What it means

Two earthquakes in one day; rocketing forward with a few less soldiers than before; I wish I knew how to say goodbye, but this is something I must learn; watching a piece of my mother break that was inevitable no matter what life she lived; Standing by.

Sometimes there really isn’t much to say, or rather lack of words to say a lot with. Thankfully it is Friday, the sun is out and tomorrow is a blank slate.

I prefer to swim in the deep end and other true statements

A backlog of stories awaits me in the deep. I say this because my weekend travels have invoked a thoughtfulness that can only be discovered mid Monday by the excruciatingly subtle drone of routine. A silent killer of motivation and yet all at once the extractor of truths- no, this job is not what I seek to do forever. This truth is not a vague or overlooked one, but rather one that I successfully ignore because I don’t know what alternative would suit me better. My concept of aging is slowly but surely starting to align with real time, but the American dreamer in me strives to continue to believe that I have all the time in the world. I am young, after all.

I accept that another weekend has effortlessly come and gone. Coastlines were considered for their fresh air and stubborn refusal to be anything other than what they have always been. A book was savored, devoured, and put to rest. Sunburns and youth were strewn about with a restlessness that is coveted by the geriatric population for its sheer ability to be what it is; something mobile and free and impassioned.

When I imagine how my journey feels in an existential sense, a backdrop of blue skies, light breezes and a grin spreading from ear to ear comes to mind. I don’t know where this image is taken from or if I have ever even experienced it. There is a strong possibility that I saw it somewhere in a magazine, likely some years back when I was severely impressionable. If it were a magazine image, it was likely some vibrant young woman that I saw hanging out the back of a convertible on the cover of some beauty publication. She was probably sitting effortlessly on the back of a red mustang, top down, feet on the seats, arms in the air. This was an ideal image to a young girl on an impossibly hot day that was spent road-tripping through a sun-drenched northern California July. We were probably on the way to visit my grandparents in Grass Valley. My mom had probably stopped at a mini mart to get more cold water and some snacks. I probably stood idly in front of the magazine rack without concern for where we were going or what we were doing; I wasn’t there yet in the space time continuum of childhood. I was simply along for the ride, aware that it was summer and I was sweating. And that this particular image was just. so. good.

Fast forward to a young woman that is nearly 25 years old- less than a week from the absurdity of a quarter century- sitting in a desk job that she questions on the regular. Constantly considering all the things that she can and may even (actually) do with her life while simultaneously endeavoring to drink enough water, get enough exercise, and read enough books. As far as today, with large thoughts inexplicably in the forefront of all efforts to write articles that have nothing to do with feelings, with only a few days left of being 24, this young woman- me- relents to the day and the ones that will undoubtedly follow it.

Perhaps the simplest way to be- the path of least resistance on the way to “aliveness”- is to steal a few hours from my boss. Just. Stop. For. A. Second. Linger on how I feel and write it all down for the sake of reading it over and over again as the years pile up, or build, or slip; however it best suits you to imagine time. Time that is effortlessly moving forward with a gracefulness so brilliant that it catches us all no matter how we look at it.

A note to an old friend.

John,

You have been gone for over two years now.

I live in San Francisco these days; moved here four months ago and things are built on constant surprises. This would make you smile, I know. Jake died. Brianna might have MS. Rhododendrons started blooming in January. I am running a half marathon on Sunday. My dad has started to regularly tell me he is proud of me.

I work full time in a desk job writing miscellaneous articles with no other purpose than to fool people into buying advertising space on the internet. I love it for the idea of what it represents and the opportunities it will lend itself to, but I can’t stand how much the sun taunts me from the other side of the window. I loaded up my car and drove down here hoping for the best. I found it, but am eager to evolve it a bit; a work in progress.

Sometimes I do things that are so ridiculous I won’t tell a soul about them. But I would tell you everything if you were still here. I miss you. I hope that everything is better than you ever hoped it could be wherever you are.

Eleven year old me seems like a figment of a dream memory, but I can rest a little easier knowing that you remember her perfectly well; plump limbs, rolling imperfections and all.

Always,

Kendall

Jake.

There once was a golden retriever puppy that chewed on my pony tail, and when he was done moved on to attack my feet. The cutest thing. Somehow that was ten years ago.

