for you

Yes, this is for you. How could it not be? You take up the whole world for a second, and you block out the sun. But in a good way. And the way you walk down the street, with that confidence in each subtle movement? It is just grace, and a reason to wake up tomorrow.
I don’t really know how else to say it… so I should really just stop, but I want to tell you that you are noticed. You are not only the reason I walk an extra block past my car, but you stay with me all day. And while it is likely I will never talk to you, that you will never know my name, I will never forget you. You completely matter, even if I make you up.
This is for you. I am not lonely, and I am not quite crazy. I just can’t seem to shake you. You are behind my eyelids as I try to sleep, and you won’t even say hello in my dreams. But I can see you smile, and that is enough.
I don’t know who you are, and maybe that is better. Maybe it would be too much, or maybe the illusion would shatter. But still, I am so grateful for that brief glance; that trace of a smile. You give me just enough to think you like that I notice you. This is for you.

nothing to say #3

So this is the third draft of something. I don't know what. I know that I have a desire to say something. But my mind is empty. Sometimes if I just sit down and write, I figure out what it is, but I admit I have no confidence this will be the case tonight.
The light outside at around five o'clock reminds me of something. There are a million stories or more from November. The last of the dark leaves dry up on the trees in my neighborhood, and every corner holds a memory. It has been a long time since I have seen it with my eyes open. I am here now, and I am not sure I am taking advantage of it the way I promised myself I would when I was far away.
I admit that I forget how magical this all is. I slip once in awhile, and I lose perspective of how fortunate I am to be here. These little insignificant distractions are just enough sometimes to take my eyes away from my gratitude. I get to breathe this air into me! I get to kick these leaves on these sidewalks!
I may have been born into this, but I can't pretend to deserve it. I try to, but when I think about all that is available to me, it takes my breath away. Once in awhile I catch a glimpse of someone who seems to be thinking the same thing. That is when I know I am alive.
I have these friends. Some of them are hurting. Some of them I can help. I get to know amazing people. We write each other in to our stories, and we try to keep writing. It is easy when the sound is turned down for a little while. I am trying to take all the narratives to the same place. I am trying to pull my reverence into my job, my driving, my personal interactions. I am not to that point yet. But my friends help me remember.
I have the fortune to work with a few of them. And without being able to talk to them, I would lose my way. What would I be without my friends?
So I am pretty sure this is still about nothing. I haven't really maintained any kind of consistency in this thing. I hope I have clarified something to myself, if not to anyone else. I am getting to know myself a little these days. After years of avoiding myself, I am not really sure what I was so scared of for all those years. I cringe a little bit about who might read this far, but if you have, I am not ashamed. I don't mind letting you know me a little too.

When I was younger, I used to ride my bike to school on early fall mornings and daydream about being a grownup.
Today, I sit in front of a computer on an early fall morning, looking out my window and daydream about being younger and riding my bike to school.

four minutes to write

People surprise me. People drain me.
And I don't even know what to say. There often seems no explanation. I am sure it is me.
We are all children of god, or whoever. Respect is due. Say what you might, we all have a right to be here, and to our piece of this thing. I just relish and remember the people in my life who I have been able to be completely comfortable with, those people who have made me better when I am around them. People exist in this world, who not only love you, but they can help you remember to love yourself.
The places I have been lately are filled with all kinds of people from all kinds of places. I enjoy meeting them. I enjoy getting little glimpses into their lives. I enjoy the perspective that experiences bring. Still, I long for just a few more of those people who make me smile just to see them. I long for people who I know I don't need to think about how to behave around, or what to say. I can't wait to meet the next person who brings out the best in me.

Sometimes it is harder not to see the leaves falling. No matter how much you try to stay in the summertime the autumn comes. And it becomes not a matter of attempting to be in the present, not a matter of should... but a matter of not being able to. If you haven't done a little practicing it can take your breath away. Of course you miss out on your life if you are focused on anything besides what is in front of you. I think we all know that. But I also think we know that you just can't help it. The mind travels too fast to cage. And if you can, like a butterfly, it tends to lose it's magic. But then the leaves fall. You see the gray hair in the mirror in the morning. You start to forget the sound of someones voice. You just can't help but notice that life is short, and getting shorter everyday. This thing we share is amazing. It hurts, it makes us laugh, and it makes us reverent. While I don't put much stock in shoulds, it is hard not to make a recommendation: Take a breath. Open your eyes. Watch the the leaves fall. And smile.

When it comes to possible experience, there is so much in any direction it is almost overwhelming. Sometimes it feels like I want to catch up and experience everything I have missed. The reality I suppose is that choices determine the stories we collect, and nobody can collect them all. We can only walk one direction at a time. That is okay. What is important is to value and experience each story as it unfolds. Without presence, there is no quality to the world. We must demand to soak in every last detail of the life we surround ourselves with. We must take it in to ourselves, and allow it to reside in our character. And when the next decision presents itself, we will be ready for the direction we travel next.

Today, I am headed to Golden Gate Park.

