“You need to
write or have someone listen to you talk for a few hours over a beer and under the night sky.”
That was
said in reply to me saying, “My head will not be quiet.”
I do not
remember the last time someone offered that up to me. Well, actually I do, but
it was a long time ago. I am a firm believer in therapy, in any way in which
you can get it. You can build something from scratch, cook a meal, paint a
picture, go take some photographs, write, hit the gym, hike across the
continental divide and get chased by a grizzly bear, or have a nice long
conversation with someone you trust. I don’t hit the gym or paint but I’ve done
all the rest and it has managed to keep me sane for almost 37 years.
Conversation, actual face to face conversation, is my favorite with being
chased by grizzly bears at a close second.
You can write
e-mails and letters, send text messages or make a phone call. None of those can
ever replace a conversation where both parties are within reach. I need to see your
eyes and I need mine to be seen. I do not have a poker face and even if you do
I’m good at catching the tells.
Sometimes it
feels like I’m in a foreign country and I do not know the language and the
language I speak is just as baffling to everyone else. It sucks and not in a
good way. Most folks don’t really care what you’ve got to say, they’ll ask you
how you’re doing but they don’t want to know and they only ask so they can tell
you about the pile of shit they stepped in earlier. It’s human nature, I
suppose, it happens too often for it not to be.
I’d trade
just about everything, and give up more, for a long conversation about anything
other than sports, work, or the weather. I have no desire to discuss politics
and will only discuss religion with about two people. I want to know what crazy
ideas are bouncing around in your head. I want to hear you talk about the
things that are dearest to your heart. I want to hear about the lost loves, the
mistakes, and that one thing you did so right it had to have been fate. I want
to hear you describe, in great detail, the last time you took a walk while
holding someone’s hand. I want to know where you’ve been, what you’ve seen, and
who you’ve loved. I want to know the whys, the wheres, and the hows. Give me
the coulda, shoulda, wouldas. Look me right in the eyes and tell me you have no
regrets and then tell me about every damn last one of them.
There are
some folks who will read this that I know very intimate details about. I know
their secrets and their desires. There are some folks who will read this that
know the same about me. These are the people who have said things I will never
forget. Simple comments and hour long conversations. Thank you for being
inspiration. My muses are many, varied, and all beautiful.
