Time presses forward; it is fall, now. I'm just returning from a three week odyssey and settling back into my apartment which is always a process. It was hard getting my act together for the road trip to Oregon, it felt as though I was stepping into the unknown even though every place I went and everybody I saw was all too familiar to me. The traffic leaving town was a typical fast pace on a crowded highway. The first three hours of my trip, I felt on edge. The stretch of highway between Olympia, Wa and Portland, Or seems endless with cars bumper to bumper and dodging semis; it's like playing a video game. My eyes are weary from staring at the grey asphalt speed by underneath me. I take the 205 exit to avoid downtown Portland. I love the view of the city from the bridges carrying the cars across the river, however dealing with disappearing and remerging lanes seem too advance for my state of mind. When I rejoin the I5 on the Oregon side, it's as though I passed through the looking glass. On the other side, everything moves a bit slower making time go by faster. I soon come upon my exit 1234, how convenient. I'm in Albany, Or and making my way to Bear and Holly's place. I'd been there once before and remember having trouble deciphering the directions I was given. But somehow or another, I saw the mistake I made before: exit after the bridge (the first bridge, not the second bridge which seems like the only bridge). I merged correctly this time. With that small turn of the wheel, I was off the main drag of super convenience and on historic main street where it feel like the 70's again ( if not earlier). From there, I glided into the driveway as if it was only the day before I pulled out. Stepping out of the car and into the side door, I was greeted by a dog and a familiar face. It took me a few beers to set in and get the forward momentum of driving to wear itself off. The dog was more than willing to retrieve tennis balls. It was great to be standing in the back yard beer in one hand and a droolly ball in the other as the sun went down and others arrived; I need to come here more often, I thought.
I do spend much of my time alone and have mixed feelings about it. The thing I like the most about it is I tend to be less judgmental of myself. When I'm around others, I can become too consumed with how they perceive me. This hit home while I was attending a football game in my home town. I hooked up with a friend of mine who I have known since we were 5 yrs. old. We made plans to attend " the civil war" Pirates vs Bulldogs in pregame show down. Hanging out with her definitely felt like it always had, we just were. Her mother joined us at half time; great to see Marty. She sat between as and blend in with our easiness. I was offered a starburst candy some where down the line. And in my acceptance, I started to fumble with the wrapper. My fingers were cold, and my dexterity very gross. Unaware of being watched, I was taking my time to unveil the small cube. Marty on the other hand was impatient with my progress and took the half finished project from me and handed me back the candy. I was rather taken at first by her actions but was able to accept what had just happen and go back to the game. I can remember a time where if someone grabbed something from me because they didn't like the way I was dealing with the situation, I would have crumbled and been embarrassed.
Judgemental thoughts are the bane of my existence. I'm not too sure what that means but I like the way it sounds... thoughts are strange animals that feed on this rather nubilous energy. I could tell from hanging around my home town there was plenty of opportunities to fall into a depressing state of mind. I spent a week there which hung in space as an eternity. Living at home was never a pleasant experience and returning proves to be no different. I found plenty to be disheartened about. To overcome the urge to sink into silent isolation of self pity, I walked on the beach. My mother joined me there on morning. As we walked, she recalled that it had been forty-one years since we first arrived on that same beach; it all still looked the same. Am I?
