Provocation Catalyst II

As I re-read On the Road I am reminded of why it is my soul mate in book form. I feel as time goes on we get more and more disillusioned and more and more afraid to truly seize the day. Where is the life lost in living? Where does that once wild and rebellious dreamer go? I think at times we all need to visit our inner Dean Moriarty and get in touch with that part of us that was once "tremendously excited with life" and race around this mad, mad world testing our limits. 

It seems to me the beat generation had one ideology...and that was life. The fear of death subconsciously follows us all. The greatest fear being that death will come too soon, before we have had the time to do what we've always wanted to do. Heck, isn't it always too soon? The beat generation acknowledged this aversion and did all in their power to experience as much livelihood as they could while they were still alive. They were wise enough to see through materialism. It's no wonder Kerouac presents the beat generation as a "holy" generation. It was a generation liberated by the peril of pretension, materialism and useless dogmas. Instead, they were in constant search for some greater truth that life would teach them.

What truly inspires me is how Kerouac expresses the refusal to miss out on life and a determination to get the most out of the now. I was in awe when I first picked up this book and continue to be in awe of it years upon years later. We only get one life...don't sit on the sidelines...go out and live. Or as another one of my favorite authors Henry David Thoreau  said, "Live deliberately." 

No Apologies

My fatal handicap is nothing has ever come easy for me. It could be the most minuscule, effortless task for everyone, their Mom, Grandma and second cousins. But for me, oh no. This task will take hours upon hours of grueling, laborious effort. Clawing, struggling, striving, bleeding, sweating, crying and barely getting there. Tediously I will review, analyze, reflect while screaming at myself and eventually...I get it.

In example, I have a vast, vast knowledge of philosophy and a decent vocabulary. Digesting this information is seemingly effortless for most. But me? Not a snowball's chance in hell. I had to go to war with knowledge. Highlight, underline, read, re-read, reevaluate and inevitably go insane.

Sometimes I curse at this flaw but at the end of the day it has made me both stronger and wiser. I appreciate all that I have gained because I had to work my ass off to get there and cope with the embarrassment of it being easy for everyone around me and I'm sitting there damn near tearing my hair out. Perhaps I'll never look smooth or suave. I don't think it's in my DNA. I feel my life is filled with moments that mimic the movie Bridget Jones's Diary (pop culture reference, get off my rhetorical nuts!)  I can never be the one to show up on the first day and sync up with everyone else. Instead I fall down a firepole and my entire ass is shown to all of Britain. There are many elements of ridiculous about me but it's all in my charm. ;)

Ramblings

I feel this wave of maturity wash over me, acceptance. I feel whole, alive again. Guarded still, perhaps always guarded and perhaps it is these instances that keep me guarded. I'll take it as a blessing and stomp down the road, taking no prisoners. I know the road holds something amazing, something beyond my wildest dreams. So I am a sucker like Sisyphus and I will continue rolling my rock up that mountain called life. It's a never ending cycle of ups and downs. Would we really want it any other way? Our pain is personal, molds us, defines us and grants us this beautiful gift...perspective. The optimist in me will never die. This optimist is insane, punches adversity in the face and keeps going. I feel that I can do anything as long as I stay in the fight. If being a dreamer makes me foolish....so be it. I'd rather be a fool than aloof and apathetic.

Not-So-Shakespearian

You were a thing of beauty I had long known. Stood there tenacious, you didn't need anyone, you were like me. I was bewitched, magnetized by your presence. I sometimes wonder why I was not the one person who could capture your heart, make you come alive, make you see the long ignored burning embers that you held deep within. As I look past the artificial grandeur I see your despondency, all of the wounds covered up with a bandage of fortitude. A counterfeit passion that you have fooled yourself into believing.  I realize that I was trying to make you something you were not. I saw the you I wanted to see as opposed to the you in front of me. Lost in the false bravado. I do not blame you, I blame myself. Perhaps when I pull back the curtain of pessimism there's this annoying optimist who made you the everything I had been searching for, made me senseless, made me delusional.

You will never know any of this. There are millions of you out there. You're all the same. ...and I am always drawn to you. Sometimes I get angry at the road, sometimes I yell at it, curse it... Why must I ride alone? Where is that wild soul to ride beside me? Then I meet you and am reminded why I ride alone...it's better that way.