…and Here I Sit

Wind. Wind could use my attention for a while.  I’ve tuned out the repetitive strumming of the flag clips against the pole in the adjacent lot until now. The wind likes interacting with this world. It loves the attention. Light gusts rub up against my face with traces of pavement and heat. “Catch this,” it says, “I found it in the parking lot!” I should call this air Ralphie, as it reminds me of the family pet. The golden lab cannot sit still for five minutes without approaching you with a toy or panicked look of being forgotten. The trees are all too aware of Ralphie’s presence and curl their smaller limbs like a child handling something disgusting. They’re a bit tired of the breeze today, like the guest who can’t take a hint and leave. Mildly disturbed.

…and here I sit, waxing philosophically when I should be “doing.” There is something to be said for reproaching oneself too often, but isn’t it better to simply enjoy? Such a personal blank to fill. It reminds me of the frustration I got while doing Mad Libs while traveling in the back of my father’s 1983 Buick LeSabre. I was never a spontaneous being. I couldn’t think clearly under pressure. I needed time to lay things out and be deliberate. I desperately wanted to be spontaneous, but couldn’t make it on my own. Everyone was too busy with themselves to show me the way and having to start at ground zero on learning everything was so exhausting. No time to be a kid. Little did I realize that being a kid was the closest to being naturally spontaneous as I could get without being aware of the concept.

How could I? I was a kid. There I go criticizing myself for not knowing everything, or not being great at every little facet of my personality. Perfection is impossible, I know, but I love achieving. Accomplishment makes me want to live, and without it is like losing the love of your life. Self-worth becomes meaningless in the cold, frivolous view of one’s visage in the looking glass. That’s how vices survive.  Ah, Ralphie’s at it again. I’ve lost myself in thought and he decided to breathe on my face because of it. I suppose reminders like that are necessary for people like me. Quick, frequent reminders of spontaneity.

© 2013 by Corvidae in the Fields, all rights reserved

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4 thoughts on “…and Here I Sit

  1. kerbey says:

    If I had been in the back seat of the LeSabre with you in 1983, I would have shaken you violently with my 11-yr-old arms, impatient with your inability to come up with a creative adverb on the spot. And if I’d had to then EXPLAIN what an adverb was, what could have prevented me from tossing you out the roll-down window into Ralphie’s path? When you think of all the folks right now in their cubicles, staring at their screens under fluorescent light, it makes Ralphie seem a great alternative. Isn’t that what commercials show us? Wind in our hair at the beach, wind in our hair in our convertibles? It’s like God’s breath against your face until it becomes a tornado.

    • You sound like you were pretty violent to 4 year-olds.

      Commercials often shade the truth, as I’ve noticed the wind in one’s hair isn’t all it’s cracked up to be with people of longer hair. Often they look like Chewbacca or Cousin It by the time the ride is over.

  2. Of all the things I’ve read that you’ve written, this one reached out and punched me in the face. Very, very good, Nate.

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