Liver cancer is a silent and swift killer. Ironically I have been reading a book about the many ways the liver can kill. This book is full of fictional tales of people dysfunctionally, and yet all at once effortlessly achieving the win: despite themselves, consumed by last days and all, they find a truth that is unwavering- the end is the end, and everything else is fleeting.

Somehow, ten years have passed. Today, Jake's liver took him home for the long haul and left me a little breathless, teary-eyed and searching the sky for some noticeable change. There isn't any. Not that the death of a family pet should turn the sky green, but in the passing of an old friend I always seek a marked change, and can never find it. It is only years later, in some smaller moment, that I catch the significance of their passing. The last time I lost a friend it came to me in a cup of coffee in the middle of spring, spiraling out in waves of creamer. Slowly blending until the distinction of coffee from cream had vanished and all that was left was a cup of java, just like on the days before. I await the day when I can comprehend Jake's passing more completely. For now I'll try to run it off and hope that when I get home for Christmas I can find a way to say a belated, but proper goodbye.

Oh, dear friend, I know I'll see you again.
In the mean time, days will pass without you
I'll do my best, to let the sadness slide away
And relish in how good it is to have loved you.

Some thoughts on the first of December.

Swollen belly on account of an exceptionally successful Turkey Day. This has been added to and improved upon by an absurd amount of Mexican food provided by my job. Fabulous. It is already Wednesday, and last I checked, the week had just started. I dig this fact quite a bit.

Last night a dear friend absolutely killed-it at his company's launch party: Root Music is well on its way to being something epic. My high school love of hip hop was fully expressed last night via Del The Funkee Homosapien, Heiroglyphics, and some straight up dirty danncing: ass out; grindin'; cheesin'; feelin' it.

I have every intention of dressing up like Santa Claus in the midst of hundreds of other Santa Clausizzizzis(izisisis) and getting wasted this Saturday. Now if ever there has been a more professional sounding sentence, I beg of you to show it to me.

And now for a few bullet points:

• Made a new friend on the train this morning. Awesome.
  
• I live in San Francisco- still a very fun fact.
  
• Oh, Happinesses, I thank thee for joining me in my routine of these fine, unusually sunny days (Being grownded in Seattle has left its mark).

I leave you with a quote:

"Never take life too seriously. Nobody gets out alive anyway."

Landing.

Working for a living is inevitable, whether intentionally creative, or not. Understanding where I am and how I got here is like reading the cover of a fantasy novel. The desire to stand up and shout at the top of my lungs, finds me every morning. Without fail. Lacking surprise. Filled with purpose.

So far, I have had more than enough reason to scream in San Francisco. The Giants won the World Series and I enthusiastically lost my marbles with the rest of the city on Monday night. Dancing to “We Are The Champions” with a shit eating grin, surrounded by people that were smiling helplessly at the night, will most certainly be taken down as an optimal way to express my inherent, mildly subdued craziness. Climbing onto a moving fire truck and hugging a cop can also be comfortably added to that list. As they say, why the fuck not?

Thinking about where I was not even a month ago is like trying to tell a three year old that they are going to be fifty someday; it seems completely unlikely. But, despite what seems real or unreal, here I am sitting at a desk in a job that is paying me to write. Not too long ago I was ready to tear my boss apart, limb by limb, and throw coffee on the customers that forgot their brains at home and only brought their assholes: being a barista was a fun, but truthfully unfulfilling occupation.

Being fulfilled is the goal, but lately I prefer to carelessly forget that goal and just appreciate the abnormal amount of sunlight I have been experiencing. Or pay attention to the fantastic amount of smiling I have been accomplishing. Or how much I love the sound of trains in the morning, something that I had no concept of until I started riding one to work every day.

Really, the moral of the story at this point, is that it’s entirely up to me, or you, or some combination of the two. The hard side is ever present; it shows up in car break-ins, unexpected diseases, the loss of important ID cards, delayed trains, missing Ipods, and lack of clean underwear. Some are perhaps worse than others; on a rotating schedule of sorts, but the best part, the most fun part, is seeing how well everything fits into a day. Like a glove.

A New Perspective

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Soon to be employed and making my way towards something different. SEO brought me to Wordle. Oh, the things I am yet to know.