Spring break during The Good Year was supposed to be spent on Hawaii's big island fishing, biking, brainstorming and generally enjoying life. But one series of poor timing and bad stomach aches later I found myself woken this morning by the mid-morning sun, still in Denver, artificially groggy and tucked into a familiar bed while the earth shook on the other side of the world.
There are constant reminders that, in the grand scheme of the world, we would be lucky just hold the space of a speck of dust, too small even to cast a recognizable shadow. As waves tumbled across Japan, I lay in a medical gurney as a doctor issued me my first ever "chronic"diagnosis. Chronic as in not life threatening but will continue for the rest of my days in perpatuity. Sure I've been banged up before, swollen joins and cracked bones but chronic is different. It doesn't happen to the young and the invincible. Chronic is old. Chronic takes a long view towards the far end.
So, as the world continues to reshape itself around us, it seems it must be time for this speck of dust to slip away a few days to see the sun, touch the rock and breath the dirt. They once said "go west, young man, go west and grow up with the country."
I fear I may already be grown, but west I will go.
Go West, [old] man, go west. There is health in the country, and room away from our crowds of idlers and imbeciles.