The beginning of the New
This morning I am sitting at a little bakery near my house in Arvada, Colorado. It’s always my intent to relax for an hour and read. Or write out some thoughts. Usually this is difficult to achieve here since the space is buzzing busy and the noise level is at a level that makes concentration difficult. And most days I forget my headphones.
This is my last time to sit here before once again leaving. Seems like I am a man of constant motion: Just as I settle down into some sort of routine I am ready to break free.
I am ready to break free. Break free to what my intentions were many months ago when I revamped my web site and began a blog called A Coffee With Jay, and all the other various pursuits I outlined when I was living in Medellin and ready finally to live my Creative Life.
Break free to the free fall; once again packing everything that is essential into a carry-on bag and backpack and planning out just four days forward on a trip I am thinking will last a good part of a year.
There is no escaping that the years continue to pile up; I find myself being more thoughtful as I pack and intentional as I think of where to go and how to manage. Many days this month I’ve contemplated if I am up to the task of Olympic-ning myself to the pole vault of staking out a (again) new path. The short answer is a fuck-yes. I don’t care if my attempts at reinvention make some wonder if I’ve lost my mind, or wonder about my mental health in general. Look at the world we live in, I want to say. There is no longer a let’s-go-gentle-into-the-good-night; life now is constant super-charged E-ticket ride.
So I will not stop trying to break open the sun. I will command it to fill me up with energy, with light, wrest its rays to my will, be the Icarus whose wings get stronger when they burn brighter. I say this sipping my coffee and totally beaten to submission by the raspberry danish that has been a contributor to the excess weight and sugar addiction that has messed with my equilibrium.
In a couple days I will once again be aloft. All the tangles of responsibility will be blown off my skin and tumble down into the jet stream as the IcelandAir aeroplane (Addendum: Flight was cancelled at the last minute and it’s two later I actually leave) climbs high above the cumulus. The shackles that usually consist solely of my mortal doubts will also abscond to this beginning of the new mindset. I will concentrate now solely on what gives me breath. Words. Pictures. The Unknown. And I will keep my mind active and young by learning the language of video production.
Near me a group of older ladies clink their coffee cups and compare their thoughts about Lady Gaga sashaying through a French song; the spectacle of her attire and the pink wafting feathers of her Olympic entertainment performance. I’ve tuned out mid-talk, intent without headphones, to finish this new blog.
It doesn’t matter what their final opinion is; if Gaga slayed or stumbled. In my mind, I am born this way, to put on my shoes, strap that pack to my back, and put on my black cowboy hat. To Jay-say-and-show things. The critics and the pundits and the fans will cast their votes; I will love myself. It’s all I need—and the sun—which I squeeze to let the brilliance bleed on my fingers hold as the plane rises.
