Tag Archives: childhood

Blur…

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The older I’ve gotten, the more I’ve realized how important it is to hang on to the friends you had when you were a kid. They’re the ones who know where you came from and won’t let you forget it. The ones you cannot see for months on end and effortlessly pick up the conversation like you’d just had a burger at the local greasy spoon the last night. They are the ones who know your secrets and like you anyway. Maybe more importantly, they’re the guys you bled with and who bled with you.

For a long time now, I’ve known that I could be a better friend. The days stream by in a blur of airports and meetings and I realize months have gone by. We’re all busier now, occupied with the commitments of work and family and time has become our most valuable commodity. At the most basic level, I could have spend more time on the phone or sent a few more emails. I could have been there more often on a lot of fronts. Realistically, I think we all know that life isn’t going to be slowing down any time soon. At least not until we collectively punch our last timecard and head to the golf course.

I wish someone would have stopped me years ago, sat me down and made me understand how fast the time would go. There should be some kind of class that teaches you things like that. I don’t want to make a blanket statement and say anything like “I’d love to go back and go to school all over again.” I think that’s probably overstating the case. I would love to go back for just one night, one average night when the whole gang was together. A fire, a half-dozen pizzas, and a house full of your closest friends. I want to go back and see the “god’s eye view” of things and watch it all unfold. It really must have been something to see.

In the meantime, know that I think of you all often. I’m both proud of and humbled by your friendship. I’ve been told I need to stop the mushy posts and keep to ranting, which is a much more natural voice, but I’ve promised to always blog what happens to be on my mind and there you have it, live via tape delay, from Hartsfield International on the evening of July 30, 2007.

Going to the well…

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Have a six-week road stand starting a week from Monday with a 900 mile drive to Memphis. You might be expecting a rant, but the reality is the only thing I am mildly agitated by is paying $1000 a month rent for an apartment I am going to be using as a glorified storage shed/mailbox while I am gone.

Like before almost all of my long trips, I feel a compulsion to go home this weekend. It’s an almost visceral need to stand, again, on the good earth of my childhood; to go once more to the wellspring to drink deeply and gather strength for the next push, the next campaign in my most recent long slog. I’ll go home and smell the first crisp air of fall and watch the mist burn out of the valley in the early morning. I’ll sleep, peaceful in the quiet home of my family a few more nights before turning out to late nights in tacky hotel rooms. For a few days more, I’ll be home.

I’ve crossed continents, but ultimately, every place I have ended up can fit into the category of “just the place I live.” I’ve had my share of rolled eyes and sarcastic comments about Western Maryland and I can’t imagine living there again, but somehow, I can’t imagine it ever not being home.