wanderlust dust

it’s difficult not to attribute this wayfarer curse to my mother, who at 17 years old, gave birth to me whilst hitchhiking her way to san francisco. and as i retrace my steps, and perhaps even retracing hers, i see an ever-evolving landscape that strives to deter each wanderer who would dare to stop along side of the road for the briefest moment, and gaze out over the silent san joaquin, or be humiliated by the stillness of the majestic rockies, offer themselves to the possession of the lost spirits who whisp about the mesa, and the vibrant bluffs that jet out into the pacific, my god. and every time i see a drive-thru starbucks erected on the side of the highway, i’m reminded how distant these roads are from the ones my mother passed through. and i picture her, with a thin layer of dust across her brow, and a yellowed copy of  “dharma bums” clutched in her hand, thinking the exact same thing.

is it selfish of me to constantly abandon these chains of security that burn so hot? will i ever properly describe the ecstatic sensation of  the sun melting your heart on an empty stomach and not a kind friend around for a thousand miles? is my glassy-eyed love, magnanimous as ever, any less pure because i may be gone tomorrow? and who gives you the right to tell me that i can’t carry it with me?

but i’m learning. learning that a city belongs to no one.  learning that i’d rather suffer the daggers of hate and jealousy than to abandon a rare opportunity to make my insecurities vulnerable to a trusting spirit.  learning that i am not a departing vessel for your self-inflicted misery, which you have so sloppily dared to impose on me. i can feel your arrogant spite tracing my footsteps as i walk out your door, and oh, to be there when you stumble upon it, sprawled and sprayed and splattered upon your doorstep, for all the neighbors to see. so endearing, so pathetic.

and here i am, at the crossroads once more. robert johnson’s gibson is scattered across the center line, smashed by a hummer, the devil’s busy with the elections, and the starbucks on the corner is having their grand opening. so i guess i’m gonna do something i’ve never done before, at least not by choice. i’m gonna order up a triple grande soy vanilla latte on ice, and walk right back to where i came. where my reputation surpasses me, and the winters are absolutley miserable. but hey, it’s spring, right?