Chapter Two: In Which Jack and Dave Ask Lynda “Who in the world are you and why do you always go the wrong way on the one way streets?”
November 2013….Liverpool, New York
“I woke up as the sun was reddening; and that was the one distinct time in my life, the strangest moment of all, when I didn’t know who I was – I was far away from home, haunted and tired with travel, in a cheap hotel room I’d never seen, hearing the hiss of steam outside, and the creak of the old wood of the hotel, and footsteps upstairs, and all the sad sounds, and I looked at the cracked high ceiling and really didn’t know who I was for about fifteen strange seconds. I wasn’t scared; I was just somebody else, some stranger, and my whole life was a haunted life, the life of a ghost.” Jack Kerouac
“If you hold on tight
to what you think is your thing
you may find you’re missing all the rest” Dave Matthews
I woke up this morning not knowing where I was. Having been to over 40 locations in 2 months, things like the curtains and the bathroom and the little kitchen were unidentifiable. The Hamptons and the Residence Inns were as unique as a drunk at a DMB show. I looked out the window and Oh! there was something familiar–an Applebee’s, a Target, and a CVS but no hint as to how my life might go today. No familiar reference to who I was. When I was in my home, I would wake up and pretty much knew what the day might hold. I am a planner. In the morning, I open my eyes at 8:30 or so, eat my one scrambled egg, I’d answer emails and think about whatever painting was on the easel. Lunch. A bit of painting. Go to the grocery. Maybe I’ll cook something interesting. Glass of wine with Ben. Taped “Homeland”. Spotify while I do a bit more painting. Conan. Good night. (Defined and accomplished.)
The realization creeped in that I had none of these things to do. I was neither defined by my location or my habits or my agenda. In fact, I had no agenda. No obligations beyond the basic. I didn’t need to cook or clean or be particularly creative. I had no eggs. Ben had gone to call on a client and I didn’t even have my art supplies. For a moment, I felt lost. In life I’ve found that when you find the rug pulled out from under you, the only thing to do is to invent a psychic/physical/? intervention-reinvention of yourself. Nothing is the same and there is no sense in trying to make it what it is not. You’ve lost a home. A lover is gone. Some painful emptiness…but the air is cleared and fresh. The sun is a new star. My swiss cheesy brain has spots unfilled by past concerns. It all comes down to the question Jack asks in many ways, “What’s in store for me in the direction I don’t take?” and our friend Dave wants to know “Could I have been anyone other than me?” I hesitate to step back into the craziness and take a chance. Maybe there is no need to hold on quite so tight. Maybe I won’t be run over. Maybe I am tired of missing all the rest…
I’d love to know you…
Tell me who you are.
Tell me how the music fills your soul.
Tell me if I’m right. Tell me if I’m wrong…