I am now speaking directly to you Child #2. (And anyone else who lives in their version of California physically or mentally). The realization of your enviable geographic situation is in no way to be taken as approval of your decision to deprive us all back here of your company. I understand that you go to work at a playground where they pay you amounts of money that would far exceed your allowance were you to live at home in your room and hang out in the basement playing video games. I understand that you get paid to play video games upstairs in your office, out in the open with an ever ready band of eager colleagues if you want. Yes, I know that you may wear your pajamas to work if it strikes you as that kind of day, or your ball gown if it strikes you as another kind of day. I know that if you want you can get on those funny little colourful bicycles for a quick whiz over to the jungle gymn, or the endless pool, or the sandbox, or the climbing wall for a break. On company time. On company property. On property provided by the company so that you and their army of hundreds all under the age of twenty seven, and exactly 3 old people of forty-two, might have room to let your creative ideas simmer. I know that these measures are all imperative for optimum productivity at the office. I don't condone your absence but I sure as hell understand it.
Notice, all, that I implied the existence of a California State of Mind which, in my experience, leaves East Coasters grumpy and irritable. Or maybe it is plain fatigue. Every morning at the hotel in Palo Alto, for an entire week, before we rolled out of bed with no other agenda but a leisurely breakfast, H__and I played a guessing game, fully aware of the answer, before throwing open the curtains. Would it be? Would it not? The answer was unchanging. Yes! Another effing day in Paradise. Sunshine would flood the windows, birds would tweet, Koi would swim in the water garden below us and ideal temperatures would await. Yes, we who endured last winter exiting and entering the front door through a tunnel of snow whose walls were higher than either of us, were scathing of the California perfection.
The weeks on the road seem to have unleashed our inner "bring it on", beast. Or mine at least. H__ isn't saying.
Today, I drove a car for the first time since I first sat on my motorcycle three weeks ago. It was comfortable, air conditioned, NPR- tuned. I was physically safer than at any time during the trip and completely shut off from the world. I know, I could have opened a window, turned off my GPS system and my laser detector ( I use it just to remind me not to exceed the speed limit of course) but it is so easy to fall back into old, predictable, patterns. I realize that my "bring it on beast" is chafing at the bit. I must be mindful at all times to give it room to roam.
I realize now that H__and I were disdainful of the perfect days in "effing Paradise" because on some level we were gearing ourselves up for the daily battle against excessive familiarity. We tend to do things the way we do because that's what we've been taught, or that's what we've always done, or what has served us in the past.
We all live life in a vacuum for the most part. Even those of us who take time out to be fully in our consciousness. I am striving for a state of being that allows my mind to hang on to the notion that life is more like a motorcycle than an SUV. It is to be allowed full rein. A Motorcycle State of Mind is one I want to hang out in more often than not. I want to look around, paying attention to the elements, the changing conditions, the unpredictability of life, flirting with a little danger from time to time and experiencing the pure joy of freedom that is mine for the taking.
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