New Definitions of Paradise

April 2, 1999  Friday

Memoirs from the Edge can’t be called something I really enjoyed writing.  In most cases I wrote because of some unwritten obligation I felt for continuing the story.  In the end it sputtered and collapsed, dying because of lack of interest.  Oh well, they say the third times the charm.

I am home for Easter weekend, so considering the date, I have come to the sleepy little town of Brimfield.  This place, the field, the school, the parking lot, the track, even the water tower beyond centerfield I learned in one of my first college classes are metaphors.  This many not be simple to explain or understand for others, but it is simple to me.

College’s social scene, while interesting, is very tiring.  It is hard–not impossible–but hard to find people who are real.  The black bar pants, the Birkenstocks, the piercings, the full Abercrombie closest only a millionaire could afford, is all designed to impress.  I am so weary of it.  So few people know of love, and its definition has been perverted.  Meat market would be too good a term.  The problem comes when you show interest in a girl only by seeing her across the room.  Before you know it you’re together while you strain the lovely lady’s name.  I want to be able to know someone.  A relationship that is rushed is no relationship at all.  I am glad that at least I know this, though.  It is even more saddening when I think a girl likes me, but she knows not one thing about me.  I want a relationship where where I don’t kiss the girl until I know if she says “soda” or “pop.”  I want to get to know her, as at the same time she gets to know me.

That is why I am sitting one these metal bleachers in the dusk of this particular April day.  What transpired here two years ago is what I want.  Not that now-taken person–the event.  That simple talk.  I want someone can I really talk to .  This place is a reminder of what I am about, and what I seek.  I will know when loves comes because she will make me want to be a better person than I am.  I know when I love someone again it will not matter in the slightest what she looks like.  Finally, I will not profess love until I am certain.  That may mean a few more Alexes, Julies, and Coreenas will come first, but eventually I will find her. This place, this field, keeps this loonie on the path.

So this is a good a place and date as any to begin a third journal because these thoughts loom large for me at the moment.  This is kind of spur of the moment, and I don’t even have a title for it yet, but that is just window-dressing anyway.  You as well know that the major themes in the collection of thought will be will be like the one above, and everything else as I continue my transition into the person I will be one day. Every day, every moment, builds on what I will be tomorrow.  It’s kind of exciting to think about, that as least on some microscopic level,  will not be the person I am now when I wake up tomorrow.  To tomorrows!

So, let the fun begin… again.


One Comment Add yours

  1. maycee83 says:

    How bittersweet and insightful. These words express so much about humanity’s search for authentic experience in the form of pure and simple love. By juxtaposing the party scene to the April 2nd walk in Brimfield, you accentuate the pain tinged with hope felt by our increasingly wistful protagonist. This entry brought me to tears with its curious graspings for truth, and belongs in the Journal Hall of Fame.

    Liked by 1 person

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