Well, it’s been too long. That pretty much sums up almost
everything right now. This school year’s been too long, our snowy spring was
too long, the walk from my soft warm bed to, well, really anywhere in the
morning is way too long, but most of
all, it’s been too long since my last blog update. Though, it seems like when things are getting
to the point of being too long, it’s when they find an end, or a beginning in
the terms of my latest blog entry. I’m
beginning my blog update to end
the period of no blog update. Now I could probably continue with that and go
into some crazy deep theology of how we must begin to find an end and that will
be the beginning of another journey and so on and so forth, but really when you
boil it down, all that would do is cause you, the reader, to walk away
thinking, “Was that a joke, or was he really trying to be serious?” and me, the
writer, thinking during the middle of it, “Should this be a joke, or am I
really trying to be serious?”. So I’ll just keep things simple.
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| Livin the good life (not my beer) |
As this school year draws to a close it seems like every class
is consumed by writing reflections on how the year went, what we expected and didn’t
see, and what we didn’t expect and enjoyed. As I look back to remember whether
it was a good year or not, it strikes me how it doesn’t really matter, does it?
School is just one of those things that at times can be the hardest, most
challenging part of your life, while at other times it can be the easiest,
frankly, most boring part of your life, either way school is school and it’s
what we got to do.
I suppose the only
time I truly feel like complaining about school is on these final two weeks.
Everybody’s tired of learning, and the teachers are tired of teaching, but what
really makes me suffer is looking out the window at the beautiful, crisp,
morning air. It’s always about math class that I see the days as the most
beautiful. Where even through the double layered, glued shut windows of Capital
High School I can still make out the soft whistle of robins. I can all but feel
the brush of the breeze weaving through my hair. I can see out those windows and look about
three miles to the south, and there it is. Mount Helena, standing tall and
proud, like a picture from a National Geographic. I trace with my eyes the path
that I plan on taking that day. I’m sure the person sitting next to me thinks I
have some kind of problem with my eyes darting back and forth. I’m following
the trail in my mind. Brake here, Jump that, roost this; it’s all about the sound
the tires make sticking to the packed earth. I have a pretty low heart rate,
that’s just who I am, but when I’m on my bike it’s different. Every time a
tread block beats into the ground my heart beats with it. Bump, bump, bump,
bump- a thousand, a hundred thousand, a million tiny bumps that eventually
begin to sound like, like… I don’t know… they sound like a tire. Smooth and
protective, and that happens to my heart. A symphony of individual sounds that
grow and multiply to form something solid and whole. Like the individual instruments
of an orchestra, playing such random notes and keys on their own, but together
they produce something familiar and comforting.
Every once in a while I have to look away form that window. I
have to answer some question relating to numbers that aren’t in Psi or
kilometers, and that brings me back to the real world, out of my daydream. But
what is the real world? Does the real world lie in trigonometry and algebra,
facts and figures you might never use, or does it fly in the dirt kicked up by
your rubber? Something you’ll always love. I guess that’s what I think about
when school gets hard or long or confusing. The world is built on dreams and
built by dreamers, so never let your dreams fade away. No matter if it’s been
too long, never stop looking out that window, picking out a path to your
future.
