I just had a girl tell me that it wouldn’t work out because I live an hour away.  This was before we’d went on a single date, and before we even got to know each other. We established a mutual interest, made plans, then she called it off because it wasn’t in her logistic interest. Granted this is logical, but since when has love been logical? Right about now you might be rolling your eyes; That’s right reader, another romantic.

And how could I not be? I grew up on stories about people moving from distant lands, falling in love, and surpassing unbelievable odds just to stay with the one they knew form the moment they met that this was love.  Nowadays, with the popularizations of internet dating and social media being in everyone’s back (and front) pockets there is no need to rely on such whimsical matters of the heart. The fact is, and this is a hard truth so brace yourself, we have left the era of the love story. 

No more will grandchildren hear stories about how grandpa came to the ‘New World’ with 50 cents in his pocket, hitchhiked fifty miles to some remote town because he heard about a job and a bit of land, found an amazing girl before he even got on the bus outta New York, and they were married the next day.

Sorry kids. Grandpa met grandma on Tinder because she was within ten miles of his home and her friends were out at the bar and she just “didn’t feel like getting drunk that night”.

Gather ‘round the Christmas tree and settle in for this one. Grandpa and Grandma boned on the first date and they decided it was good enough to stay together.  Then, seven years later they decided to get married because they had been living together for so long it just made sense.

I don’t buy it.

I’m sorry, but I hate that.  I know I said in my last entry, If I Were To Die Tomorrow, that I try not to hate, but this is one of those circumstances I mentioned. I want a love story. I want a magical happenstance meeting in the rain.  I want giant romantic gestures that won the girl of my dream’s heart. I want the unbelievable.

Maybe too much…

It’s not realistic anymore and maybe that’s why there are so many people alone.  Even some of the ones who find someone are really alone because too many of us are waiting for the magic and settling for the bland when the magic doesn’t show it’s ugly face.  In all honesty, I wish the magic was still alive, but I don’t believe in it anymore.  That’s one of the reasons I love shows like How I Met Your Mother and Elf. Stories about finding your destiny.  I like to think that somewhere out there there are little boys and girls who will bring the magic back. After the nuclear apocalypse and global warming, they will surpass insurmountable odds and find each other on a black glacier in the middle of the Baltic Sea and they will embrace and the next day they will be wed.

It could happen.  But not in my lifetime. I hope. That stuff scares me. The end of the world stuff, not the marriage stuff. Obviously.

‘When you grow up the world will get so much smaller.’  That’s the thought that ran through my head that made me want to sit down and write all this on to the page. I know you want to hear that it’s because of some grand gesture that I sit in my apartment with Thanksgiving leftovers in the oven and a beer getting warm on my counter. I know you want me to dribble on and on about how everything will work out and love happens when you least expect it and sometimes it takes longer to find the one you are meant to be with. Well, what if I’ve already swiped left on the one I’m meant to be with?

Hypothetically, in this hyperactive dating society that we live in, isn’t it possible that in scouring the world I’ve abandoned the one hope of true happiness, true love, because of something stupid like we live on the opposite side of town? It’s all too possible. And only because there are too many options out there.

The reason the world gets smaller when you grow up is you start to realize you can get anywhere in next to no time. An hour doesn’t seem like much to me because I’m what the locals call, “well traveled”. I’ve seen most of the United States and I’ve been to Europe and I’ve driven through Canada, most of which took several trips that lasted well over nine hours, some as long as seventy. And yes, that’s a -ty, not -teen.  This is the reason an hour across town to meet the potential girl of my dreams doesn’t seem like a long trip.  Hell, if I had to make a trip around the world to visit the girl of my dreams, wouldn’t that be worth it?  Isn’t that what Grandpa did when he met Grandma?  Half-way around the world with two quarters to his name, just to stumble upon good fortune and a pretty girl.

Would you be alive if Grandpa had access to a dating app?  What if Grandma was outside of his search area?  What if Grandma didn’t put out on the first date so Grandpa said screw it, I’m going to find an easier girl and he went on his little dating app and met up with a different Grandma.  Who would you be if you had a different, sleazier Grandma?

I’m not sure. I’m not sure about any of it.  I don’t mean to ruin my credibility here as your narrator through this journey of love and catastrophe, but sometimes that just can’t be helped.

I think it’s also fair to say that there are a few lucky people out there with old souls. The ones that hang on just a little bit longer.  The ones that meet at fundraisers or funerals.  The ones that bump into each other on the subway every day for a week until they can’t deny their fate any longer and they go get a coffee together. It’s a nice thought. And maybe after their coffee and they find out that they live across town from each other, they decide this is worth it. This, what they found on that subway or next to Earl-from-the-office’s casket, is worth anything and everything.  I’ll look forward to that story around the Christmas tree. Even if it never comes.

