I have heard the words, “this is the life.”
I think about what this means. I think about the places I have been or the views I have seen, which are beautiful and perhaps local and maybe they are only subjective to me, a typical New Yorker with an accent and all.
But I can say that I have seen beautiful things.
I was listening to a song the other morning.
I am not too familiar with the music of today or the youth of today and at the same time, I heard the words to the lyrics.
“Man, this must be the life.”
I thought this was brilliant.
And here’s why –
What does this mean?
The life . . .
I have sat at the side of mountains in Los Angeles and watched the sun go down. I saw the Hollywood sign at night and felt the buzz, which is something I was told about.
At the same time, sure, this was nice.
This was good.
This was Los Angeles in all its splendor and its glory.
But . . .
Was this the life?
Was it the life when I sat down in wealth spots and ate like a king?
Was it the life when I was flying across my country in business class with my seat opened back into a bed?
Was this the life?
Or maybe I was closer to the buzz or ‘the life,” when I was on the roof of a Midtown building on the Eastside of Manhattan, facing Long Island City and reliving some of my wildest fantasies with a girl who was more beautiful than an Angel with wings.
The funny things is I have been on expensive trips and I have been to beautiful places and at the same time, there was something muted or something less-than huge about this.
There was always something missing.
Not bad.
Just missing . . .
I have the need though.
I want to go.
I want to create a quick escape and sure enough, I think I will.
Soon . . .
I might have to board a plane or go on a weekend trip to nowhere. And though I am going at this alone, maybe this is a good thing.
Maybe this is a good time to go and find what it means to look at something beautiful and say, “man, this must be the life.”
I think I might need another trip to El Chimayo . . .
Yeah.
That might be it.
I agree being alone comes with its frightening aspects.
Dying alone is one of my biggest fears.
And the ideas that perhaps a day will come and I will die in my bed and no one will know or care until the stench from my body reaches the hallway is painful to me.
I won’t be remembered until my smell disturbs the neighbors.
Yes.
I am afraid of this.
I have an attachment to the idea that being alone is the equivalent to being a failure.
But this is not true.
However, it is true that I have been part of failed relationships. It is true that I had my part and so, I have to claim the responsibility to where I did myself and someone else a disservice.
I do not point fingers or blame anyone.
Life is life.
Love is love.
And sometimes, the two may run parallel and often enough, the two parallel lines are split or unexpectedly separate.
This happens to people
We assume we are where we are supposed to be until life changes and we find ourselves elsewhere and doing elsewise things.
Some paths run parallel
until they split –
And so, this means two people become distant.
I know about this all too well.
Come to think of it, there was a day when I realized I would have to prepare for life on my own with no partner, no lover, no one to regard or want me and no one for me to regard.
There was a rainy day over the summer.
I remember this well.
I was alone. I felt alone.
I lived alone.
Everyone else in my life had plans.
Everyone else had somewhere to go and people to be with.
And I? I had no one.
So –
I went to the movies.
The movie was nice enough to distract me for a while.
The hard part is there was no one to talk to afterwards. There was no one to sit at a diner and go over what happened or what took place.
There was no one to speak about my favorite parts with.
Just an empty room when i returned home.
I have been thinking about the need I have to take a drive over the seven-mile bridge.
Maybe I should do this.
I never had the chance to do go but maybe now the trip is calling me.
I used to want to do this with the love of my life.
But the love of my life has a life of their own and I have nothing to do with this anymore
. . .
it is what it is
Lies are lies.
Mistruths are mistruths
intentions and interpretations are not the same.
and either way, no matter how you dress it; bullshit is bullshit
and I
I took the bait—
I don’t know what tomorrow looks like.
I don’t know if I am ugly or beautiful.
Maybe I am a terrible kisser.
Maybe I stink.
Maybe no one likes me . . .
at least, this is what I was told
I don’t know if I will die alone or somehow, life will make a correction and the path I find will be better and outshine the path I’ve always dreamed about.
But at some point, I think I want to find the monument or the person or the place or the view that settles my heart and then . . .
I will know what it means to look around and say this –
“Man, this must be the life.”
