Jax Attax

I don’t wish to make this a blog about politics and I think that is why I have chosen not to write anything in response to the events of April 16th, prior to now.  Though my initial reaction is devastation and anger, my inner monologue inevitably questions the prevalence of violence in society and the often nonsensical and universally impotent responses to it.  I am a pacifist and if I never again see a gun in this lifetime it will be too soon.  I am not so naive as to think I will be that lucky.  I also know all of the arguments for those who wish to own and/or carry firearms for protection, sport or any other arguably valid reason.  See above - this is not my diatribe on gun control.  I am merely feeling dumb right now.  I am confused and oddly frustrated with myself - that I wasn’t more shocked by what happened,  that I feel deeply sickened and saddened for the victims and, yet, I pray for an immediate end to the abundant and graphic coverage of the horrific events.  A clearly disturbed and misguided young person took a multimedia approach to his final stand in an effort to punish the world as he knew it.  I don’t even know how to articulate how frightening that concept is.  Then I note to myself that gruesome atrocities are carried out across the globe every day.  And these regular acts of ruin are generally executed by people with a similarly rigid burden of conviction.  Aggression and ferocity continue to rule every corner and the effects reverberate across cultures and generations. 

From the moment of my first pony ride, nearly 20 years ago, I have been in love with horses.  I remember the place was some sort of carnival.  I was so excited by the new, fun activity that I had discovered.  I resisted the end of my turn, not wanting to get off, and the wrangler took pity on me and let me stay in the pen.  I got to hold the rope to help guide the pony around in a circle for the other kids.  It is one of those things I wonder about on occasion - one of the few times I ask myself “what if”.  This particular “if” has me contemplating what my life might have been like if I had been raised around horses.  I know such notions can be dangerous, but I’m not looking back at my life with any angst.  I’m merely taking a moment to consider another possibility - like reading a great book that comes so vividly to life in my imagination that I feel like I become the protagonist.  Today I went on a trail ride at Fort McDowell, outside of Phoenix.  My horse, Ernie, was ready to end his day before we even embarked on our hour-and-a-half tour, but he was a great sport.  It was such a gorgeous day and the views on the vast expanse of the ranch were spectacular, especially along the river.  There were many sights worth mentioning, but my favorite was the bald eagle’s nest with two baby bald eagles peering out from the top.  The path we followed was hilly, narrow and rock-laden so there was no galloping.  That is probably for the best, considering I haven’t been on a horse in a few years.  The experience was so peaceful, I could have stayed out there all day.  I pictured myself in an alternate universe, on a farm in the Midwest, keeping horses and living off the land.  A simple daydream that seems amazingly fulfilling.  Overall, today was a great one - all in a day’s work!!

Today is a crazy busy day for me.  Between leaving early this afternoon and organizing everything for my trip next week and advancing all of my events, the wheels in my mind are working overtime.  However, I am putting it all aside for this moment of appreciation.  Tonight I am going to see Marting Sexton in concert.  I have been eagerly awaiting this show for months, especially since it has been years since I saw him last.  There’s something in his voice that is truly captivating, particularly when live.  He has an experimental approach to his music, but the result is often astoundingly beautiful and always charming.  His performances are so earnest, which is a rarity in the music industry.  Every song feels like a special dialogue with the audience.  If you have never heard Martin Sexton, I suggest you check out “Black Sheep” or, better yet, catch him out on tour! 

I hate to say it, but after living in Los Angeles for 3+ years, I am gulity of a certain amount of flakiness.  It’s a quality I abhor and I am now actively working against all impulses that would lead me down the path of unreliability.  I can’t blame the entire phenomenon on the city of Los Angeles or its people, of course.  I just find that stereotypical artificiality does run rampant there.  Something about the gorgeous weather and laid back attitude makes it easier and more acceptable to be flighty.  Hollywood is a town full of supposed movers and shakers, so if you aren’t so in demand that you have to cancel plans, it’s possible that you are a loser.  Whether you live in a bustling metropolis or on a farm, miles from you nearest neighbor, there’s always an excuse.  Apparently everyone is busy, everyone is exhausted, we all have “things to do”.  Why is it so hard to follow through?  Are we really satisfied with just going through the motions of making plans?  Usually when I don’t return calls or cancel with a friend it’s because I’m in a funk and don’t want to bring anyone else down to my miserable level.  It’s perfectly reasonable that sometimes we just don’t feel like doing anything and everyone has the right to just say “no”.  Unfortunately, the flakes of the world have united, becoming prolific and progressively infectious. 

I make it a point not to regret anything. Things happen or don’t for a number of reasons. I make an effort figure it out, but sometimes there isn’t a clear explanation available. Something is always gained – perhaps an important life lesson or just some really wonderful memories. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about people who have come in and out of my life at various points. A brief encounter with a total stranger that seemed so easy, it was as if we had been friends for a lifetime; a co-worker, who shared all the same passions and interests, there was every reason for us to hang out and become great pals; a neighbor, who was a kindred spirit and inspired in me a rare feeling of belonging. Chemistry, common interests, similar outlooks – these are the things that can forge potent bonds with the people around us. So why didn’t it happen? Maybe all we get is the spark and the rest is up to us. Did I drop the ball or did those people serve their purpose? It may be a question without an answer. But, how can it be that people I have known for more than 10 years still don’t have a clue about what makes me tick? Then I can make a new acquaintance, randomly, who instantly gets me – then disappears? Seems like a waste. I know part of the mystery might be timing. People can even reappear, unexpectedly. As for the rest, I will reminisce with a hint of bittersweetness.