“I think that one may contribute (ever so slightly) to the beauty of things by making one’s own life and environment beautiful, so far as one’s power reaches.” Robinson Jeffers

It is Sunday afternoon (7/14), around four o’clock and I am writing to you, something I have never done before. What I mean by that is, I have never come home after my motorcycle ride, when the last thing on my mind is writing another story. I am usually relieved that I have recently posted one and just take the mental time off. On a beautiful day like today, the ride is even extra special.

I don’t know if I have told you that a number of months ago, I gave up riding with a group, any group. I rode for at least twenty years with the same folks and left over some personal stuff that bothered me. Then, I briefly rode with another group, not thinking they’d become a club, like the one I had left. Listen, I have zero shit to say about anyone, who loves to ride and I’m not going to start now. It just got to a point that after all these years of group riding, it was time for me to simply go my own way.

I suppose, in some way, that kind of weaves itself into why I am doing something I haven’t done before. It’s about time and in my case, it’s about my time left here and how I want to spend it. Of course, it still doesn’t answer the question of why the fuck I am sitting here and writing now.

This sit down was triggered by Trump’s ear wound yesterday and yes I purposely chose the word. A day or two before, I had put up my last story and it has always felt somewhat sacrilegious to start writing so soon after, as if I am somehow creatively bankrupt, needing time for the juices to flow again. 

I have a pretty good idea of what’s coming and it really carries forward my worst fears expressed in the last story, dealing with Project 2025, amongst other things. Our country is so incredibly polarized that gunfire seems to be the only way to convey this schism. Have you heard a single voice of someone in power saying we have to figure out how to come together, at least on some key issues and do what is best for the most? No, you haven’t. No you won’t. 

I had a great ride today. Drove to the west side and stopped whenever I felt like it, definitely too often for any group. I took in the incredible beauty of this place, each time I got off the bike. The highlight was stopping at the pier in Waimea and walking back to the monumentally, local store that may be the only one on the island selling Spicy Bloody Mary’s in a can. I sat on a lone rock under the shade of a very large tree. I felt exceptionally good.

Every Sunday, I always send a video or two to my grandson. Right now, he is in NYC, attending a NY Times sponsored program for young writers, which I know I proudly mentioned in the last piece. While on my way heading back, the sound beeped with an incoming FaceTime. I pulled over into the shade of  a bus stop in Hanapepe and called my boy back. What we share is something I would never, ever share with anyone, other than him and we both know it. Man, it was great and made me feel like a two-wheeled, flying angel for the rest of the ride.

I got home with too much time on my hands. Of course, I slapped on the 20 lbs. vest and went rucking, knowing I was going to do exactly what I am doing now right now when I got back. On my way down the hill I heard one of my favorite songs and when I use that term, it is one occupied by only a handful of tunes, where I feel lost in them. This one is Biko by Peter Gabriel. It is about Steven Biko, who was brutally tortured and killed by South African police 47 years ago. 

I never bothered to do that math before and when I thought about it on my way back up the hill, it fed the story I needed to share, even if it is out of synch. God knows, I am no expert on international politics, but I don’t think a whole lot of shit has changed since his murder. Black people all over the world are still getting fucked because of their skin color, no matter how many have died for their cause. To make it even worse, throughout Central Africa, it is black on black brutality and greed is the disease. This just threw me further into the story that seemed to want to come out, no matter my prior habits. Yes, Palestine is right in there, too.

While I am not officially 80, I am in my 80th year and it is fucked up to split hairs over it. I could claim Zen and yoga and all sorts of physical exercise for my longevity, but I know it is just dumb, fucken luck. Whether or not I deserve it is a stupid discussion I can’t have. However, here I am. Maybe, at best, I’ve got ten years before I am the victim of drool and forgetfulness. God Bless Biko and people like him, who are willing to give their lives to make a difference.

I confess to having several servings of a juice glass, partially filled with my favorite boxed wine of Cabernet Sauvignon and don’t want to go much further at the moment, so a revisit is likely in order.

I really want to talk about shrinking my world, which feels semi-revelatory to me and the only way I can think to make the next ten years worth a shit for me. I want to think about it a bit more, because it is really a big quantum leap in how I engage the world going forward………………………………………………………

A handful of days have passed and here I am. For honesty’s sake, I don’t want to blame the wine for stopping. God knows, it has never stopped me before. I stopped, because I know I have a propensity for bullshit and I purposely wanted to wait and see if my idea was just passing by or whether it could actually take hold and it has.

I have stopped getting lost in the news. For years, whenever I opened Baby Hal and keyed Safari, Yahoo News popped into my face. I read the news and then I reread the news and then I reread the news. The hours I have spent doing this are incalculable and I swear I can’t give you a good reason, other than knee jerk boredom and needing continual distraction. 

Spinning out from Sunday’s out of synch story start, I wanted to see if I could actually withdraw from the news and find some comfort in not knowing what is going on, God forbid. Starting Monday, the experiment officially began. I just stopped giving a shit about the latest and greatest, as if it actually mattered in my small, day to day life. 

I am only three days into this new way of living and I really like it. My overall mood is so much better and seriously chill. I have way more time to do nothing with my mind, like taking off its leash and letting it run around in a glorious mental landscape. The external world has shrunken and my internal world has grown, to fill in the gaps of distraction. 

I feel like I have burned my draft card and will leave the war to others, far younger than myself, with much more at stake. My grandson just sent me a piece he wrote for his NYT writing camp and it blew my mind, I shit you not. The world belongs to him and his contemporaries and I am neither optimistic or pessimistic about their ability to divert the shitstorm that is rifling our way. 

What has been for pretty much forever has gotten us to where the world is today.

This is not my fight and my years of sitting on the cushion whisper in my ear that I can keep writing, but my work now is to feel the joy of this privilege and share it with my words. I have thrown away my tool belt and pulled up my pants to hide my ass crack. 

I am within inches of finishing this story, letting it sit intact until I publish it in a few days. Now, when I punch the Safari button, I am still going to Yahoo News, but I could care less about what’s there. Ladies and gentlemen, this is a very big deal for me. In some ways, it feels like a language barrier, because I don’t know what they’re talking about any more. I go there when I need to find things out like Netflix or definitions or answers to stupid questions. 

For the few of you who read this, I want to thank you very much and feel blessed that you would take the time to do it. No kidding. That’s all I know for now.

LISTEN TO THE STORY HERE:

https://www.buzzsprout.com/1292459/episodes/15443321-honey-i-shrunk-the-world