The Woes of a Modern Day Wanderer Stuck Still

Should a man of my age, ripe at best but somewhere on the verge of blooming and rotting, be the one to decide for himself to shun the conventions of gravity and blossom up into space or allow the more natural downward moment to allow him to fall down from the tree and settle into the moist dirt below, planting his seed and beginning a tree. Granted, growing into a mighty tree has its perks, stature in the world and a sort of feeling of having a place to call your own. Somewhere to climb up and kick back and relax after the pressures of a long day of soaking up the sun and pushing roots down into the ground. But trees are meant to stay still and once you let those searching tendrils dig in far enough to support the weight of a trunk, well, you might find yourself hard pressed to uproot and move on without teetering over and becoming fodder for the pushing up of posies.

I’m a success, by all standard definitions. Well, at the age of 25 and already successfully having failed the task of marriage, I can see where some might beg to differ, but I have a good job with numbers such as 401K associated with it, as well as health care and sick days and personal holidays and the like. I’m a homeowner, I have a relatively new car and a bad ass computer and a son who loves me like I don’t deserve. All of these things make me a happy man, I won’t deny, but a longing is digging around in my gut and I fear that if I don’t do something to quench that burn I’ll just be coughing up lungs at the age of 79 and looking back on all of my accomplishments hanging on some wall in my den and thinking, “Oh. Wow.” Sarcasm the note of that sentence.

I feel like I am at a very decidedly poignant time in my life, where the decisions I make within the next year will define me as Nathan, father, good man, or Nathan, legend after death. Writing should be my primary focus, but I let things like the work day and mortgage payments slur my ways and bald my head.

I have met a girl, well, I met her quite some time ago, but she’s reappeared into my life as of recent times and I want to sling her over my shoulder and ride her off of a mountain like a kite through a thunderstorm. All just to see where I end up, toasted and charry black at the end of the day, or lit up like a smoke on the Fourth of July.

Let freedom ring, chillums.

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