I was still in Chicago. I was
just recovering from a really bad haircut. Before that the
exceptionally awesome dye-job that overshot its intended duration (courtesy
of the same guy who does Rodman's highly visible hair
art) was just running out and
getting messy. I was working at the Gallery and having a fun time getting
paid
for stuff I liked to
do and having a lot of time to do it. Being in NY half the time was beginning
to bother the heck outta me. This one time I went on a roadtrip with a
friend who happened to be headed in the same
direction on the East Coast
and we both thought that it'd be kew. Twenty four hours later I had just
about had
my fill of being in a van and
nice scenery. There was a red barn about where Ohio (flatland blahs, can't
get any worse than that) turns into green, misty Pennsylvania. It rained
and the mountains looked awesome! Having
lived in a similar area back
home, driving through here brought back some good memories and only made
me miss my baby more. Around midnight after my umpteenth nap, we decided
to stop at Snowshoe. What's to see there? Nothing much except for a rest
stop and well, the open night sky. I could not sleep. My legs would, and
I was hungry and there was pretty much nothing at all to do. By the time
the sun broke through the dewy haze I
was just about ready to do
anything to get outta there. I don't know how people do it, but there's
only so much
you can take of the open road. |
The last barn standing
in Ohio.
|
|
|
Paul K. @ the Jersey stop.
|
|
|
<-
Links to thumbs
(fullsize
pictures!)
will
be posted soon.
|
So we get to Bard, and suddenly
I never got bored while stuck on the road in a white van with nonstop Vedic
chants
or Pranayama or whatever that was
that was turning my brain to contented Hindu cow mush. I didn't sleep all
the way
throughout the whole thing, wishing
that I could do teleportation or transcedental meditation or astral projection
or anything. I was never trapped nor did I run out of batteries for my
discman. I wasn't hungry or thirsty or needed to
use the bathroom. It was Zen and
not Zen at the same time. Yup, it sure was something. Suddenly, everything
was
perfectly normal. It didn't matter
that Paul and I were standing in the pouring rain, (in the middle of the
mudpit that
was supposedly a parking lot, sleepdep-bug-eyed,
hungry, thirsty, tired and dirty) settling gas shares with wet, grimy fingers.
Nothing did. It was all beautiful.
On top of the hill just after a few
dozen steps and a three floors was the one thing that made everything all
right in
the world. You never think that
the race is hard after winning it. Sometimes it's not even winning that's
on your mind. It's what comes after that makes all the difference. You
feel every second of a particularly trying experience because you're deep
in it that very second. Afterwards you feel like the whole world is bright
with promise and this perfect moment lasts forever. You know you're finally
Home. |
| And
a most excellent specimen |
of a final project in Modern
Dance, a ton of partying and a graduation to boot were still on the book;
but
making it there really made
a big difference in my life. Maybe it even helped me understand someone
who
I cared for a lot and missed
like hell, in the everyday that we were ever apart. Maybe everybody needs
to
go on a roadtrip to discover
something in themselves that would have otherwise remained hidden if they
stayed home. Maybe the biggest
things in your life come outta nowhere and surprise you with just how
much they can mean to you in
the future. I thought I knew everything at this point in my life.
But four years later I'm still
learning a lot. |
|
