It's almost 2am on a Sunday morning and I'm pissed. The problem is, I"m really not sure what it is that I'm pissed at. I really don't have many worries other than the typical credit card debt from too much shopping. I mean, I have a beautiful house that I love more than anyone should love an inantimate object, a nice car, a good job; and above all, I have the love of good friends and family. There is not a moment in my day where I could not call someone and have a knock on my door if I needed them. But for some reason I feel like I'm waiting on something. And the thing that pisses me off, is that I really don't know what it is that I'm waiting for.
Sometimes I sorta feel like I'm waiting for the life that I want to live, to start. There are so many things that I want to do. I want to live so many place, just pick up and move. I want to travel and experience new cultures and see things that I have never seen, or possibly never will get the chance to see again. I want to drive to Colorado, lie in a field of wildflowers and write poetry. I mean, how cheesy can you get. But that's what I want. And the thing I can't figure out, is what is keeping me from it. I have a good job and a comfortable salary, but I think that I'm scared to do things. Everytime I think that I am just going to up and do something that I know in my heart I want to do, I convince myself otherwise, thinking that it wouldn't be the "wise" decision. What the hell is the wise decision? What am I waiting on?
Last night I decided I was going to take all the extra money I earn working four extra part time jobs and put it towards a trip to Italy. I studied Art History in college and I've always wanted to see Italy. What have I waited on? I think it's someone to see it with. And that's what scares me, is it smart to just head out to another country alone? Will I regret all the time that I spend alone when I could have "waited" to see it with someone else? But who? I watch as friends of my head off to other countries without another thought, and I stew in jealousy, knowing full well I could do that same thing.
I think what it sums up to is that I need to make a change. I'm too damn comfortable. I need to shake things up a bit. I'm starting or shall I say motivating myself to write again. Which is all I ever wanted in life. God, what I wouldn't give to be a travel writer. And why not?
Why am I so scared to do what I want to do with my life?
" I want to be the volcano who lavishes her boiling rock soup love on everyone, and I want to be the lover of volcanos, who loves best what burns her as it flows. "
On Not Flying to Hawaii
I could be the waitress
in the airport restaurant
full of tired cigarette smoke and unseeing tourists.
I could turn into the never-noticed landscape
hanging identically in all the booths
or the customer behind the Chronicle
who has been giving advice
about stock portfolios for forty years. I could be his mortal weariness,
his discarded sports section, his smoldering ashtray.
I could be the 70-year-old woman who has never seen Hawaii,
touching her red lipstick and sprayed hair.
I could enter the linen dress
that poofs around her body like a bridesmaid,
or become her gay son
sitting opposite her, stirring another sugar
into his coffee for lack of something true to say.
I could be the reincarnated soul of the composer
of the Muzak that plays relentlessly overhead,
or the factory worker who wove this fake Oriental carpet,
or the hushed shoes of the busboy.
But I don't want to be the life of anything in this pitstop.
I want to go to Hawaii, the wet, hot
impossible place in my heart that knows just what it desires.
I want money, I want candy.
I want sweet ukelele music and birds who drop from the sky.
I want to be the volcano who lavishes
her boiling rock soup love on everyone,
and I want to be the lover
of volcanos, who loves best what burns her as it flows.
Alison Luterman
in the airport restaurant
full of tired cigarette smoke and unseeing tourists.
I could turn into the never-noticed landscape
hanging identically in all the booths
or the customer behind the Chronicle
who has been giving advice
about stock portfolios for forty years. I could be his mortal weariness,
his discarded sports section, his smoldering ashtray.
I could be the 70-year-old woman who has never seen Hawaii,
touching her red lipstick and sprayed hair.
I could enter the linen dress
that poofs around her body like a bridesmaid,
or become her gay son
sitting opposite her, stirring another sugar
into his coffee for lack of something true to say.
I could be the reincarnated soul of the composer
of the Muzak that plays relentlessly overhead,
or the factory worker who wove this fake Oriental carpet,
or the hushed shoes of the busboy.
But I don't want to be the life of anything in this pitstop.
I want to go to Hawaii, the wet, hot
impossible place in my heart that knows just what it desires.
I want money, I want candy.
I want sweet ukelele music and birds who drop from the sky.
I want to be the volcano who lavishes
her boiling rock soup love on everyone,
and I want to be the lover
of volcanos, who loves best what burns her as it flows.
Alison Luterman
1 comment:
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