Excell

I'll be twenty-seven this week.  Someone told me I that most people have their first kid by my age.  A thirteen year old told me that, half my age.  But what was more surprising was that echoes floated through the room, "I don't want kids."

My Dad asked me during Winter break about owning property, animals, and a garden.  I don't think I do want those things anymore.  For someone with so much energy, I'm too tired for all of that.  Speaking eloquently about city-planning to my coworkers when my walk to school is sans-sidewalk.  Pedestrian infrastructure tells us that we are valuable.  That using our legs and are arms to propel ourselves in the most basic way is valued.

I've chosen the wrong field, but the worst part is, I'm very good at it.

Hard

It's hardest on the weekends.  I have nothing but my things and my cat and my time and what I've learned is that I value my time and my cat.  The things can go.

Sometimes I think, when is it my turn?  And that's selfish, but it's what I think.

It's hard being good at what you do and not want to do it, but it's not like I've been told that I'm good.  I have to tell myself these things.  Maybe that's why they aren't being said right.

On the weekends I do things.  I do them alone.  And I've always done things alone, but only in the context of people.  With the context of choice.  Opting out.  Outsiders get in.  Outsiders are in.

But now I'm just the Outsiders.  I'm Outside magazine.  Ocean Kayaker.  A man walking alone on a beach is the picture of loneliness.  A man walking alone on a beach and some students see him, is pretty sad.  And they know it, and they see me try so hard, and they shouldn't have to know that.

hail unfinished unrefined.

It was May when I started out without water, probably intentionally setting up situations which could turn badly when the temperate weather breaks to the early hot days of summer.  There is danger in not preparing, but danger is a muted sort when it's asked for.  After a few failed trips, trips without flaw, where wheels rolled, air pressure stayed firm, and sun only peaked from beyond clouds, did my abilities grow.  The risk harder to take.  My form, my shape improving.  No risk of exhaustion.  A miss turn, an extra 60 miles becoming less of  hardship, and yet the inevitable drift towards summer left the likelyhood of danger looming.  One hot day.  One day when the clouds blow away and the sun, naked burns down and for me, only 45 minutes would be enough for a substantial burn, but the risk, the risk was for at least two hours.  At least.

Which is why when the winds blew it was not surprising, when the clouds drifted away it was of no concern.  This was planned, this was secretly wanted.  The pity, the story, the passion.  A burn, dehydration, the struggle back.  The sympathy.  The hardship.  But then the wind kept blowing.  And it blew back in the clouds and the sun went away.  Weather cooled and rain fell.  The turn towards summer is tidal, and this shift not expected was an unconsidered possibility.

Hail is like an insult and snow is like hope.  We all want snow, and are greatful on those unexpected days.  There is fear in hail.  It falls from the sky and beside it's bruising of vegetation, it's ping, it's ding on metal, it's slip, slide.  Outside of our binaries of snow. 

Music

Aren't musicians the worst? 
Music is something you should only whisper to a friend under the deepest auspices of confidence. 
Bringing a 4-track recording of your harmonica and jazz guitar styles home bit between your jowls,
Like a cat with a rabbit haunch for it's owner, a gift unwanted.