There is no question that I have sojourned the road less traveled. To my amusement,
I recently discovered the dictionary definition of the word “sojourn”. If ever there
was a word that is applicable to my life it surely must be this word. By definition,
the word sojourn means “a temporary stay” or more fittingly, “a brief period of
residence”. My life has been about being on the road. Willie Nelson made the concept
famous and although I am not a raging fan – as a matter of fact I own no songs of
this one of a kind musician – I surely have lived such a life.
There is nothing better than having a bit of good ole casual conversation. As I
have sojourned from place to place I have developed a fascination with the process
of meeting new people. I would often find myself in a particular town or in some
cases a simple crossing of the roads, and then in short order there I would be in
the middle of a conversation with a complete stranger. Such conversations are much
more revealing than a conversation with someone you may have known for a while.
Perhaps it is because such conversations are so casual with nothing to prove nor
any preconceived standards one is compelled to live up to. There is no call to impress
and the odds of running into the same stranger more than once remains minimal, unless
of course you are staying in the same hotel with only one entry and exit. I am sure
it is not the same as casual sex, which I care to not partake of, but it does have
its fascinating side, the casual conversation I am referring, not the casual sex
part.
Sometimes I would be in a grocery store, other times in a restaurant, and I have
even found myself standing at a bus stop and if you wait long enough, where ever
you are, there will always be something presented that you can utilize to comfortably
break through the ice barrier that seems to be falsely present and before you know
it, there you are, having a bit of good ole casual conversation.
What fascinates me the most is how those that have lived in one place all their
lives are in some way envious of the travels and experiences I have undertaken in
my life. Many times people have shared with me how “they” wish they were “me”. I
have attempted to express to others the great depth of my envy for the life “they”
have lived. It is inconceivable to me a life which began, developed and ended in
a single “place of birth”. How wonderful it must be to have been born and then raised
up in a single place and then to know everyone on a first name basis and their stories
too, from the gal at the cash register down at the corner drugstore to the family
physician.
Perhaps I fantasize too much about a “Leave it to Beaver” way of life. I know I
am not the only one who has lived a life similar to the life I have lived, but I
am also certain that there are those who have lived a pretty good life with family
and friends that abound all around them.
I did not choose the life I have lived, it selected me in a kind of predestined
freakish kind of way, and if I could change the way things were, I just might, if
it was not for the acute awareness that this road less traveled has made me into
who I am today, and even though I did not like myself in the past, who I am now
is actually pretty darn good.
My road has been marked with many a pothole filled at times with unbearable hardships.
I if permit it, I can recall with vivid detail the misery of betrayal as coarsened
and serrated daggers were thrust deeply into my heart by the ones I have loved and
trusted the most. Disillusionment has at times replaced the excited expectations
once imagined now rekindled. Battles have been fought and lost and upon my soul
are the indelible memories of great defeats with a few sweet victories intermingled
to maintain the innate hope that what is searched for shall be eventually found..
There have been many trials, some I believe I have past while others still await
a final examination. Fires have raged both inside of me and around me yet today
I still chose to stand in the fire, daring the flames to lap at my skin and soul,
for it is only when you are in the fire do you grow and become more of a human being.
My introduction to the selfishness of man began at a very early age and my deep
confusion to the ease in which the human race is so easily capable of inflicting
such horrible and terrifying pain and anguish upon every other species of this planet,
including their own, still remains an unresolved conflict within my heart.
I have met those whom have been “born of goodly” parents and their love and affection
towards those who brought them into this world and which provided comfort and support
through triumph and defeat is an unknown reality to me. At times I find myself as
a child on a cold winter day, a face pressed up against the cold and frosted window,
outside looking in, seeing the marvelously radiate flames of a fire reaching skywards
up into the cavity of the mantel, the table adorned with an evening meal, imagining
myself seated upon my own designated chair and partaking of such a mystical and
mysterious event, an experience and place so foreign, yet so well materialized in
the psyche by the magnificent works of majestic artists such as Norman Rockwell
and Thomas Kinkade.
Born of a father who would die of a broken heart and of whom I would never know
and a mother whose rage and anger and embitterment was thrust down the throats of
the children born of her womb yet considered the shackles that served as binding
that held her in a prison without bars or boundary.
I must not have been much older than 8 years of age when my introduction to international
conflict and the war of nations began via a historical film regarding the bombing
of Pearl harbor by the Japanese at 7:55 AM Hawai'ian Time on December 7th 1941.
It was at this time that the desire to attend the United States Naval Academy began
to blossom. I would imagine myself to be a Naval Officer and rising to the rank
of Captain and commanding the mightiest of all mighty ships.
One might desire to ask of me a question of destination. At what place of being
have I arrived at after having occupied the witness chair to the rage that fills
the hearts of so many. What kind of human being have I become after sojourning along
a path that has taken me to where I know stand. Am I a man of love, of kindness,
of charity, of wisdom, of self awareness? Can I stand here now, in this space and
time, this place that I occupy for only a moment, and portray myself with a sense
of congruence and truthful countenance, not as a man who has measured and identified
himself as a concoction of attributes borrowed from others, but rather as a self
aware man of substance and selflessness, who is the yardstick upon which others
now benchmark themselves against.