The Hiker Dude

I want to make this a modern fairytale, but I can’t. Because it’s not. Because it won’t be. But because I believe in the magic of words, I will retain them in here and hope the readers who have been asking for a drop of something positive will enjoy.

Just for the spirit of enchantment, I will begin this with a once upon a time…

Once upon a time, I met a guy. We will call him the Hiker. Or the Hiker Dude. Yeah, the Hiker Dude sounds much better. When I first looked at him, I was lying down. But in the blink of an eye, I felt elated. It wasn’t his dreamy blue eyes, but his dreamy words that transported me to some sort of cloud. Anyone who knows me, or has ever read me, knows I have a special relationship with words (alas not tonight though, I am here typing because I can’t concentrate on a book I’ve been wanting to read for 10 years and finally found, so don’t expect any poetic sentences from the tips of these fingers tonight, but do keep yourself ready for some of the Hiker Dude’s magic nonetheless). His words opened the door to some much needed daydreaming, at night. He didn’t even have to make an effort, his words just flowed out of him, and he struck me as oblivious to his own powers. He probably isn’t, but he was humble about it in any case. All he did was tell me a bit about him. The more I asked, the more answers he provided, and I felt I could keep on asking forever. I felt as if my thirst could not be quenched, but I had to stop at some point and get back down to my terrestrial couch, sadly enough. 

A sentence here and a detail there. A fact here and a joke there. And a mighty, graceful stitch between all those elements was all it took to bewitch me. He didn’t say much, but at the end he didn’t have to. He didn’t try hard, and he didn’t have to either. There was subtlety, agility and elegance to all his descriptions. And that helped engrave his words in my memory somehow. The following may not be a completely accurate account of his portrayals, chronologically speaking or vocabulary wise, but it’s the best my brain can come up with on memory. I am going to be as loyal as humanly possible to his discourse, and I hope you will enjoy it…The Hiker’s words: 

“Let's see here, I currently live on the Hawaiian island of Kauai but am moving much closer to you, to where we are right now, soon… I am looking for awesomeness… I travel often, hike, camp, backpack, and go on all kinds of adventures... I am the oldest of 5 and I am very tight with my siblings… I work hard. I play hard. Sometimes I don't play hard if I find a great show to marathon on Netflix… I hold great value in the connections with my close friends… I like to play scrabble and am largely undefeated… I build things; it's very gratifying. I can fix anything. If I cannot fix it then I will destroy any evidence that I ever tried to… I will hold the door open… I love dogs. I love cats if they behave like dogs. I wish I were half the man my dogs think I am...Mountains and water are a primal requirement to live near. That last sentence did not begin with "I"… I just made a couch that has been nicknamed the "comacouch"...I'm addicted to frequent flier miles. I like to make up stories about people I watch at the airport. I tinker... French press coffee is my favorite... My favorite color is green and it has nothing to do with pot or money… I am protective over my favorite spoon. I used to be a vegan who loved meat... I maintain eye contact. I listen. I plan on being spontaneous and sometimes spontaneously plan... I do my own taxes and wonder why… I am on a first name basis with REI… My favorite wine comes from New Zealand... I am the opposite of clumsy. I stay up late and get up early… I know a lot of really bad and offensive jokes… CAKE wrote a song about my dream woman... Yard sales and treasure hunting are oodles of fun... I use a check register... I have a face. I love life and all the challenges it presents to let me experience the full spectrum of it... I look forward to meeting someone who is down to Earth but can go to outer space as well. I am wanting to find the woman to spend every day with and have some little ones and dogs.”

Is it just me or do those bits and pieces sewn together make him perfect? And for those of you who are wondering, I concur, he does have a face indeed. Not that I am incapable of imagining such a dreamy character on my own, but aside from the words, I’d probably mess it up, and he most definitely won’t be a hiker. He’s real though, too real if you ask me. 

And just when I thought he couldn’t be any more perfect, he took a piercing, immaculate look at me, and then proceeded to satisfy his own curiosity with a bunch of silly little questions. No more than 5 minutes later, he took out his notebook, and he wrote an impressive introduction about me, one that my oldest friends probably, no definitely, couldn’t come up with if they tried. The following is a very accurate copy of what the Hiker scribbled down that night about me, someone he had barely just met. It looks like a newspaper ad or maybe an out of this world CV intro. I love it. I will cherish that entry forever.

“My name is Mimi and it is a nickname for… Why you would just have to find that out won't you!... I love to read and am quite the bookworm… As an Aquarius I have a thirst for knowledge as well as a thirst to know why I have a thirst for knowledge...  I also possess some very powerful eyes. If I meet you in person I will be able to see your soul on the edges of them.  If you are not worthy then you will turn to stone but if you are, then you will melt into a puddle of joy… I work in a cutthroat industry but I like to leave my work at work and be more of myself when I'm at home. Sometimes that is difficult to do so I write a blog which helps ease the tension between my two worlds... I like big sunglasses, big earrings, and red.  I like red because it is the color of passion and I am in fact a passionate person…  I have a need for dynamic conversation and witty stimuli. If anyone has ever called you a dialtone, then please keep moving along...I work very hard and I like what I do… I also like to play hard to offset my career challenges. I have a primal need to be compelled….so compel me!”

