Sunday, July 28, 2019
Driving to work is rarely the brightest part of my day. It might even never be the brightest part of my day. Going to work is like jumping off a cliff into the deep pool of water formed below by a waterfall. I am filled with fear and trepidation and dread. I regret how I got into this position. I hesitate endlessly on the ledge. That's how I feel when I'm driving to work. Then I dive in and I am exhilarated! That's the part where I actually arrive at work, except I'm not exactly exhilarated; I'm more like ready for it and okay. So it's not a perfect analogy.
But the point, the point is I'm never at my most optimistic and my sunshiny best driving along the freeways of Minnesota, all alone, on my bleary way to another day of work.
And so it was this morning.
The sky was grey. All the angry little cars crowded and hurried along the 75 lanes of asphalt. I turned on the radio, and...
Oh, such jazz. Antonio Carlos Jobim, from an album called Stone Flower in 1970. And a drummer, oh the drummer, playing this textured, shifting layered bits, across what feels like the edges of everything, pulling out of one to make us realize another was playing underneath all along. Oh the chill, the fascination, the groove, what a song! The sun came out. I am sliding, I am diving, cliffs are for flying. Life's going to be all right. The water is cool and fine. Brazil.
And we all fall forever. And falling...