Too long

Truthfully, I am getting older. Many regrets I have already laid to rest, happily exercising my rights to introspectively assign value to actions vs their outcomes.  There have certainly been a great share of youthful fantasies that never bore fruit.  I have identified and cataloged many instances of arrogance and suppositional rhetoric in my years.  

I can't look back at what might have been, because I did what I did at times for a colorful tapestry of reasons.  At some moments, survival was paramount. And still others, I was interested in the thrill of change, of spontaneity that would surely drive the winds behind the sails of my life.

I suppose that, given a bit of temperance, I can entertain the thought that life still holds much in front of me.  Mid life (in all it's sundry machinations, pock-marked with exhaustion, financial insolvency and straight-up dehydration) has me by the scruff of my neck right now, and it's hard to see above the trenches at times.  I am paralyzed with fear at forever screwing up more lives around me than I have hairs on my speckled head.  I often press the pause button and wonder, in the words of David Byrne, "Well, how did I get here?"

Yes, yes...the days go by.  Racing, forever racing because no matter how hard I try, I cannot exist for learning, and to slow down time is a fruitless exercise of sentimental futility.  Dry and brittle are the new hobbies that sink their atrophied claws into my soul; I continually reach backward to draw old pleasures into the present-tense of my life.  Perhaps that, my friends, is why my right shoulder has seemingly drawn its last ping-pong ball from the tumbler of life's lottery.  

I carry with me so much passion, so much hubris.  I sometimes explode with such unannounced and unfocused tremors of anxiety that I cannot help but wonder where it all comes from.   I was told all along that I ought to break the cycle of generational trauma, but which character traits do I carry in my psyche that, if lopped off with reckless abandon, would sever ties with lesser-developed but internal sensitivies in my soul?  Who knows.  

Anyway, here's a picture of the Sonoran desert that I took while I was punishing my body during a 41 mile bike ride this past Saturday morning.  As for the rest of the words in this entry, I have no idea where they came from, or why the savory picture of a morning's sunrise caused them to protrude with such fervor from my nervous soul.  Enjoy this fine Monday.