Strange Rumblings From 37,000 Feet

It is when you are traveling alone (and I feel like a grizzled old veteran of the process) and lifted off the face of the earth when you are able to separate yourself from the vagaries and minutiae of your everyday life, both literally and figuratively. It is at these times when you can examine personal happenstance (and happiness) through a microscope, as your filters have been blown to smithereens by your insecurities.

My problems are nothing that nine or ten $200-an-hour therapy sessions wouldn’t fix, but to be honest I would rather spend the money on Stella instead. Insecurities? How about bold decision-making? Besides, people come to me all the time for advice in matters ranging from relationships to gambling picks to fashion. My insistence that I am truly an ignorant dolt doesn’t worry them one bit, seemingly. I either know what I’m talking about, or people are taking advantage of me because of all the beer in my fridge.

And by the way, I’m fine with that. But what does worry me is the trap that people fall into when they start thinking about their retirement funds and performance reviews and understanding tax code. This should be terrifying to any level-headed individual, but I suppose it is the product of dashed dreams and squandered youth that we desperately cling to, like a shark ripping into a surfer’s leg. You can only be a stubborn bastard for so long; I suppose at some point, you have to give in and just let them chew you up and spit you out.

It’s the system: you play by the rules and jump into the funnel, and you end up having the same problems as everybody else and spend entirely too much time complaining about gas prices and the exchange rate. Lately I’ve been arguing that athletics are possibly the most self-satisfying professions one could have, just because it’s so far removed from what the system preaches. To me, the idea that an athlete should choose to go to college over signing a professional contract is ridiculous, as the only reason I choose to learn about stuff and become “educated” is because I was never a great athlete, or I didn’t spend enough time working on improving or whatever. Sure, I like learning about new stuff, but not as much as I like kicking a soccer ball.

Whatever. I spent a couple hours walking around O’Hare, trying to find Jules after we got separated, but I gave up. She was going to New York. I knew her for a very short time, but she was a wonderful person. I liked her shoes. Maybe we will get married and live near the Irish Sea.

TJH