There is not much we can really say about the seeable or the unforeseeable future. Everything is subject to change, which it can and it does.
Take now, for example. I am sitting in a seat, flying more than 32,000 miles above the ground and heading from one side of the country to the other. I am not new to this kind of trip, but yet somehow, each time the trip seems to change. Then again, each trip I took was taken for a different reason. Each time I flew out west, I flew with a different intention.
See, the thing is I have dreams.
I have West coast dreams too. I have ideas about The Hollywood Hills and the beaches at Malibu.
I am not so much for the Rodeo Drive scene, although, admittedly, I was there before too but again, the model of the trip as well as the reasons and my intentions were incredibly different.
And of course, when I come back home, someone always asks me, “Like, hey, did you see anyone famous,” which of course is not a question I can answer because any names or any locations can lead to a conflict of anonymity.
Today, however, or more accurately, right now, for now I am sitting comfortable, high above the ground and thinking about the dreams I have.
I was thinking of a conversation about the farm I had, which was not too long ago. I think about the farm often. Most times, the picture in my mind is based on the blueprint of a layout that I once knew.
I see a pasture. I see a big red barn and tree covered mountains around me. I see this place as cozy and comfortable, and peaceful too, segregated and separated away from the rest of the world to create a safe place and a steady environment.
I see this place and envision the farm as it goes through the different seasons. I see winter here and summer too. I see a small pond. I see kids running around, happy to be someplace safe and happy to be learning a new way of life.
There is no bullying here nor is there any concern for pronoun trouble. This place is neither political or religious; however, everyone is welcome to worship, think, or choose their ways of belief. More importantly, everyone on the farm is taught about the freedom to coexist with different views and not see this as a terrible or detrimental thing.
Who knows? Maybe I’m a dreamer. Maybe I’m trying to build this little bubble and create a world inside; one with its own ecosystem, and something that is self-sufficient.
Sounds nice, right?
This is my blueprint. The purpose and reasoning has always been the same. The name has never changed. The farm would be called “The Second Family,” in honor of the first family I lived with nearly three decades ago in a small town known as Hancock.
The greatest thing about any dream is they can literally occur anywhere. And since this dream is mine; I can build it, brick by brick, or barn by barn in any way I choose or see fit.
Who is to say this has to happen in any specific town or any particular place? This is my dream; therefore, this dream can take place anywhere I want. If I am to build this then I have to realize that I am the builder. I am the designer. I am the creator, which means I have the right to dictate or determine when and where this happens
There is a common blueprint for everything. I am sure of this. There is a template that we are all used to. Take our life for example. We are all somehow attached to a dogma.
We are attached to a method or modality. We are told from a young age, this is life, and this is how people live. Find a job. Find a career. Buy a house. Get a yard. Get married. Have children. Have a pet or 2.5 kids and be sure to have a white-picket fence to go around the property.
Maybe this is not the same picture for everyone. Maybe kids are not in the plans. Maybe marriage is not in the plans. Maybe a life less traveled is the idea.
Maybe we just want to break away from the norm, which is why we need to be mindful. We need to understand that being attached to any specific dogma keeps us from living or experiencing something outside the boundaries of our standardized blueprint.
This farm of mine can or could be anywhere. I could land the plane, right now, and be somewhere in Colorado. And why not? Colorado is a nice place. In fact, any place can be a nice place so long as I allow myself the freedom to detach from the blueprints I was trained to use.
I don’t want my life to be based on a template. I do not want to be generic. I certainly do not want to conform, simply because I attached myself to an idea that says, “This is the only way.”
There are so many pathways we can take. And I think about this. I think about the poet, Robert Frost. I think about when he said, “Two roads diverged in a yellow wood.”
And then Frost said, “And I . . .I took the one less traveled by. And that has made all the difference.”
There is no blueprint for life. Just yearn for it. Live for it. Build, love, laugh, and don’t be afraid to create your own blueprint in life because this is the footprint we leave behind us.
This is our legacy.
I am laughing now. I am laughing because I am here, doing something I never dreamt possible. I am not thinking about the seeable or unforeseeable future. I realize that everything is subject to change.
And that’s fine.
Not sure if you remember back when we were kids and people used to write their names or scribble nonsense on the bathroom walls.
There used to be names on the wall that said “Jake was here,” with the date underneath it.
I remember some of the funnier ones that might not be fit for publication. There was another I recall that said, “They paint these walls to stop my pen but the shit-house poet strikes again.”
I used to like that one . . .
More accurately and fitting for now though; I remember one that began with a random name that said something like, “Jake was here but now he’s gone. But his name lives here to carry on.”
That’s the farm for me. That’s my legacy and the signature I want to leave behind.
What about you though?
What will your signature look like?
Either way, whatever it is just keep one thing in mind; you can change the way you sign at any given moment because remember; everything is subject to change.
Including us . . .