MY JOURNEY? WHERE ARE WE GOING

How many times have you seen a title beginning with, ‘My Journey?’

The answer is, “A lot.”

I googled it to make sure.

Everything is journey, an adventure, a trip?

No, no it’s not, and understanding why is a great cause of disappointment.

But, if everything was a journey, how many have you had?

 

Starting with Marriage Journey:

The wife and I were enjoying a visit with her childhood friends and their husbands recently.

The girls were getting caught up, the guys chipped in.

My wife gave a quick review of the past thirty years. One of the guys asked me, “After all of that, what do you do?”

“Well, we’ve only been married thirty-nine years so we’re still working it out.”

For the new people, marriage is a combination of hygiene, lust, roommate, helper, boss, style consultant, and inspector all in rotating roles.

The hygiene part isn’t about them, it’s for you, stink bomb. Keep up. No one wants to hear, “Why does granddad/grandma smell funny.”

 

 

I fought my way to the altar like Benjamin Braddock in The Graduate.

Like every kid in the history of high school, I was set to marry the first girl who said hello.

The long term romances in the hallways of NBHS made it a love-fest.

Everyone was a perfect match, until they weren’t.

Then I was ready to marry the first college girl who understood my big line, “Sometime this term, if we run into each other again, I’ve got a favorite table in the library you might like.”

That was commitment as far as I knew.

After college it was real life with real people living on their own and showing how it’s done.

For me that meant cheap apartments in bad neighborhoods.

The best of the worst was NW Portland before gentrification.

The manager was a pimp, the guy across the hall set the place on fire, and the parking lot was a classic asphalt beach reflecting heat against my side of the building.

In other words, it was just right. $155/month.

I’d had funky apartments in Philadelphia and Brooklyn, but Portland was the top.

That’s where I met my wife and it’s been up, up, and away every since.

The fight part came when an old boyfriend didn’t know about their break-up, but we worked it out.

 

A Musical Journey

I’ve been picking up guitars since I was twelve and I’ve still got my first.

Since then I’ve played in a band, done a gig, and got paid.

The band broke up when one of the guys got too big, so big only he could sing, play lead guitar, blow harmonica, and repeat.

That’s why the Beatles broke up, why The Police broke up.

Superstars need more room.

So I invited the guy outside with the plan to lock him out, but he took it as if we were going to duke it out.

That last time I got close to duking it out was eighth grade, but this guy wasn’t a local.

Since then I’ve owned and sold a few guitars and amps.

 

 

My favorite was a plywood topped acoustic with woodgrain drawn in the sound-hole to make it look like solid wood.

The standout amp had blown speakers the salesman called ‘advanced overdrive.’

The store wouldn’t take it back, at first.

I’m always looking for the ‘next one’, like the twenty dollar Gibson at a garage sale, but I’m not looking for a song after learning Black Bird on my birthday from a wonderful woman with a tragically shortened life.

My last band played an adult prom with an 80’s theme that rocked.

Although not everyone was happy about it, we started on time and ended on time.

A lady dressed up like a big Madonna wanted to swing to ‘Like A Virgin’ but we weren’t taking requests.

She was unhappy and had something to say, so we turned up the amps and PA to start the next song.

 

The Learning Journey

One of life’s biggest accomplishments is knowing where you are.

Include knowing what you’re doing there, and why, and you’ve answered life’s biggest questions.

There’s always been confusion about Oregon, but not from the locals.

No one here, born here or lived here their adult lives, thinks their town sucks.

Just like no one in New Jersey thinks their coastline is littered with one shitty town after another without much of a break in between, you can drive all over Oregon and find the best place in the world.

Whether it’s a mountainside town, a coastal nook, a high desert stagecoach stop, or a valley village, every place is one of a kind and its citizens know it.

Add Oregon to forty-nine other states and you start understanding what united means.

The United States are the world standard against ethnic cleansing, bitter internecine feuds, and political violence.

Anyone standing up for cleansing, feuds, and violence needs to sit down.

Any leader mouthing or inferring any of them needs counseling.

We, and I say we from the point of view of an Army veteran, husband, and father with high marks in each subject area, we know the difference between shit and shinola.

No one is asking for some backward yahoo spewing trademark stupidity on our behalf from any world stage.

In the same vein, no one is asking anyone to pick up and defend moronic statements, but here we are.

In a world of social media we learn about grown men with advanced degree from Harvard, from Yale, from Princeton; then we see them nod and smile on camera like bobbleheads on a dashboard.

Anyone from any town across America can pretend to be a bobblehead, but they insist on being men and women instead.

Remember, you’re not a bobblehead doll.

 

PS: What is more disappointing, no respect, or lost respect?

 

PSS: If you know better, you are obligated to do better.