il bel far niente

Once upon a time when I was 10 or 12 the Carter family was loading itself into the Plymouth Voyager after having wreaked havoc upon the Arbys and gorged ourselves upon a sumptuous fare of roast beef and curly fries, and we spied something with our little eyes. I don't remember all of the details from this evening, but I can tell you that the curly fries were excellent. Anyhow, one of us raised a ketchup stained finger into the air and hollered, "what's that!?" and thus began the adventure. Apparently none of us backwoods, sheltered, wishbone watching, adventures in odyssey listening, beanie baby obsessed home schooled kiddos had ever seen a searchlight before, and so naturally we were riveted by the big city spectacle. My mom has been known to speculate that when you get in the car with dad, you really never know what you are getting into. (I have many an afternoon spent bedecked in ruffles and gargantuan hair bows, buckled into the minivan after church whining uselessly through an hour of "neighborhood investigating" tucked away in my memories to prove it). Well this particular evening all if took was one of us inquiring after the spiraling column of light in the sky to set the wheels in motion (pun intended - I know, I know). Faster than we could say "Whit's End" we were off, determinedly angling the wood paneled mini van towards the unknown source of the lights. Which turned out to be the grand opening of some chinese food dive, but brother did we have fun getting there.

I keep trying to turn this memory into some cheesy metaphor for my life, something about how I need to just "enjoy the journey" or "half the fun is getting there," or some baloney like that, but I'm having trouble convincing myself. In fact, I'm having trouble convincing myself of anything at all. I occasionally grasp at glimpses of contentment and productivity - coupled with the occasional dose of rational thought - but then I start to crumble under the weight of it all, and my smiles falter and my sentences become muddled, and I shake hands and say thanks, good to see you, take care, and then scurry home to my picture frames and bookshelves, full of smiles and stories from worlds I am more familiar with than my own present reality.