Twenty-one days until I'm on a plane to Seattle.
I feel very much as though I'm preparing for some hugely life-changing event. I can't explain this very well, except... You know how, before Christmas, the church celebrates Advent? That is, the period of time -- 40 days and 40 nights or some such thing -- before Christmas and the birth of Jesus? During this time, there are all sorts of little rituals people perform: putting up lights to light Jesus' path into the world (or something to that effect), saying special prayers, etc...
I guess that's sort of what I feel like. Like I'm performing all these little rituals. I can't even explain exactly what those rituals are; it just seems as though everything I'm doing is some part of a superstition or a ritual.
Anticipation is a very, very dangerous thing, for two reasons. First of all, when you're busy waiting for something to happen, you're bored and distracted and a little whiny and you forget to notice what's going on. Normally, I'm half-space-cadet anyway, so I don't think too many people have noticed the fact that I've been millions of miles away for awhile, but *I* have noticed. I've had trouble caring about things as much as usual; I'll forget about obligations, friends, promises, because I don't care much about going to the post office to mail stuff, or meeting so-and-so for dinner, or whatever, as much as I care about the fact that, in twenty-one days, I'll be on a plane to Seattle.
Anticipation is also dangerous because it sort of leads to plans. And plans suck, because plans are for people who are expecting something.
The last trip I took out-of-state was not planned. Rather, it was hastily planned 12 hours in advance. I did not make hotel reservations. I did not take money out of my savings account. I did not take time off of work. I didn't print out a map of the place I was visiting. I didn't make any phone calls. I simply walked into a bus station, bought a round-trip bus ticket, had some coffee, and was on my way. No expectations: absolutely NO knowledge of what might lie in wait for me. And I think that's why it was such a nice trip. The hurling of oneself into the abyss and simply being prepared for ANYTHING. THAT is the way to travel.
Expectations, as I told my friend Brian, ruin three things: journeys, movies, and love affairs. Brian, I suspect -- though I could be wrong -- is one of those rare persons who doesn't plan much of anything meticulously, just sort of assumes everything's chill, or will at least end up alright. I suspect that's why he never really looks afraid. I suspect -- though I may be wrong -- that David has a streak of that in him as well. And Neil, whose eyes were never clouded with fear; melancholy sometimes, but never fear.
There is a certain type of person I really loathe. And that is the sort of person who, before a date, would scrub themselves meticulously, brush their teeth four times, try on eighty different clothing combinations, and wait nervously for the bell to ring. The sort who would forego a nice walk on a warm breezy night because someone promised to call sometime. The sort who needs a full synopsis of a film before they decide to waste ten bucks on a movie ticket. I aspire to NOT BE THAT SORT OF PERSON. Someday, I shall have a car, and when I have that car, I am going to pass some cute acquaintance of mine in a hallway, and I am going to casually say, "hey, do you have a few days to hang out and take a road trip?"
I aspire not to have a care in the world. No, that's not quite right. I aspire to not have a WORRY in the world. I used to have this Winnie-the-Pooh T'shirt (a remnant of the Ghost of Roommates Past?) that said, "If you've done the very best you can, worrying won't make it any better." A stupid cliché, but something nice to think about all the same. Someday, I shall cut my own hair. I'll call in sick at work to go sit in a park and read. I'll buy bus tickets to a town where I know no one, packing nothing but a change of clothing, a notebook, and a toothbrush.
The other night, a gutterpunk asked me for fifty cents so he could buy some peanut butter and crackers. I honestly did not have fifty cents, but I brought him back to my apartment and fed him a peanut butter sandwich. I didn't worry that he'd make my house smell funny (a problem I have previously had with inviting gutterpunks over) or that he'd break in and steal shit later. I just figured, hey, what the hell; he's hungry, he wants some peanut butter, it's all good.
It's all good.
A phrase that Norman despises: "it's all good." It ISN'T all good, he insists. It might SEEM all good, but somewhere, maybe next door, there are starving kids and people dying of AIDS. It ISN'T all good, and nothing can make it all good. And what is "IT" anyway?
It's all good because I fed a gutterpunk a sandwich and he wasn't hungry anymore. So what if he turns out to be a total creep and climbs in my window and steals my TV? I'll bitch about that when and if it happens. And if he had really smelled pretty bad, I'd concern myself with getting rid of the smell later. It's all good because I refuse to let myself be terrified of possibilities.
Possibly, tomorrow when I go to the post office, I will fall head-over-heels in love with some stranger. Maybe I won't even make it to the post office. Maybe I'll end up on a bus to Buffalo, back to my lovely stranger's apartment. Maybe I'll call my mom to come get my bird, and abandon all the rest of my possessions. Possibly, tonight, I will be kidnapped in a public restroom in a bar. Maybe someone will slit my throat, or rob me, or rape me. Certainly, I probably wouldn't make it to the post office if any of those things happened. But I'm not going to sit here worrying about it. [what is IT anyway?] As they say, anything is possible, and I plan to be ready for whatever happens: as ready as I can be, that is. But I don't plan on trying to determine my own destiny in life. I guess that's why, at 21, I still have no idea what I want to be when I grow up. I don't know if I want to be a fireman or a poet; I don't know if I'll fall in love with a stranger tomorrow; I don't know what Seattle looks like. Honestly, I don't care to know any of these things yet. I will simply prepare myself a little: have some condoms handy all the time, have some feminine protection handy all the time, and know how to use the sharp objects on my keychain to escape from would-be creepy people. And carry a notebook and pen, because those are ALWAYS necessary.
Yet, here I am, already planning what to pack for my trip in twenty-one days. ALMOST stressing over it. Oh well. Eventually I'll conquer my planning demon. I'll quit wondering why so-and-so hasn't emailed in a few weeks. I'll stop going to coffeehouses expecting so-and-so to be there. I'll quit dressing to impress just because I suspect I might see someone special. I will stop obsessively believing people who say "I'll be home around two," and I won't freak out when they're not home until nine the next day. And I will never, ever reserve a hotel room.
I really, really believe that if people wouldn't freak out over what MIGHT happen, the world would be a much happier place. Love affairs wouldn't hurt so much when they end. Movies wouldn't be so boring. Adventures would happen. Lots and lots of adventures. And less disappointment.
Am going to go wait for something to happen.
Am not even going to wait. Am not even going to assume anything is going to happen. I'm not going to make any assumptions except that, eventually, everything will be all good.
~Helena*
"Now you just dig them in front. They have worries, they're counting the miles, they're thinking about where to sleep tonight, how much money for gas, the weather, how they'll get there -- and all the time they'll get there anyway, you see. But they need to worry and betray time with urgencies false and otherwise, purely anxious and whiny, their souls won't really be at peace unless they can latch onto an established and proven worry and having once found it they assume facial expressions to fit and go with it, which is, you see, unhappiness, and all the time it all flies by them and they know it and that TOO worries them no end..." --Dean Moriarty in "On the Road" by Jack Kerouac