It is difficult to imagine the potential for change in people, and in general. Black swans exist. And not only do they exist, but sometimes they change from black to white. As I walk around on the streets of downtown San Francisco I am impressed by the amount of wealth, and poverty sharing the sidewalks. What impresses me more is living in a place where it really is possible, although difficult, to go from one extreme to another.

Of course it is easy to discount my own metamorphosis because of luck, and the hard work of others. Still, I recognize that it hasn't all been handed to me. I had to learn some skills to be able to walk around in these clothes and pull it off. It isn't so different in that respect to the life I lived before.

Once again, this narrative is not about me, but I must filter the observations I make through something, and in most cases it is my own experience. This is especially the case because my education is of the experiential variety. As I look around at all the different people on the streets outside my hotel, I see how close we all really are. Last night I offered a beggar a dollar to take his photograph. He refused to do it for one dollar. He demanded two. At first, I thought to myself that he was in no position to be so choosy. However, upon a little reflection, I realize he is in exactly that position. I applaud him for it. At some point, an opportunity may present itself to this man. If he doesn't let himself get sold short, he may just fall in to a better situation.

When you hear about someone else's struggles with relationships, or just growing up, it tends to comfort.
Today is still summer in boise. It has matured. The warmth is ripe, aged of a season. And it is comfortable. The dreams of the summer are accomplished or abandoned. Maybe next year is okay today. Downtown is not concerned with who is there, only happy for the company.
My neighborhood is heavy with full leaves, and the lawns are stretching out to sleep for the winter. Everything is okay, and none of the smiles seem false.
The love of the springtime is accepted as a part of the past and a hope for the future once again. No one has a broken heart, and the resentments are mere nostalgic smiles at our own silly hangups. Life is life outside today, just as it is.
And we are all beautiful.

Life is at hand.

Things are occurring.

For once.

And time is apparent.

Right here,

outside.

The neighborhood was full of smiles this weekend. Old friends met new ones, smiles were met with more. There were scores of hula hoopers dancing to bluegrass in Camel's Back. The music made everybody dance. And whoever was there, got to be a part of it.

Some days it is impossible not to be grateful.

Do over

The last time for the fair, I couldn't see. Clouded with conflict. Trying to be. And last night, vindication at every glance, every scent, every eye.

The park was beautiful. The people were open, exposed, and smiling.

Swaying to the music, and breathing community. I felt like a hippy, seeing everyone love each other with smiles and consent.

Built to spill, arms wrapped around my past. Holding on to my future, and loving the in between. Amazing.

So today, more music, more people, more opportunity. People will miss it. I have. But not today. I am right here. Right in Boise.

My mind is suspended in syrup.

Motel rooms, training, networking, airports, and now back in front of a screen when I should be in bed.

I guess in some ways I am starting to feel like an adult. I don't know if that is comforting or tragic.

It is a little of both.

We have these long talks about our ideals, and we make silent resolutions to change. We do, in increments. But it makes me wonder, did my intention have anything to do with it at all?

People, right now, are falling in love everywhere. People are abusing each other too. And we are right here in the middle, maybe in the middle of a story ourselves, or maybe just observing, but a part of the same soup nevertheless.

The street fair starts tomorrow. Another season is passed. They are not unlimited for the characters we have become. Tomorrow is a day to live. Nobody is watching, and if they are, they just love you. And they are just bored. So dance. Sway. Breathe in this life. Hold it. There won't be another chance to live it. But if you do...

I am going to bed.

Okay, so the sun hasn't come up yet in Montana. The Rockford coffee shop has it's first customers walking through the door for their regulars and a look at the paper. Apparently the sandals with socks look is perfectly acceptable here in Bozeman. I am okay with that. It is a custom people must carry with them when they leave.
Last night I learned that a building exploded downtown here not long ago. The rumor is that it was an arson job to collect insurance. A woman died in the fire. I walked past the hole in downtown last night, and it was hard to imagine such a violent event in this smiley little town. I suppose anywhere has history, but the history of wherever I am seems so vital, as the locals walk past it in the business of living.
There are so many stories brushing past on the sidewalk, and all it takes is time to hear them. Time seems to appreciate in value when the business of living becomes more of a commodity.
I have another airport day ahead. Back to Boise. First, I have some more seminars and buffet meals. I am skipping out on the meth clean up workshop to catch my plane. I am quite happy with my visit to Montana. A beautiful place filled with beautiful people. I suppose anywhere is, when you have the time to open your eyes and look around.

Go Cougars.

I heart you.

What if all the maps are lying?
What if a long time ago there was an agreement among the people with the sort of power to make such agreements, that there was to be no mention of the other continent?
The secret continent.... Where all the spoils end up.
What if everyone is in on it, except you?

And another thing:
Montana is amazing. It is beautiful, and strong. The people seem raw, and vibrant. But it is not the last best place. I can not accept that.

So I sit in a hotel room in Forsyth... Check that; a motel room. I talk on the phone, I order flowers for a girl in New york, and I lie here and dream with my eyes open. Maybe the next best place, but not the last. My life is better than it has ever been. I would not be anywhere else right now if I could chose to.

