This past year was filled with travel and adventure that may be unparalleled in my life thus far. Never having been one for patience, I decided to have my mid-life crisis at the age of thirty. The way I see it is, if I wait until a proper age of say, oh forty, I could have been killed in a flaming car crash or eaten by Pigmies and missed the entire event all together on account of my being dead. Carpe diem, but really it was more of seizing an entire year and living as though life was limitless. In complete acceptance that life was never more perfect than the moment you are in, I decided to not hold out and go for it all.
As it turns out, I am a chicken shit and could only manage this in bursts. To be in complete control of your existence in every given moment is better suited for the Dalai Lama or some other figure or centered individual than a thirty year old woman hell bent on reclaiming herself while holding to that Gen X belief that the world could be healed. Not regular healed, but the evangelic "HEALED!" you would hear as the newly healed participant is falling to the stage after being graced by the touch of a self-proclaimed instrument of God. I mean, if you are going to heal someone, why not do it in front of countless strangers in the name of self-promotion instead of a quiet setting that would more reflect the actual grace of such a being as God? Instead, yes "HEALING" them is much more punk rock, look at me in my flashy attire, mega sound system, style of the '80s. I digress, which I do quite often. So with having this belief that was drilled into as a child that I could do or be anything, at the age of thirty I decided to put it to the test. As I mentioned, I am a chicken shit, so I brought along some willing accomplices.
The award for most frequent flyer goes to Mindalou. That isn't her name, don't be foolish. However, she will answer to it, and that is forever as she will be known here. Together in the span of a little more than twelve months we saw Philly, Vegas, Da Beach (twice), Pittsburgh, and San Diego. She is my soul sista. Life has a funny way of making us walk completely different paths only to come to a junction and find someone headed in our direction. Our lives were/are completely different in ways that I can't begin to explain. Despite the oddities of experience, we bonded on a level of deeper understanding and consciousness. It is in the differences that we find connection. This was made apparent during dinner in Coastal Carolina this summer.
Just as girls do at dinner, we were gabbing about life experiences that we hadn't yet come to terms with, along with the moments that hold value from our pasts. In swapping stories Mindalou stopped and said, "All of your memories come from happy times. It is like your life has been the happiest of experiences, and you hold those things close to you. In every situation you try to make it the best it can be, and make sure that the people you are with are enjoying themselves. My memories come from traumatic events, or those moments that intrigue me. If I found something odd, it is like that is where I put a memory marker. It is just strange we categorize things differently, but we get along so well and have the best time together." She then got quite, and looked down at the dinner table. Being the person that I am I asked, "So, you have been on the corner of Trauma and Intrigue making memories?" We laughed, and Mindalou replied, "Yeah, I guess so."
Life is nothing more than that....a continuous quest to make memories for the days near then end when it is harder to do so. Instead, you can sit back and gaze at the markers you have placed in time. In that, we walk everyday toward the corner of Trauma St. and Intrigue Blvd. For it is a place you won't forget, well unless you develop Alzheimers, then you are just fucked. You did a whole lot of walking to forget to wear pants. In that case the best you can hope for is the person that strolled with you remembers enough for the both you, and still likes you enough to help you find your pants.
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