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Wednesday, January 9, 2013

Carry On

This is naturally--as all times are really--a period of immense change for me. I am not working other than my assorted projects and freelancing. I am staying at home with my child, and I am growing out my hair and my beard and I am thinking big things about who I am and who I could be. Most people never really get the chance after the age of 18 to stop and reflect and have the breathing room to ask the question, "Who the hell am I, anyway?"

I'm not sure I like the answer I'm getting. Or rather, I'm not sure what the answer is and it scares the shit out of me.

I'm the sort of person who only enjoys only the first half of a vacation because I spend the second half too worried about how many days I have left and how the vacation is almost over with. This is sort of like that, I suppose, but with maybe a lot more on the line.

So, I focus on those things I can do every day to affect change. I'm reading a lot, I go to the playground with my son and I watch him learn all those important things most of us learn unconsciously, as he's doing now. He talks to new kids, gets rejected, learns how to deal with that, meets more new kids and repeats the process. He's very resilient and honest. He asked a kid the other day straight up if the kid would play with him. The kid said no, and Collins looked over at me with the most sincere hope I've ever seen--he truly thought I could fix this. I couldn't, though. That's just the way it is; sometimes people don't wanna play with you.

We listen to Blur and fun. all the damn time because those are the only two bands that he knows every word to every song, and he sings and sings and sings. He knows the words. He sings.

He sings: "If you're lost and alone, or sinking like a stone, carry ahh-ahh-ahh-ahh-on."

Though I know he probably has no idea what he's singing, it feels like he's singing it to me.

"If you're lost and alone, or sinking like a stone, carry on, dad. Carry on."

There's a library at the top of the hill by the playground and every day we go to the library and we read two or three books and we borrow one more to take home and read before bed time. It's a simple ritual but he likes it and I like it, and it reminds me of when I was a little kid and the entirety of the world seemed contained within the city library. I suppose it was. I suppose it still is.

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

I love this entry. It's similar to my life right now. The concept of time gets weird when you all of a sudden have a lot of it.

Tres Crow said...

I agree, Anon. When you have a lot of time on your hands, you can almost start to feel oppressed by it. In only a matter of a few months, I'm already starting to understand how all those housewives in the 1950s could have been so miserable. And I have a ton of things to keep me occupied. I can't imagine what this would feel like if I had no hobbies, or business plans.

I'm glad you liked the post. Thanks for commenting.