I am writing about nothing/myself again. Hopefully A new author will come save me from this indulgence soon.

The buildings I saw today have a history unknown to me. Almost every building I admired in Forsyth was built in 1907. That must have been quite the year here. I sat in a restaurant and tried to soak in some of the stories that have been set there. I got a little essence, but not as much as I would have liked to. This town knows it's worth. It doesn't put out for just anyone.

There are broken sidewalks, and sunsets. There are baseball games, and jars of string beans. There are grandmas, and fourth of July parades. I think the kids play kick the can.

A town like this has a personality, a little shy, but eager eyes, and salty skin.

Tomorrow I leave, and I may never stay here again. But I got to know it just a little. Not the last best place, but one of them perhaps.

Does the right woman come in to your life? Is that how it works? Or do you go out and find what you want? I know right now, I tend to avoid any women I might consider wanting to be in a commitment with. I am afraid of something.
Bozeman is very comfortable. I went to a nice little coffee shop on the corner of seventh and main. I had one of the best cappuccinos I have had in my life. It was also served by one of the sweetest baristas of all time. I then went and purchased a Herbie Hancock cd at a local jazz music and used book store. Really nice place.
There is a reason they call this big sky country. It really is beautiful.

I am currently sitting in gate sixty-eight at the Salt Lake airport. I can't help but recognize how far away I am from the city I used to know here. The advance in time, and the advance in my own time, have made it impossible to touch that place I knew so very well only a decade ago. It does not exist. But it did, and I can still taste the hungry dust in my mouth from the summertime on those filthy streets next to the mission.
Pioneer park is now a place people take their kids. The district that used to be crowded with desperate people selling cocaine, heroin, and sex has transformed into a place filled with dispirited people pushing lotions, khaki's, and fried foods.
A man just sat next to me on the terminal bench and caused me to bounce a little. This happened right as I typed the word fried.
When I was last in California, I got a chance to ride a bus in to San Francisco from Santa Rosa. Also riding the bus that day was my best friend Jared, and a dwarf bull-dyke. She was quite friendly, but had a homeless odor about her and seemed full of misinformation about the bus schedule. It was difficult to show her appreciation for her accommodating nature, while not encouraging her to continue to keep talking to us. These are the experiences I remember.
A friend of mine is having trouble breaking up with someone who is not really in a relationship with her. I suppose he has convinced himself that he is through wishful thinking. Things like that happen. I recently broke up with someone I was not in a relationship with. The difference is that both of us knew that. In retrospect I wonder why we took the energy to break up. Closure is comforting.
I will be in Bozeman today. I have never been there. I am mildly excited.

The title is for me. I have to remember that people don't want to read about my life. I am not that interesting.
Everything I have written before is personal, it is written for me, or for someone to read after I expire.
I write this with the grandiose idea that someone might be interested enough to find this. If this is you, my ego is very grateful. Don't ever tell me.
I have been told to write as if everyone I know is dead. I find more comfort in thinking that no one I know will ever have time to read this. However, I will preface with the fact that I will edit what I say here. This is done as much for reasons of trying to be mysterious, as to protect my selfish motives. So here goes:

The street outside my building is hot. People move by with various means of transportation to get somewhere else. Once in a while, someone glimpses in, but usually through the windows I choose to present. Right now, as I write, there are two children walking by, a brother and sister I think. They are on their way somewhere too. I wish there were no reason not to ask them. This would not do. I have the neighbors opinions to consider.
I know people with no boundaries. It can be compelling. It is also tiring. I talk to people on the phone about the kinks in their minds. Actually, I don't talk to them, I mostly listen. When I talk, it is to people who are far less interesting, but much easier to know.
In case you were wondering, this blog is about nothing. There is no reason for you to be reading this. It is going nowhere. There is no knowledge to be gained here. There is no group to join, no comfort to find. So it is likely you should stop here, and go clean your bathroom.
It is just faster to write in here than in a journal, different things come out on a keyboard than from a pen. I like them both, but I am lazy, and I have to use my computer for something besides farming on facebook.
I went to an auction today for condominiums in downtown Boise. I didn't get anything. I really didn't even bid. The idea was to get a place to live away from my landlord and the drain of rent. I would like to be established. I would like my money to go in to something tangible, but that is such an illusion anyway.
See, that is what I want to stay away from. I am not writing about me. I am here to write about the world, as it looks to me. And it is beautiful. I really mean that. It amazes me how much passion I have for every little aspect of this world I am surrounded by. I suppose it comes from spending so much of my life in such a self-centered state of mind.
I don't need to go camping to feel the beautiful warmth of the sun on my face. I feel it as soon as I step out the door. The trees in my neighborhood speak to me with every soft sway of the breeze.
They tell me that everything is okay. And it is. All these things so tragic, and constricting, are so temporary and transient. This is not a spiritual statement.
I am off to a large social gathering to watch athletes. I will observe it all.