I went out alone Friday night and the inner city is empty on the weekends. There's a certain feeling down here that you don't get in the suburbs. Everyone down here seems like a traveller just passing through, in motion, looking to get somewhere without making too many connections for fear of growing roots and being anchored into the ground. There's a certain freedom to this mode of living but at the cost of consistent bouts of loneliness. When the mountains in the West swallow the sun, handing over it's duty to the city lights, that is when the travelers are all revealed. It's in the transients digging for leftover cigarettes in the filthy ashtray on the street corner. It's in the young Mexican gang member projecting his confident anger to mask the fear he has inside that he has no future. It's in all of the business men and women flirting and pursuing the sex and laughter of each other to try and fill that empty hole inside that's driving us all mad. It's in myself and on my face as I sit down at the dingy Irish pub and look down the bar to see versions of myself 20 years from now drinking whiskey and no longer clinging to the illusion that I have anymore youth. Time is that sliver in all of our hearts and minds that will never be removed. We can do our best to ignore it but it will always come to the surface whenever it chooses and shoot a sharp pain through our souls by letting us know how fast our time is running out and leaving us dwelling on what we've wasted instead of trying to make the moment we're in count.
Travelers and passengers downtown all sense one another and are aware of the different breed that they are. It's an invisible network of common souls resembling a large family without any of the love or compassion. What this invisible family shares is the sense of serving out a sentence and an admittance that this life could very possibly be a punishment that the religious types deem as Hell.
Saying that we're in Hell always makes the writer sound like he or she is being overly dramatic and looking for sympathy. I think the real truth is that we're all looking for sympathy for the vast majority of the time while rarely seeking to give it.
Scattered (adj.): "disconnected fragments of a story", "scattered thoughts", unconnected(lacking orderly continuity)
Friday was a strange night, an extremely fun night, and a night with scattered patches of disappointment. It's strange how often the good times are a mix of these ingredients. After two Irish pubs and a number of Guinesses I made my way to the gay club down the street from my home. There's a certain comfort that a gay club seems to provide a straight person that can't be summed up in one paragraph. I think it's in the feeling that it gives me that I'm a complete stranger yet not being looked at as a failure or a weirdo for sitting alone. This is something that's inescapable when you're surrounded by table after table of couples and groups of friends at the local straight bars. I suppose it's a lot like being a single somewhat handsome and successful man in your thirties where everyone assumes that you're either gay or broken. At least the assumptions in the gay club are pretty simple. There's also a certain energy and openness all around the gay and lesbian community. In short, so many of them are trying to have fun. I suppose I admire this quality because I'm so bad at it.
It wasn't long before a young Spanish gentlemen who worked for the local college came over and introduced himself. I told him off the bat that I was straight and didn't want to waste his time but he seemed to be genuinely looking for someone just to hang out with for a few and talk. I know, how many times have we as guys said that to a woman after she says she's not interested in sex, because we think that if we can manage to get in as a friend then we can eventually get in as the dirty ball of pent up sexual perversions that we are. Sometimes our simple animal nature really seems an absurd and cruel joke. That night I gave the guy the benefit of the doubt and pushed pause on my lack of faith towards people.
We talked for a while and it was interesting hearing this guy's level of honesty. I was actually quite flattered since having real conversations with strangers is not a very common occurrence. The night got better when a young bi-sexual woman named Maria came over to sit with us. I believe she was half Mexican and half Asian and one of the most life filled people that I've ever met. So attractive, enthusiastic, and all smiles. People like this glow and inspire me to not completely give up on the entire human experiment. A good looking girl with this sort of upbeat energy creates her own gravity and pulls all of those around her towards her orbit seeking to land or at least hover and bask in the radiation.
Maria was on fire. Maria dragged me over to a table of two attractive girls and introduced me. I can only assume she did this for no other reason then out of the kindness of her heart. I choose to believe this. I mingled with the two girls and we spent the next couple of hours drinking and dancing and I had one of the best times in quite a while.
Blunder (v.): to make a gross or stupid mistake, especially through carelessness or mental confusion.
It's one of life's little jokes how sometimes the best of times can in an instance shift into the worst. The ensuing regret is only compounded when the cause of the transformation is our own ignorance or hesitation. Drinking heavily for hours on end can often lead to some sort of Cinderella like story where you're all of a sudden in a different world as a different person enjoying it all but then the clock strikes midnight, or 2am, and all of a sudden the party is over and everything is just a blur that you get to piece together from your bed the next morning while your head is pounding and your stomach turns. I apparently chose to end my fairytale by drinking too much, giving my number (quite possibly incorrectly) instead of getting a number, forgetting all names but Maria's, and departing in a fog of indifference when the two girls said they were leaving. So yes, refer to the blunder definition above. Luckily regret and disappointment do not last nearly as long as they use to. I suppose this is one of the few gifts that aging provides us.
I think that all of the blunders and failures could really just be opportunities. You can let them linger and drive you mad or you can grab a hold of them, beat them into fucking submission, and make damn well sure that you learn something from them. Maybe the pain and suffering in life are the pearls. We need to get through this and not let life break us or more importantly break ourselves. I think I'll head back to the same bar Friday and learn more.
"A purpose of human life, no matter who is controlling it, is to love whoever is around to be loved." - Kurt Vonnegut
No comments:
Post a Comment