If I were to die tomorrow I’m not sure who would find me.

Probably my mom.  That would be sad for her. But I think she would know what to do, or figure it out with relative ease.  I’m sure there are a few unfortunate people out in the world who have googled: What to do when you discover a dead body.  She might call my brother, crying, and ask for help.  That’s one reason I hope I die before my siblings. So that they can help everyone after I go.  If I were the last to go, I suppose that wouldn’t be bad either. I just don’t want to leave anyone alone when I die.

If I were to die tomorrow I would lose all of my things.

I don’t have a lot of them, not even a bed or a very big tv. So losing them wouldn’t be the worst consequence of dying. But they would stop smelling like me after a while and they would become cool to the touch when I’m not around to pick them up anymore. I would hope my mugs go to a good owner. Donated or taken greedily; I don’t care. They’re not nice mugs, but they deserve to be filled with hot things from time to time.

My books are next to worthless.  They won’t cover the cost of the funeral or even the trip to the morgue in the ambulance. But they have good stories to tell.  Some of them I’ve lived multiple times.  I have a nice edition of Catcher in The Rye that I know someone would want hang onto if they wanted to keep something of mine.

I’ve spent a good portion of my life collecting things, then trying to get rid of things, and abandoning things. Leaving everything behind would be such a relief.

If I left the world tomorrow I would meet my psychopomp.

I would ask her what she did to get such a nice gig and I would thank her for meeting me.  She might wipe my final tear from my eye and she might smile when she does it. I would ask her about my dog that died a few years back and I would apologize for all the questions. My finial apology.  I hear that in death your worries leave you, and if I’m not worried I won’t have to think about things that make me apologize.

I would ask her if her job is done when she takes me to my last destination and if she’s free for a cup of coffee. I wouldn’t use a line or tempt her with false promises, and only partly because I don’t understand the promises of the dead.  I plan to be very genuine once I’ve died.  I imagine it’s much easier than it is when you’re still alive.

If I died tomorrow I would miss the rest of my life.

But only slightly.  I have a lot to look forward to, I would tell myself, and now I can forget about that.  It won’t be an angry thought.  No. It’ll be a thought that I will carry with me, as if in my pocket, and feel its weight, but I won’t hate that thought.  And I won’t hate the idea of missing out on bits of existence I missed out on.

If I were to die tomorrow I would not hate.

I try not to now, but stuff happens. And if I’m not going to hate when I’m dead then I better enjoy it while I still can.  There are bits of this world that are easier to hate when you’re a part of it, I would imagine.  People, places, and jobs that seems so big and overwhelming don’t hold any weight in an afterlife.  If there is an afterlife.  Even less weight if there is no afterlife.  I think I would like to try not-existing.  It might put more reason and rhyme into existing. I’m sure I would have so many questions and maybe even some answers I would like to share. I expect that will be hard, too.  If I am given answers in death, how hard will it be to watch the ones I’ve left behind struggle with those questions?

If I were to die tomorrow I would leave space for someone else.

In my apartment.  In the kitchen where I have prepared so few meals. On the couch where I lay to watch TV.  On the train that I ride to work. And even in the antique shop I’ve only gone in once. After I go I hope to take up very little room. Much less than when I was alive. This world seems so big, but it is filled with so many lives that need living.

To my reader:

If I were to die tomorrow, it would be one heck of a coincidence that this was published the day before my death.

Thanks as always for reading. I hope that this little passage about what I think death is and how it effects the world gave you a little thinking cap.

Performing the same action over and over expecting a different outcome.

This understanding of insanity resonates with me wholly.  Originally it was Albert Einstein’s idea, at least that’s who is attributed to the statement. I am paraphrasing the definition, of course.  Maybe that’s what makes this meaning resonate so deeply with me. I’ve turned it into my own words and made it my own.  In another sense, I have made this insanity my own insanity.

I’m not insane. Not clinically. At least, I’ve never been diagnosed.  These days it is harder to tell who is on their rocker and who is off, but I like to see my self as rational. Rational here being the counter to insanity. And attempting to achieve a new and different outcome from some action merely by repeating it does seem irrational to me. Maybe it does to you, too, reader.

Regardless, I am not insane.  Not the way we’ve established above.  I learn from my mistakes and I attempt to change my behavior based on those negative or positive results. Relationships, careers, even educating myself.  I learn what works and what doesn’t and I alter my disposition in relation to the world around me.

