Tag Archives: Introspective

Drenched

I’m writing this on Tuesday evening, and its raining. Or, rather, it just finished raining. Karen is teaching, and the apartment is quiet. Our end of the apartment complex is heavily populated by local college students. Some of them decided to make a run for the nearby pool for a quick swim between the rains, and, judging from their yells and laughter (there’s one girl whose voice carries a long way), they’re having a blast.

I took a break from reading and wandered over to the window to look down at the parking lot, and noticed this guy who had obviously just returned from his workday. He was sort of trudging the path from his car to the buildings, pulling a rolling briefcase behind him…you know, the kind that remind you of a carry-on bag that you would take on a flight with you. He was in a suit, but his tie was untied and dangling on either side of him, about even with the lapels of his jacket. Off-the-cuff, I’d say he’s in sales. Whatever he does, he had just gotten home at 6:30, and looked exhausted. He was a notable counterpoint to the co-ed, carefree laughter coming from the swimming pool.

I was struck by the thought I’ve often had in the last few years: is that what we go to school for? We spend four years (some of us did the five-year plan) for a college degree, living a great life of free inquiry, exploration, and learning, soaking up all that life has to offer and thriving on it. Our reward is a credential that permits us to enter the workforce with a much-coveted job, from which we return at 6:30, dragging our bag behind us with our ties untied, and looking like we’re already prepared to crawl into bed. Then, we get the privilege of doing it all again tomorrow. Except, then, maybe we’ll get to come home at 7:00 or 8:00.

No wonder they told me that college would be the best years of my life.

I’ve done my time in the 9 to 5 world, and found it wanting. I exerienced freedom again during my graduate studies, and have scrambled to retain it ever since. I think I’m getting close, but I wonder if that’s part of what motivates me to pursue yet another degree, and potentially a life of scholarship. I know that, if it is, its not the only reason…I really see it as one of the few ways that my eccentric little brain can be productive in society. I know that it plays a role, however. My friend, Renee, told me once that she knew long ago that a 9 to 5 wasn’t the life she wanted to live, and took steps early in life to find ways around it. I’m realizing it now, and taking steps of my own. Scholarship might be one of those avenues.

And, if so, then this is me being motivated.  I can’t wait to hit the books.

Lightning Never Strikes…

When I was young (hold on, I’m about to date myself), cable television was the new convenience that everyone had to have. That was, until our neighbor invested in the next newest thing, satellite television. I remember the huge black satellite dish perched behind their home and aimed to the heavens. I used to look at which direction it pointed, and wonder if that was line-of-sight to the satellite.

I mention all of this because it was one more thing that my father was anxious about in certain situations. To this day, my father won’t let appliances such as washers, driers, or dishwashers operate while the house is empty. He’s concerned about flooding, and fire, and so forth. Fortunately, that’s a concern I’ve managed to leave behind. What still haunts me, however, is his anxiety about thunderstorms. You see, when a thunderstorm occurred during my childhood, everything except lights had to be turned off by Dad’s decree. If you were in the middle of your favorite program, the first flash of lightning meant you were out of luck. The television was turned off, and the coaxial line that connected us to the outside world (which, let’s face it, is what cable was then) had to be unplugged. Not only did it have to be unplugged, the end had to be placed in a glass jar. No, I don’t know why. I just remember that Dad did not want anything being cooked by stray lightning.

The thunderstorm precautions didn’t end there, however. While everyone else in the neighborhood had to stay inside, we were instructed to stay away from windows, as well. Only lights and other essential functions were to remain on. Fortunately, we all enjoyed reading. But, oh how happy I was when we purchased our first VCR, and the pangs of leaving a favorite program mid-episode were no longer to be felt.

In my father’s defense, he experienced some unusually dramatic things during thunderstorms. He spent a career in the telecommunications industry, and for part of that career he was the guy perched atop the poles at the side of the road. He literally had a white fireball of lightning shoot by him as it traced a line once. He’s seen the effects of thunderstorms more than most of us urbanites, and holds a healthy respect for their power as a result.

Also as a result, I’m held as sort of odd by most of my friends. I’m thinking and writing this as some relatively severe thunderstorms skirt our area, and I keep looking outside at the darkened sky. Most of my friends love thunderstorms…absolutely love them. They’re entranced by the majestic displays of lightning that split the sky, and when one passes over us, the local Twitterverse is always alive with exclamations of how “epic” and “amazing” the natural light show is as they sit on their decks and patios and take in the view.

Me? I’m sitting inside, away from windows, shutting down the freshly-backed-up computer, and considering unplugging everything from the wall…just the way my Dad would have. Honestly, I think he still does.

To this day, because of the example I grew up observing, thunderstorms make me all kinds of nervous. I wonder if I’m missing out…if they really are as beautiful as all of my friends claim, and if I would be able to appreciate that were I to somehow move beyond the anxiety I feel rumble in my stomach to echo the first rumble of thunder that is audible. No rational explanations help (Karen counts the seconds until the lightning flash, and tells me how many miles away it was…and I just picture the white fireball racing down a telephone or power line and into something valuable, or striking our apartment building outright).

A close friend recently lost some valuable and antique audio equipment during a particularly nasty storm. I took this as justification for my anxiety, although his equipment was not routed through a surge protector, as (you guessed it) all of ours is. I can thank my years as a sound engineer for that precaution. Still, I wish I could sit back and appreciate those awe-inspiring displays of power as they surge overhead as my friends do, free of fear and worry.

And, as for tornadoes, don’t get me started. Watching Twister remains one of the worst mistakes I’ve ever made.

