London Blog

'I can't look at the rocket launch;
The trophy wives of the astronauts;
And I won't listen to their words;
'cause I like ... birds.

I don't care for walkin' downtown;
Crazy auto-car gonna mow me down;
Look at all the people like cows in a herd;
Well, I like ... birds.'
~~ Eels

Alright you squishy bucket of worms. I'm tired of being threatened. And you're absolutely right to kick me in the butternuts. It's been far too long -- a whole month! -- and I have a series of blogs ready to post. So let's get this steam engine boilin'.

This particular blog is cheating a bit. It comes from an essay I wrote for a newsletter for a very dear friend, and so, with pemission from the Diva herself, I reprint the essay in its entirety, to stave off the threats while I prepare my next blog. May you all be appeased.

Also note, blogger has allowed me to add 'word verification' to the comment section. This should prevent all the ads for penis enlargers, hair replacements and breast enhancers I've had automatically posted to my blog lately.

In theory you just have to type in a word to verify you're a person and not a computer. Let me know if this isn't working for you. The only other option is for me to moderate each and every comment posted to my blog, and I'd just as soon not censor anyone who has a real opinion.

Now, on with the show:

In the bloggie-style spirit of indulgent self-revelation, I thought I’d share with you the moment that gave me my philosophy on life. This isn’t gospel; I’m not a preacher. It’s just advice, words of wisdom from an unwise man. And like all advice, you can evaluate it, and follow it to whatever degree you choose. All I know is this philosophy, my philosophy, has made me a happy man.

My senior year of high school, I took a trip to England and Ireland.

How does a poor boy from West Virginia pay for such an adventure? By putting two dollars a week in a jar every week from the time he is 10 years old until he is ready to graduate.

I had actually been saving for a trip to Australia -- a dream I eventually realized. But at the time, I didn’t have enough money.
But never fear, my loved ones. I opted without hesitation to empty that jar -- it was quite heavy by that point -- and traveled with classmates on a 10-day frolic through Great Britain. We had a solid itinerary: Westminster Abbey, Big Ben, Buckingham Palace, Trafalgar Square, Stratford-on-Avon, Dublin and the sweet green pastures of Ireland. Christians, countryside, castles and clocks.

The plane ride was long, and by the time we got to our London hotel, our adult chaperones were exhausted. They wanted a nap before dinner and argued over whether or not to let us leave the hotel. I was frustrated: we were in London, England, on our first night, and these people wanted to shut us in a hotel for hours. Eventually, they realized attempting to keep an intelligent group of high school students in a hotel in London would be approximately as successful as Freddy Got Fingered. So they let us go – on the stipulation that we stay within a six block radius of the hotel.

Right.

By sheer chance, two of my best friends from elementary school were on that trip. We’d lost touch over the years, but were still fond of each other. Not in a creepy Hobbit pillow-fight-in-bed sense, just a dudes-who-grew-up-together-and-lost-touch sense.

So that evening, my friends and I made a pact. We were going to walk until we got to the end of the city.

We set out admiring the view; London feels every bit as old as the ornate Victorian homes and gothic churches that line its streets. The buildings are weather-worn but have managed to age gracefully. They look almost wise, and it’s odd to think that most of them have been around for generations of humans, and will see many more generations than any passersby.

We walked and talked and laughed at old times and recounted tales of girls and booze and cars and jobs. We randomly turned street corners, until we were convinced we were lost. We had no concept of time, and only the ache in our feet to suggest how far we'd gone. Finally, our stomachs overcame our willpower, and we somehow found our way back to the hotel in time to catch the group dinner. We were well over an hour late, but managed to avoid the lecture.

When I returned from London, it seemed odd to me that our walk that first night was the most vivid and important memory of that trip. We saw some truly awesome sights, many of which I may never see again. And yet my favorite memory is a long walk with my friends, something I’d done a thousand times before with those very same people.

It honestly took me years to figure out why that particular moment was so special to me. Not that I spent all those years thinking about that one subject; I became distracted by girls and booze and cars and jobs. But once in awhile, perhaps talking to my friends on IM or some other technological narcotic, I would remember that trip, that night on the town.

And on one spectacularly unspecial day, I figured it out.

Despite the tight schedules and group pictures and shared meals, my friends and I had shared something that distinguished our trip from everyone else. We were different.

There were similar moments, if less profound. But the collection of those incidents created an utterly unique experience.
Many have gone to London, before and after me. But their experiences are different from mine, because I did something utterly insane: I walked to the edge of the city.
Not that we ever made it. But that's missing the point. We set out on a fantastic and whimsical detour, and maybe our goal all along wasn't the one we spoke aloud. Perhaps our spoken pact was an impossible mission, but our unspoken agreement was that we would see and experience London in a fashion entirely separate from any other tourist, from any of our companions. This was our moment. Subtle, impossible, unique. And I've reveled in it ever since.

We all have the ability to follow a set path, to follow life’s itinerary. And that path is wonderful. We’re bound to learn and experience and see marvelous things.

But for me, it’s the random side trips that give life it’s flavor. I’ve never been afraid to drop what I’ve been doing and take a trip somewhere I’d never planned on going. I’ve made some wild decisions – changed majors on a whim, or asked out girls I’ve barely known.

But those random moments don't have to be life-altering. They can be something as simple as taking a walk with old pals on a warm spring evening.

Those are the moments that define us. Those are the moments that make us diverse. And sure, sometimes I'm terrified that I’ll be lost, that I'll never make it back to my intend ed path.

But a truer realization drives me onward. For as many times as I've been lost, I've never had a single regret.

Peace and love,
Sketch E.