Do not ask me where all this is coming from. Do not ask me who the Hiker Dude is. Do not ask me anything in fact. Just read those entries, appreciate them; appreciate one man’s talent and one woman’s inspiration. Leave it all behind you. Get over it. Get over it just like I am. Hold on to the fleeting optimism in those sentences. Preserve the memory of those blue eyes you have never seen but you’ve so often imagined while reading their creations. Don’t take any of it to the next level, for the next level simply does not exist. Be grateful you’ve reached the cloud, stop aiming for the outer space, at least for tonight, in respect of those of us who are disillusioned and don’t dare expect anymore. Sadly so, but rightfully so. Good night.

The Power of Time

While making my regular FB tour tonight, I was struck by a famous Buddha quote which read: “The trouble is, you think you have time.” I sat there contemplating the sentence for what seemed forever, and then I realized I better stop staring and move on to something else before time with its mighty wings dares steal even more precious moments while I keep going unaware of its effects and its boldness.  

The concept of time has been consuming me for 3 days now, and I feel the need to virtually arrange my thoughts on paper in hope of settling an already busy mind. It all started when I discovered a white hair in my eyebrow while fixing my makeup in the car. I froze for an eternity before I started the engine and went straight to my beautician to pluck it out.

I had never been aware of how scary it would be for me to start the aging process. Sure I have always joked about it, but not once - I am now aware - have I truly gave it a sincere thought. Somehow I had never believed that I would ever grow old, or older. I had always had the sense that one way or another, my life would be over by the time I was thirty. And with thirty so close now, a lot downed on me in a single moment.

The sense of being underachieved could be tragically thrown out of proportion when you spot your first white hair. The feeling that you have done way too little in contrast with your potential sets in, and a whole lot of drama starts buzzing in your head, robbing you a bit more of what little sanity you were still trying to maintain.  

I sit here thinking of whys and what ifs. I sit with remorse, with regrets. I feel threatened by missed opportunities and lack of effort. And as one thought gets chained to the other, I start seeing lack of ambition, lack of spirit and serious lack of motivation in my past, and sadly, in my present as well. Melancholic dilemmas start clouding me and a morose state takes over my being. Have I ever really tried achieving a goal or fulfilling a dream? Have I ever given anything my all? Have I ever compromised enough or have I ever, to the contrary, refused to compromise? Have I been passionate, in the true sense of the word, about something in my life so far? The answer saddens me even more, it empties me of any sympathy I still had for myself. Had I ever been sincerely passionate and truly determined, I wouldn’t be lamenting myself now.

Tonight I pray for the ability to use the fleeting gift of time more wisely. I pray for greater determination and second chances. I pray for patience and opportunity. I pray for knowledge and feasibility. I pray for inspiration and enthusiasm. For hope and faith. For strength and drive. For passion, most of all, because love is nothing without it, and what a shame it would be to waste love.

Tonight I strive to read more and procrastinate less. I strive to do more and talk less. To produce more while nagging less. To appreciate what I already have. To cherish what I have already achieved. To be thankful for the people already surrounding me. For without gratefulness to what I am lucky to have now, I don’t deserve what I may accomplish in the future and will never know how to enjoy it.    

At The Mercy of My Fingers

I know you are going to say this is just too much! We have better things to do than reading a blogger’s jabbering every other night! But I can’t help it, my fingers just won’t rest, they refuse to stay away from the keyboard. I have tried, I swear I did. I must have clicked on those stupid solitaire cards over twelve thousand times tonight, and yet my fingers don’t seem to have had their satiety. My pink little mouse that looks as if it is a hand-me-down from an 8 year old girly girl has been begging me to stop restlessly clicking on it for over 2 hours, and yet my fingers refuse to keep away from my broken laptop.

Something in me has woken up from its deep, long slumber this week. Something in me has shaken me up, and like a somnambulist, I found myself picking up on my reading where I had left off. The pleasure of those books must have ticked off the ink swelling in the tips of my fingers.

Something in me has realized that fantasies are just what they are, and reality must set in sometime. My feelings about this statement are ambivalent. I am not sure how much I prefer living my reality as opposed to dreaming my fancy.

I am trying to take serious steps towards fulfilling the promise I had made to myself, the one in which I swore to live more, to do more, to be more; but as the saying goes, one hand cannot clap on its own, and without a serious entourage and excellent company round the clock, I am afraid my hands not only won’t clap, they are also tied, tied to a bittersweet reality that keeps me going in vicious circles of fabulous far away friends, and omnipresent insignificant everyday companions who make me feel like a cat lady.

Tonight I can’t help but imagining myself some 30 years from now still sitting in this chair, sipping from this same hideous cup of coffee, only by then I would be ordering decaf instead; I foresee uncontrollably shaky hands in my future and a pile of heart medicine. I see glasses so thick they seriously could pass as the bottoms of coca cola bottles. I see a big house filled to its brim with books read once and only once, with rusty yellowish notebooks scattered all over the place, and with little, almost invisible insects crawling and making tiny nests inside the walls of an imagination that never knew where its door knob was.

I see neighborhood kids practicing their prank skills on me. I see myself tutoring students I wish I could spank to make a living.

I see nephews and nieces coming to check on me every once in a while. I hear them complaining about the stench of the house. I see myself cracking the windows once they have left. I see myself trying to look presentable and driving my 2005 Polo – 30 years from now – to Sassine Square. I see young waitresses puffing and rolling their eyes at my sight.

I sit here seriously wishing I knew how to change this inevitable prospect, and whilst my imagination aids me, my reality refuses to cope. Somehow I wish the world would rearrange itself to suit my lazy ass. And to end this with a somewhat less pessimistic thought, just wait and watch it do it!