I feel a little wrinkly, and perhaps a bit dusty.