Photo Attribution: moonsheep

Island Time

Karen and I visited Ocracoke Island for a few days, the reason for my Twitter absence and the late blog post this week. I intentionally “unplugged” for several days, even to the extent of turning off my mobile, as we needed some serious decompression time. Of course, our trip down was marked by our usual punctuality…that is, we were late. We were made later by the fact that you cannot drive straight to Ocracoke…a ferry ride is involved to get to the island. This means you line up your car in the boarding lane, wait for the next ferry, then wait the 30 minute ride across as the ferry chugs through the water. The first time was maddening. I paced. I made numerous phone calls to make certain our room reservation would survive our tardiness. I groaned and yelled at the slow traffic in the same way I would during rush hour, and bolted out of the car door when we finally parked where we were staying.

After settling into our room, we walked to find a restaurant for dinner, because you don’t drive a lot in Ocracoke. It’s a small village, and almost everyone walks or cycles everywhere. We sat on a screened-in porch over dinner with a guy playing blues and Southern rock with an acoustic guitar on the patio, in the notable absence of street lights. This, combined with a pleasant void of neon or digital signage, is significant, because no chain businesses exist on Ocracoke. Every restaurant, every shop, every business is owned by locals. The seafood is typically freshly caught that day. The closest thing to “big business” that I saw while we were there was a UPS truck.

Add this to miles of beaches that are protected by the National Park Service as a nature preserve and thus completely unpopulated by hotels and timeshares, and you have a blissfully natural and slowing experience.

During one of our outings, Karen and I waited nearly an hour for the ferry. I noticed a guy on the front with a t-shirt that read “I’m on Island Time,” and it made me smile. Karen made the comment that I wasn’t paying as much attention while driving at one point: that I’m normally a very vigilant driver, but that I wasn’t noticing cars braking in front of us as quickly as usual, or reacting as quickly. Nor did I seem stressed about anything.

Just a few days of being completely “unplugged” and worrying about nothing led me to a feeling of physical and mental….slowness, a slowness matched by, and indeed necessitated by, the island culture around me. What might have been sitting in my inbox held no concern for me. The television was on maybe twice, and then only for entertainment purposes. I had no clue what was occurring in the rest of the world for those few days. And I didn’t care. And I was so relaxed. And as I sat on the sparsely populated beach, and wandered out into the ocean to let it embrace me while I stared out at the far off point where it made introductions with the sky, I thought about the rest of the world…the other countries and peoples that were on the “other side” of that ocean…in a different way. I thought about how alike we all are, and about this stunningly beautiful water, a symbol of our life in motion, that is given to us all, and how Providential everything seemed in that moment.

And even today, even surrounded by Virginia drivers again, I’m calm and serene.

I certainly hope to stay that way for a while.

…May Appear Closer Than They Are…

Remember the old Meatloaf song? It was always one of my favorites. This weekend, Karen and I talked about the physiological difference between men and women in regards to depth perception. Apparently, women have poorer depth perception than men as a rule. She compared it to the rearview mirror of a car…that objects in the mirror may be closer than they appear.

I thought immediately of the Meatloaf song. Likely because I’ve been thinking a lot about memories.

The first time I recall it happening was soon after I began grad school. I had returned to my parents’ home to celebrate Christmas. The memories were so intrusive at times I thought that I could see myself running through the rooms as a child. I heard conversations that I had had with my parents as a child. The memories were so real I could almost reach out and touch them.

Normally that would have been a really cool experience. Christmas, after all, tends to bring back those sorts of recollections for many people. Since then, however, it has happened over and over, basically every time I visit my end of the family. For the long weekend this weekend, Karen and I traveled to visit my parents. For various engagements and things we needed to do, I drove the surface streets of the town in which I grew up this weekend. Sometimes, I don’t realize that I have that many strong memories connected with that place. Certain streets, certain restaurants, certain buildings bring back such powerful remembrances of events that occurred, and the people with whom they occurred, that they must border on flashbacks. Even moreso does this occur around my parents’ home. As I wandered their property this weekend, my mother showing me all of her “curb appeal” projects, I sometimes had to stop to wander away and remember what that part of the lawn used to look like, and what I pretended it was in my imaginary super-hero worlds: sometimes in the summer, sometimes covered with snow.

I wonder why I’m having such strong returns to childhood and high school days? When Karen and I were first married, the strong memories were of college years. Of late, the recollections are more all-inclusive, hitting every formative period of my history. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not hallucinating. No, really, I’m not. I just think that, at some point, my blinders have fallen off and I have come to appreciate the importance of personal histories.

Ironically, until the last five years, I have never been that interested in personal histories. I have always been more focused on the present and future. The past happened. I was aware of its details, and knew what had preceded the present accurately. I just didn’t see the point in dwelling on it. I think, in fact, that this was my family mindset, due to various geneological reasons I won’t go into here. The past is past. Now is more important.

Since being married, I’ve discovered that being wholly present in the now is dependent upon an appreciation for the then. Knowing that I have a branch of the family that is all my own now is very important in that regard, I think. Providentially, this was the time that I needed to gain that appreciation the most, and it is the time that I have. There’s a reason for that. I just don’t buy into coincidence.

I see myself in the stories of my family’s past. I see my wife in the stories of her family’s past. Those pasts have converged, and it is now our family. There is a foundation for the present. Its not always the strongest, but its there, and it is what we stand on.

As for the future? I’ll just say that I’ve learned to not plan life that carefully.

Photo Attribution: http://www.flickr.com/photos/agude/