So Many TimBits
May 12, 2015, 8:42 pm
Filed under: nomadisms | Tags:

Tuesday morning Timbit bribery.  Small coffee, 10 donut holes.  Save the best for last (chocolate coconut).

Right now, for the first time in a long time, looking at this city with a lighter gaze.  Seeing all kinds of things missed before.  Maybe it’s the sense of time running down, maybe it’s the spring air, maybe it’s the step back from grinding away so hard.  Things pop out more – a building never really looked at, the sun on the sidewalk, a previously ignored stream through a park.

The way you look at someone the first and last times, if you know it’s possibly a last time, that you see them.


The Best of Times
May 1, 2015, 6:41 pm
Filed under: nomadisms | Tags: , ,

The list of names attached to the picture are from everywhere, scattered anywhere, familiar and long gone.  A lot went on to keep living the way we had – close to the ocean, mostly free, sometimes searching.

Pictures from the Good Old Days are made into collages that look like The Best Times, and I look and I feel restless, like the world is waiting and I’m here… doing what?

Wait, I was there, at least some of the time.  Were they really the best times?  I don’ t think so, objectively.  Maybe subjectively, which would say a lot.

In paradise, as far as I’ve looked, there can be a lot of darkness.  Probably because some of the most fun people, who swing so high, are prone to also dip low.  More so because the existential search that leads people to unconventional choices can be undertaken by people with tigers to tame, restlessness, or blatent dysfunction.  And then, don’t the people in this category seem to find each other, settle in, and stay too long at the party?

The effect on a place of too much of this is the tricky part, a critical mass of unhappy people sucks the energy out of even the best places.  My favorite place in the world used to go through cycles.  There would be great runs, where everyone seemed all-love.  I remember sitting in the sun and knowing that I was having some of the best days of my life.  The goodness kept building, attracting the same thing.

Other times, everything would be fractured – like there was crap in every cup of coffee in the morning.  Any good energy that would float out was met with flat affect or upset.  Happy people packed up and moved on, or gave the place a skip altogether.  Late nights over cold beer were riddled with backbiting complaint sessions.  Less time laughing, more time peacekeeping.

Strangely, it’s the fractured times that I see pop up the most when people are reminiscing, and people who were miserable to deal with (or too stoned for feelings all day every day) seem to like to revisit and romanticize the past the most, even though it was pretty average when it was actually happening.

I’m trying to keep this in mind.