Lists have been made and
packing procedures meticulously practiced.
There is an adventure afoot and thoughts of it have become all
encompassing. Details must be sorted and
tickets must be purchased. The
commitment is more than one of mindless detail, however, and I find myself
dizzy with contemplation. It has drained
me of most of my reserves and I am battling to rally myself around my daily
routine. I have paintings half completed
and ideas brewing for ones yet to be sketched.
My only constant seems to be my writing and even it seems to be
suffering as a result of the overload . . . confused and disorganized. The callouses from repetitive strumming are
becoming soft and fragile. The very
fabric of my being seems to be torn into a million fragments. I have intense desire, but no focus
whatsoever. The compass with which I
steer my days seems to be broken. These
days it only points southward. Locked on
a destination that seems vague and foreboding.
It is time to do something rash,
something to distract my weary mind.
Time to make a schedule and stick to it.
With miles left to run and only tired feet to carry me I feel utterly
exhausted, yet I feel the need to push forward.
I am beginning to appreciate what those with ADHD have to face day in
and day out. With all of these
distractions, who has time to sleep?
The blog has become afflicted
with a split personality. I now write
two for every one being posted. I worry
that the overall picture will become blurred, and the work that goes with it, can
fill a day all on its own. I must
remember that I have songs to play and paintings to paint. Things to accomplish before the journey can
be completed. And so, I will endeavor to
seek distraction in these activities and pray that it will return some sense of
order to my everyday life. The monotony
of the mundane feels meaningless and I desire to get lost in philosophy. The only thing keeping from doing so is a
sense of responsibility. The realities
of life feel as though they work with the exclusive purpose of denying
discovery. A day spent in bureaucracy
dampens the spirit even further. And
yet, it was this day that additional discoveries were made. Discoveries born of the mundane? Is it possible? Could it be that the two are not mutually
exclusive and indeed foster each other without our recognition? The answer must surely be yes.
The day was spent in
Bureaucratic hell. Another trip to the prefecture
to ensure that our driving privileges would not be revoked and that I may be
allowed to stay abroad for another year.
For everything sterling that I could say about the French healthcare
system, the opposite is true for their need to over complicate their
bureaucratic process. An entire day was
spent on a process that would take at the very most an hour or two in the
US. The end result of which was not a
completion of the project, but merely the beginning. In the US, we are used to instant
gratification with our bureaucracy. We
have a need to leave the office bearing the fruits of our labor. After a painful four hours in line and the
completion some needless forms, we were informed that it would be 6 months
before our license would be ready for delivery.
6 months? For a piece of paper no
less. Not a laminated wonder that fits
in the sleeve of one’s wallet, but a bulky chunk of folded paper with one’s
picture seemingly glued to the front. A
picture that was not taken on site, but rather procured under my own power at a
booth in a supermarket.
To add insult to injury,
despite an arrival at 9 a.m., we were informed that the line to get my
residency credentials had been closed and I would have to conduct this business
elsewhere. With some assistance, we were
told that this could occur at the commune just down the street from our home,
and we were off again. Upon arriving at
the local office, we were informed that we did not have the necessary
supporting documentation with us and we would be required to take additional
photographs. Back to the supermarket we
went. More photo booth photos in hand,
we needed to obtain stamps. Stamps? Yes, stamps.
You don’t pay for such items though local government, rather you have to
go to a Tabac to purchase stamps in the amount of the transaction. 85 euros worth of stamps to be exact. An absolutely bizzare process made even more
surreal by the fact that a Tabac is the only place these stamps can be
purchased. The best way to describe a
Tabac is to liken it to a convenience store.
It is a place to purchase cigarettes, newspapers, curios and a glass of
beer or café. To confuse the process
further, a Bar or Brasserie and a Presse have a very similar motif. To differentiate one from the other is next
to impossible unless you know what you are looking for.
We decided that for the sake
of variety, we would try to wedge a doctor’s appointment into the mix for my
youngest son’s infected eye ball. Looked
like pink eye, but as it turns out was a simple virus that seems to be on the
mend. With a doctor’s appointment under
our belt and the appropriate stamps, photos and proof of employment in hand, we
returned at the end of the day to finish the necessary paperwork for my
residency permit. I was handed a receipt
and told once again that we were looking at a solid month before the official
card would be prepared. For now, we are
living our life by way of receipts. No
official documents, just simple promises that we have taken the appropriate
measures to ensure our compliance with the law.
Absolutely exhausting, yet enlightening at the same time. In our daily lives we are forced to make a
trade off. It takes no time to get
x-rays and a proper physical, but takes months to complete simple social
paperwork here in France . In the US, it
takes months to get the results of your physical and to have x-rays developed,
but you can walk out with a driver’s license in hand inside of an hour
depending on when you arrive at the DMV.
So, aside from another lesson
in perspective, what did I learn? I
learned that while certain processes in life may be a “trade off”, life itself
doesn’t have to be. I don’t have to
trade between philosophy and daily monotony, making either my master for a
day. While waiting in line after line, I
found myself quite capable of letting my mind wonder into more profound thoughts. Thoughts of what I now consider omens that
others dismiss as mere coincidence. What
is the difference? I believe there is an
order to things. A path that we all must
follow. The route we are to follow is
clearly marked if we simply take the time to look for the signs. Repetitive themes that follow us throughout
our days, leading toward enlightenment if we have the courage to follow
them. When one dismisses these signs as
coincidence, we are doing so only because we are spending our days without
truly listening. Letting the daily
become our master, we often miss the forest for the trees. Even worse than that, some of us seem to miss
the trees for the leaves. And then we
have the audacity to wonder why we find ourselves lost. Even on days that feel as though the routine
will surely be our end, we have a choice.
We can blindly accept our perceived reality, or we can open ourselves up
to ALL of life’s experiences. For many
of us, the scariest thing in life is to admit that there is a place we are
meant to end. The very concept seems to
negate our autonomy and our free will.
We want to choose and believe we have the ability to do so. The truth is, we do. We can chose to follow the path or go a
different way, even if doing so means that we will forever remain lost. Often times that choice is the easiest to
make, and leaving the path far more gratifying that staying on the road. I see nothing wrong with a diversion as long
as you keep your bearings so that you may return to the path. Remembering always that you have somewhere
you must reach . . . a destination. Perhaps
I have already learned a lesson or two in preparation for the Camino. Thought for the day: You don’t need a compass if you follow the
signs. They may not always be easy to
spot, but if one does not look for them they will certainly find themselves
lost.
I know that the contents of
this post are somewhat kooky and laced with one man’s search for meaning, but
just imagine the content of those that I have kept to myself. In the end, I seem to have found myself back
to where I began with one important difference.
I still have a lot to accomplish, but now know where to find the balance
point. Writing has a way of doing this
in my life and it is really the only reason I continue with this project. This is my counselor, my psychologist, my
place to figure shit out. And with this
too, I will find balance. A balance
between a description of our daily adventures and my personal search for
meaning. Both can be a struggle, so bear
with me as I sort is all out. Take
care. R.
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