11 February, 2012

Long... long... short... long...

Today finds me shunted to a new track. with no destination. just always on the track. moving forward, and eating up the miles. occasionally stopping in a station, and blowing the loud loud horn, with the pattern.. long... long.. short... looooong, just like the many trains that pull me into the moment day and night in my home in downtown Seattle.

Another of those blog entries from the past where I can't even tell you what I was thinking. I don't even know what my struggle was. I guess it was probably 2008. So I guess I know what influence I was under. In fact, it sheds a little light on the regret blog as well. 2008. Not a good year. If I were a winemaker, I would have burned the grapes from that year, because the memories didn't age well. Okay, I'm being melodramatic. I actually have come to terms with most of what happened in that year.

2008 was the year my mom died. I was likely lamenting the revolving door of relationships that I had during that period of time. I had likely just exited one of those doors, and was feeling adrift. It was also the year I joined the band. I might have been in a phase where I was drinking more alcohol than I typically would ever consume. There was a little window of time where I was slightly more "dark" for lack of a better word.

I felt lost in 2008. I felt lost in 2009. It was two solid years of being lost. And I never attributed it to anything. Well, that's not really true. I definitely experienced a lot of rough times, and I certainly attributed them to all kinds of things. But I never realized that there was a big continuous window of being lost, except perhaps in fleeting moments that might have been captured in some journal entry, but were eventually forgotten. I think I was actually getting lost before that, and remained lost after that.

For my first two years here, I could not help but hear the sounds of the trains. Some people love the sound. But I found it to be irritating. I know what they're doing, and why they're doing it. I know what long... long... short... loooooooong means:

"Wherever feasible, train horns must be sounded in a standardized pattern of 2 long, 1 short and 1 long.  The horn must continue to sound until the lead locomotive or train car occupies the grade crossing."

But I still believed that the horns were there to vex me, and that they were largely unnecessary, driving back and forth, unloading their cars, in a purely industrialized neighborhood. Surely, there could be no need to iterate this call endlessly. Why?

And over time, I've stopped hearing it. It is still happening, I'm sure. And if I try to listen, I will hear it. But my brain finally decided that it wasn't an important stimulus.

I didn't feel lost in 2011. I am on a new track. I don't know what the destination is, for certain. But I know that there is one. I am moving forward, but not merely eating miles. I am going somewhere.

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