I have a confession to make: I am consistently scanning the horizon for a relationship status change. I could write pages on the thesis that I am not looking for any major commitment at this point in my life. But, the primary focus would be the sappy and groan-inducing things that I miss about having around that 'special someone': someone to call on my way home from work, someone to have a certainty of Friday/Saturday plans with, spending the majority of a day watching movies/television and still feeling like you've done something moderately productive, etc.
As much as the radar is checking ring fingers and trying to catch more-than-random glances every waking hour, I've found that spending a little time in the Las Vegas airport is giving the radar operate a little R&R. We can go ahead and run at minimal power for the next hour and a half. There will be no Bastille storming anytime soon.
Las Vegas is one of those unfortunately many places on earth where you can get an overwhelming sense of the depravity of man. And, I'm not about to break into a bashing of gambling, drunkenness, or smoking. For starters, I smoked a pretty good cigar for a solid hour last night while getting slightly tipsy... and, I love a good poker night as much as the next person.
No, I'm much more of a "everything in moderation", fence-sitting kind of guys. The depravity that I'm feeling now is that sense of hopelessness and hollowness. I could very well be projecting the emotions that I am feeling when I glance upon an elderly person in a wheelchair strapped to an oxygen tank pulling rhythmically at the arms of a slot machine. They could be riding the roller coaster of life and loving every gripping minute of hoping the odds will fall in their favor. But, I doubt it.
The scary thing was sitting next to a guy on my flight down here and realizing that the main thing that separates he and I is roughly 3 decades. He wasn't on oxygen or had any noticeable disabilities, he looked like a pretty healthy 50-year-old guy. But, I was reading 'The Wild Things' by Dave Eggers, and I was falling in love with the character of Max. The character in the book is VERY similar to the kid in the movie and my first reaction to the kid on screen was 'Whoa! Slow down.' I'm no psychologist, but I was definitely leaning toward A.D.D.
And, the book paints Max in almost the same light. He has trouble focusing his thoughts at time, he is prone to episodes of acting on instinct, he's a very antsy kid. But, then it hit me, what part of being a normal 8-year-old isn't like that? Aren't kids supposed to get in a little trouble and push boundaries and confound their parents at how surprisingly simple their thought process is?
Basically, I was defending Max because I'm mostly sure that I was pretty close to that kid when I was growing up. I didn't have a lot of snow in SoCal to make a fort and have it fall on me... but, my brother and I collectively thought it was a good idea to spit on our carpool's ride. Why? Because we pretended to spit on another car on the way home, and he called us out on it. He said we pretended, so we decided to show him by actually spitting on his car.
Makes sense, right? Well, no. It's stupid. It's illogical. It's very... childish. Would I do it again today? No. Is it something I have fused in my memory and now, twenty years later, has made me a fully-functioning adult? I'm going to vote 'yes', but I understand that may be up for debate.
So, back to the guy on the plane. If I was used to be a Max and am now somewhere lost in my mid-twenties, then I am on the path to becoming the guy next to me: a wise, experienced old guy. Wise old people havent been that way their entire lives... they kinda had it formed around them.
But, there is a lot to do between now and then. And, what’s the probability that I’ll be the guy on the plane? What’s stopping me from winding up in Atlantic City with a walker and an alcohol addiction?
Not enough. I need to get out of here and get my radar going again.
No comments:
Post a Comment