The song “Straighter Pilot” by Snow Patrol was in my head when I woke up. It’s not one of their more popular songs. It’s kinda quirky and kinda nerdy and truly atypical compared to the rest of their body of work.
It’s a good reminder of what you can do with the freedom that comes with success. Maybe success is not the right word. Maybe it’s experience. You do a thing long enough, you are bound to gain acclaim, or at least a reputation. That history, that putting in the time, is like building credit up in the bank of life. You earn the right to flip a script or two. Perhaps it’s less about earning the right as it is acquiring a sense of not giving a fuck. “I’ve done all that you asked of me, and now I’m going to do what I damn well please.”
I’m as sure about that phenomenon with my own life as I am that it probably has nothing to do with the composition and execution of Starfighter Pilot. Things are often not what they appear and you don’t ever really know. No person can be in the head of any other person (thank the universe).
That last bit was part of the intro to a lecture I went to yesterday which turned out to be a discussion about the difference between speculative thinking and writing and magical thinking and writing. It was a fascinating lecture and it concluded with the person giving the lecture using his own story as an example. It left me teary. Not a surprise.
I became teary a couple times yesterday. No full-on crying, but it’s there, somewhere inside building it’s gumption and energy. A sticky ball rolling and picking up artifacts as it goes. It started as a little walnut and now it’s got tinfoil and bits of umbrella stuck to it and it’s about the size of a tennis ball. It’s lodged somewhere deep in my body cavity at the moment. No where near my heart or my throat. Its nestled next to my spleen, teetering back and forth with indecision and mounting momentum. It’s preparing to begin rolling again. A thing that’s as inevitable as the sun rising.
I will say, it’s nice here, with the sun still sleeping and this reliable treadmill. I guess that’s what I mean about balance. There has to be sleep and a return to center to counter what happens with the unpredictability of every day.
I suppose one theory about why people I’m centuries past didn’t live as long as they do I’m today’s day and age. When there’s so much volatility around just acquiring basic needs.. sleep, food, shelter, the body and mind have no time to reset and that ages a person pretty rapidly. Modern medicine plays in of course, but I think balance it the bigger factor by a wide margin.
There’s acute occurrences that can now be overcome, but life is long. The chronic condition of being human is what we have to live with from the day we are born.
Right now the shuffle (which I’ve invited the Universe to dictate for my time here) is feeding Taylor Swift’s “Welcome to New York”. Now there’s an artist with so much experience and talent that she’s able to re-invent herself again and again AND find success. An extraordinary example of an artist that has it figured out.
It feels as though there must be some equation that translates the speculative into the magical. What, oh what, are the variables and constants? What are the multipliers and factors that subtract? Does one approach it with the FOIL method or as a proof? Is it largely geometric or does algebra take over? Can it be elementary or does one need to grasp quantum physics to crack the code and unravel the mystery?
Perhaps the secret is in the letting go of expectations. That sounds like a task of which I’m completely capable of doing. Im going to roll with that.
Speaking of rolling, the sun is about to come up and that ball inside me is gearing up for the day. My hour is up anyway.
Balance + Experience + Being Open = Magic and Longevity