Hypothetically, it is time for me to write up a list of Big Questions in celebration of my newly wrought serial blog column, Hypothetical Tuesday. But I can’t think of any good questions today and I’m sort of feeling a little gray and off and it’s my blog besides which means I can pretty much do whatever I want and so I am going to share a memory instead. Hypothetically, Hypothetical Tuesday will be back next week.
So. Incidentally: as a kid, I used to love to climb this one tree in my backyard. I’d spend hours oh way up there just hanging out by myself. Even after I fell out – twice – and broke my nose – twice – I just loved the shit out of that old tree.
I liked to scramble my way to the very top, where the branches got harder to hold onto and the wind blew right on through, because at the top of the tree, something astonishing happened: my still-tiny world would burst open and alter its configurations completely. I’d wedge my sneakers into the crooks of branches and peek out over the canopy of trees into the big, strange world beyond. Up there, I could see far, into other neighborhoods, into other yards, into the forest beyond. And the higher I went, the stranger and wilder the world began to appear. It was a portal that shot me full light years past the immediate. Past the reach of my mother, beyond the limitations of my little hands and my little body, miles from the insular, the safe, the daily. Like I’d fallen off the map, as it were, or at the very least had found myself dangling reckless from its papery edge. I wouldn’t go so far as to have called it a State of Grace, but it certainly came close.
I dug it so much. I think, in some ways, those moments were the beginning of Me, of the person I’d eventually become. Of my love of travel and adventure and those inveterately strange and distant lands that only get stranger and more distant when you step into them.
Today, I feel bored, perspectiveless. Like I’m wiggling around in stupid circles in the dirt when I should really be scrambling upward, digging my heels against the bark and just straight going for it. Like I used to. Who even fucking cares if I shatter a few bones along the way? The ground’s really no safer in the end, trust me, cause you’re liable to get your face stomped on if you spend too long writhing in the dirt anyway. Either way, all of this is going to hurt you some.
What I mean to say is: Today, I wish I had a tree. Hypothetically speaking, I mean.