Professional Fuck-Off

Hey, you! Yeah, you. The one who does not know what day or time it is. You who has not one single thing to do and yet cannot manage even the smallest of commitments. No job, no school, no spouses or houses to take care of. No kids or pets or even a fucking plant. You only own one sweater for crying out loud! And yet, here you are. Weeks fly by and you flit about. You have no real agenda, just suggestions of possible timelines of maybe when things might happen. If not for photos, you would not remember what you did last week or last month, and you have no idea where you will be or what you will do tomorrow. Your past is gone and your tomorrow not yet a reality. You have now. 

Truth? In all reality? This is me. Not the “other”, but me. Somehow, the months of summer and now even fall have slipped by. Where did they go? Perhaps when I was taking those extra days at Yellowstone or with my friends at the river or on that hike at that great campground. Perhaps they lay at the bottom of that last sample glass of beer at that last brewery that probably was not so hot anyway. Perhaps they are in the pages of that last book that I binged on that one day I stayed at camp and read and maybe had a cocktail or two. Perhaps this is where my time and my days go. Perhaps. 

Or, there may be another option. Perhaps they are in the smile I gave that one guy who looked like he needed it. Perhaps time got away from me as I talked with those folks at the other camp and helped that lady figure out where her cell phone might have gone. Perhaps I left some moments at that last museum in that little town where all the businesses are closing but the giant fucking huge Walmart just opened off the highway out East. Perhaps moments passed by as I drove through that rainstorm and windstorm and into that setting sun on the shores of the Missouri River or Devil’s Lake or the Badlands. Perhaps time got lost as I watched my niece pitch during her softball game or went on that hike with my sister’s family or when I cooked the family breakfast that one morning. Perhaps I lost track while petting their dog or taking a long, hot shower.

Or, perhaps none of those moments were lost at all. Perhaps they are all with me, in my soul, buried in my DNA and now in my psyche. Perhaps these moments are now turned into experiences that now fill me up in a way I have never felt before. For the first time I can remember, there is no deficit, there is no hunger, there is no angst or unrest or discontent. Perhaps those moments are now memories that are fabric in my quilt that are now tattooed on my heart that cause my cup to runneth over. 

Perhaps instead of plans I have feelings, instead of commitments I have experiences, and instead of a schedule I have an imprint of all that is true and good and whole in the world. I have people and places and sights and sounds and smells that breathe life right into the very core of my being. Perhaps instead of a job I have a journey, instead of a home I have a hearth, and instead of responsibilities I have remembrances that will never, ever be forgotten. I have things that I feel, in my heart of hearts, in my core of cores, into the very depths of my soul. 

Hey, you! Stay with me, here. Listen up. Perhaps you are not really fucking off at all. Perhaps you are giving back and giving to and welcoming in. Perhaps you are listening and hearing and feeling and tasting and seeing for the very first time. Perhaps you are making connections and touching hearts and making moments. Perhaps you have just woken up. Perhaps so have I.

Perhaps, Pilgrim, there is no perhaps. You are where you are meant to be doing what you are meant to be doing in the time frame you are meant to do it. In this Universe, there is no agenda or schedule or timeline. There only is time and life and this world. There are only these moments and experiences. Perhaps there is only to be. 

And yet… perhaps there is no perhaps. Perhaps this is me and this is my pilgrimage and perhaps this just is. Yeah, that. Perhaps. 

Perhaps you will understand. And, perhaps, I will, too.

Cheers!

One Comment on “Professional Fuck-Off

  1. Michelle–the journey is yours and you are right–just let it be as the famous Beatles song rings and and no justification required. Hope it continues to roll for you and with you as fall and winter approaches. Sending good vibes!

    Like

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