Now, I would like to present a counter definition of insanity:

Doing something different over and over expecting the same result.

It is similar, I know, but in only altering the definition slightly, changing a few words, it becomes completely different.  Instead of doing one action over an over, we never do the same action twice, but we expect the same result every time.

Let me give you a hyperbole to make an example that will stress my point. This would be like putting salt in water, drinking it, and finding it salty.  Then, we add sugar to a new glass of water instead of salt, but we still expect it to be salty. 

I’m not saying it’s a perfect analogy, but I am saying that this does sound equally insane as definition number one. 

How can one person relate to two different and yet similar definitions of insanity? Well, people are complex.  There are some people out there, actually probably most of the people out there, who don’t even feel like the same every day.

Here’s my dilemma. I learn from my mistakes, I alter my behavior, but when I do I still expect the same outcome. I may look for a new outcome, even hope for one, but I never expect one. Maybe this will make more sense if I get into more detail.  Only for you, reader.

If you’ve been reading this blog at all, you know that I move a lot. A lot. And often for what seems to be no reason at all.  Fair enough.  I should tell you why I move so much. Why I crave change of setting, character and plot. I get bored.

Simple, elegant, and just enough for us to plod on with. I get bored. I look for somewhere new to go, I go there, struggle to change and adapt, I adapt, get bored and finally seek change once again.  Except it’s not a finality. This is a cycle. By constantly changing and going to different places, I am submitting to a vicious cycle that is will v.s. world.

What I tell myself I want, what I truly believe I want, is a person/people who I can stick with. And maybe this is true. I think it is. I rented a room from a  woman in California for a few months and one night she and I talked about the two different types of people.  There are people who put emphasis on places, and there are people who put emphasis on people.

I believe myself to be the latter. It’s easy for me to make friends, and when I meet a new person I  am the type of person who trusts way to early. We might get into that later. Right now I want to stay on topic.

If I am the type of person who emphasizes relationships with people over relationships with places, it would make sense that I would want to explore more places than explore more people because, and please stay with me here, it is easier to leave places.

I know what you must be asking yourself because I’m asking myself the same question.  Isn’t it the same?  When you leave a place, don’t you leave the people?

I have an answer to that question that I am reasonably happy with and I’ll share it with you: Yes. 

Happy?

No?

Alright, let’s elaborate. I moved to California for four months. I got bored in Alaska and started looking for a change in scenery.  Once there, I met a few nice people, and I plan on keeping in touch with those people.  That being said, am I really leaving them by leaving California?  Sure, I won’t see them as often as if I still lived in that California town by the beach, but in reality they are a phone call or a ten hour drive away.  And that’s important to me.  What is not important to me is that town that I lived in for those four months.  I would not go back to see the town. I would not call the town on a night when I’m feeling sentimental.  So when I leave a person, no it’s not easy, but I don’t forget about that person easily.  Leaving a place, that’s easy.  Pack your bags, hit the road, never look back.  One, Two, Three.

This is the part where I tie up those loose ends and toss the package in the kitchen drawer for you to find when you get home.

Insanity is doing something over and over and expecting a different outcome. Or, insanity is doing something different each time and expecting the same outcome.  Can we mush these two together in the interest of simplicity? Insanity is expecting an outcome. Hey, that’s nice. 

If insanity means to expect a certain outcome, then who isn’t insane?  And really, the way things are going these days, doesn’t it feel like everyone is going a little insane?  Is that derogatory?

My form of insanity is moving, and expecting to not be lonely.  The only problem is, when everything is always different, nothing is ever the same.  Maybe this is my conscience telling me to slow down a bit.  I wish I had a better way of throwing all this at you, reader.  I started this essay with an idea that I would talk about airports and lonely people traveling around everywhere.  It seems I’ve missed my mark this time.

That’s the trouble, though, isn’t it. By expecting a result, we are fooling ourselves into thinking that the world works a certain way.  I don’t know about you reader, but I have had the rug pulled out from under me too many times to believe the world works in only one way.  Every time I figure something out, it seems to change just as quickly. And if it doesn’t, that’s when I get bored and make the change happen. That does sound insane. If things don’t change for me, I make them change. You know, before I wrote this, I felt as though I were floating along, taking my life as a lazy drift along the current just taking the opportunities that came by. Now that I’ve got it down, I’m starting to see that maybe I’m the one swimming out into deeper water looking for that faster current.

As always, thanks for reading.  I hope you’re out there somewhere with your head above water.