Regression to the Mean

I haven't really ranted in quite some time and I'll tell you why. I spent the majority of December couch surfing, assisting my aging parents and dulling my perceptions with spirituous liquors. All of these activities appeal to me, each embodies an aspect of life that I find sorely lacking from my daily banality.

To live without a fixed address, to commune and temporarily cohabitate, to live out a bag and a pillowcase is quite intoxicating. During the most enjoyable month of my life, I did this exclusively, to my great joy and satisfaction. The course brings a connection to those who open their doors to you. More than any conversation, gift, or handshake, the most fundamentally brotherly act that one can perform on another is to invite you into his home. For a a period, however inevitably brief, you belong to that home, as if your stay was to be permanent. It is a firm hug and firefly. It is comfortable and calm. At the same time it is an adventure. Without ever truly knowing where you might lay your head for the coming night, you are forced to live in the moment that you find yourself. With absolutely no expectation for the future, the present becomes important in the span of each breath. It provides focus and freedom, honing perception to razor clarity.

Most actions in this world are purposeless, automated. They serve only to maintenance the machine that we continue to build. Despite acumen in certain areas, beyond my desire to give back and contribute, I am fundamentally unable to motivate myself into works that are inherently absent of meaning. Classes, office jobs, customer service, what a waste. Think of it like the BCS. If anyone were to start from scratch and build a post-season system, it is inconceivable that the end result would be the Bowl Championship Series. Whatever methodology, whatever priorities came into play, the BCS could only exist as a refinement of an antiquated sensibility. Such is modern life. Lacking the wherewithal to reinvent ourselves, we continue to slap duct tape over the oxidation and replace windows with garbage bags. In vain hubris we pat our state-of-the-art sound system and smirk at our 22" rims. Soon the engine will die as we choose to disregard it, denying our fate until it sputters to death in a hail storm. In my loquacity I intend to impart that helping my parents to complete tasks, day-to-day or long-term projects, filled me with a sense of accomplishment that I have not felt before in my adult life. I paid a nickel on a debt of millions and savored every second. Perhaps the issue is with me, but there must be some path that I can walk that is similarly bereft of existential angst.

I saw an episode of Cougar Town last nite (stop laughing). One of the plot lines revolved around the perpetually adolescent father being shown the contents of Pandora's Box. Eyes opened to the indecency and idiocy of the world at large, he became unable to live his blissful existence or sink a simple putt. Through the course of the story, he learned to accept and ignore the unkempt horror of humanity and live through it. Somehow my chemistry is off. Someday I hope that the Doc will determine to proper cocktail to allow me that sort of grace. Until then my glasses are made of booze bottles, my disbelief dulled by the warm hand of a Swedish master.

"I do not need to be given their glory. I do not need to steal their gold. They are they and I am I, our paths simply fall side by side."

December was a top 5 month in my life. I wish more of you had been a part of it.

Cheers.