Wednesday, February 29, 2012

April 29

Say you're on your deathbed and looking back at your life - what do you hope you'll see?

I've been thinking a lot from this perspective lately because I've been in a very very thick fog and needed to find a trajectory. The trajectory seems clear when I look at it in reverse like that, though the trajectory I see makes me want to curl up like a little mole and bury deep into the dirt. But I can't avoid it. The trajectory requires bravery. I must follow it or I might look back and not like the things I see - think - I wish I had done that. A life far different. 

I think that's terrifying. Don't you? More terrifying than not doing it. It's much easier to stop and stay and not do the things right now. But when you look back, man you'll be angry at yourself won't you? Disappointed. I don't want to be disappointed with myself on my deathbed. I want to be like - shit - that was fucking great. I really led the life I wanted. I want the trajectories to be good thick, strong lines sealed at their ends with achievements. Curly ones, stories. Weird offshooty ones. But good ones, strong ones, ones that I can see as good and solid and separate. Ones that make me go - sick - I did that. I suppose just to know that I'd made the most of all my opportunities, not wasted them on days passing, just days, days thinking - maybe I could have done something more...

The path from last year to this year has been far from clear. Looking from the grave has definitely helped. It's been my guide. When I look at it like that it becomes so obvious, so clear. And I realise things like - I probably won't look back and think 'I wish I'd spent more time on Facebook' or 'I would have liked to have seen more episodes of Modern Family.' Most evening television will in fact seem like a waste of time - Treme and Curb Your Enthusiasm and The Trip and shows like that are of course not included - those fall absolutely within the defines of the path to an extraordinary existence. But things like blog writing, 'catching up', not doing things you want in order to be nice, eating crap food - things like that definitely lose their power - not that they're bad - you just realise you have to keep them in check. You don't have much time. You want to look back and be able to see your life, watch those great big trajectories painting all sorts of skyscrapers.

And so, April 29. April 29 is the start of a path to somewhere - we're moving back to Paris. What is it about April 29? It's the day Mr Rabbit sat in his apartment in Northcote and wrote this beautiful song. We hadn't met yet. Now the song reminds me of so many things - Susy spinning from the roof in Berlin with an old man's face on, Shakespeare and Co, Austin and New York and LA and nights at The Toff in Town. Mr Rabbit mixing it with the curtains drawn at Les Récollets. April 29 is so many things. Mainly Paris. Now we're going back. It's been a torturous decision to make. Life's not just about me flitting around fancy free any more. I'm not solo to just fall on my own rear. But when I looked back from the end of my life it couldn't have been clearer. I can't spend my life wondering what if. I just can't. I can't ever look back and think - those were the days. The days should always get better, bigger, stronger, more defined. I have felt very lost - happy - but lost - and Paris was the last place I wasn't lost. Come to think of it I'm never lost there. I don't know why. We're not.

But that doesn't mean I don't wake every single morning aching all over for here. For big beautiful solid warm reasons that run so deep I can't even manage to write their names.  

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