Almost

I've got a map and it says that there's only 300 miles till the morning; I won't spill my guts like the deer in the shoulder, but you can be damn sure I'll sing.

The road smiles back at you; today is just the beginning of the rest of the world.

Finer Things

He sat alone in the darkened living room, the glow from his computer screen vying with the dim light of the kitchen for the pleasure of illuminating the pale buds of his bare skin. A frenzied John Coltrane piece swept through the room's shadowed corners, and, between wincing at sips of a $7 sauvignon blanc from a plastic cup, he tried desperately, in his stupor, to make sense of - to love - the sophisticated musical mess.

Bloody hell.

He turned off the music, flicked on the living room light, picked up the worn copy of The New Yorker sitting by his feet (his family doctor's address neatly scissored from the bottom right corner), and tossed it in the recycling bin. Then, before stepping into the shower, he scrolled to Katy Perry in his music collection and began playing Teenage Dream, making sure to turn the volume up all the way.

Wouldn't It Be Nice

Usually on weeknights (by which I mean Sunday - Thursday night, where I have to wake up at some unholy hour the following morning), I sleep pretty well - y'know, just collapse and pass out. Last night, though, a small memory of a certain night in Shanghai at a place called Club Bonbon (picture below) crossed my mind for whatever reason.

Bad move, Josh.

It's not a story I'm going to repeat in this public setting, but the memory got me thinking about other times I had in Shanghai - dining with the mayor, singing karaoke with an ex-mobster's family, picking up ran...yeah, no more stories - and it all blew my mind. Who was this person that did all this crazy stuff? I lay there on my full size mattress (without a boxspring) and marveled at the life of this other person that was Past Josh.

Of course, one Past Josh story led to another, from Hong Kong to Paris to Toronto, and before I knew it, Present Josh was not only in a state of endless marvel but also dead tired and doomed to sleep through his alarm the next morning.

And of course, now that Later-Present-Josh is once again deliriously tired, I've realized that I've been focusing a lot on the future as of late. Overwhelmingly so. Which, don't get me wrong, is delightful and fantastic and wonderful and will probably get me a decent job, but sometimes, I really need to just sit back and remind myself that the past has been marvelous too - and that on your quest for the championship, you sometimes have to remind yourself of your track record in order to keep chugging (was that a World Cup reference? or the NBA championship? gasp*).

So despite having over an hour of sleep stolen from me, I convinced myself that maybe bonbon wasn't such a bad move after all, and fell asleep somewhere in the middle of one of Past Josh's stories. And, of course, I awoke, on time, as I did every weekmorning, to Wouldn't It Be Nice at 6:45 AM.

Why yes, The Beach Boys, it would be nice if we were older and wouldn't have to wait so long, but it'd be nicer if I could just be myself now, and just very, very slowly become older, but never ever forget about younger. And with that, I hopped out of bed, and the Beach Boys surfed while I brushed my teeth:

Wouldn't it be nice if we could wake up, in the morning when the day was new...

Underground

The subway lurches forward into the night, its quiet rumbling underscoring the speed with which the city is passing us by.

Nearly all the seats are empty, except for an old woman, clutching her groceries between her knees at the end of the row of hard steel seats across from us. A group of tired business types, surprisingly silent and still bound by their collars, are scattered further down the car. A teenage boy in skinny jeans and oversized headphones saunters over to the door as the train slows towards its next station.

Next station: Prince Edward. Doors will open on the right.

She nestles closer to me as the doors slide open and the people come, go, stay, leave. As a stooped-over man shuffles onboard, the old woman begins muttering to herself. In our little nest across the aisle, we share a stifled laugh.

Please stand back from the doors. Beep-beep-beep-beep.

The doors shut and the train lurches forward once again. She leans her head against my shoulder, a lovely weight against my chest, and closes her eyes. Her bangs drift to the side, and I reach up to fix them as a faint hint of spring wafts from her and spins a cocoon around us.

I can feel the weight of her breathing, her ebb and flow. My own breath begins to fall into rhythm with hers, but I'm afraid to move.

The train rushes into the night; stations open, close. The old woman disappears with her groceries. More stations open, close.

Next station: Diamond Hill. Doors will open on the left.

I feel myself inhaling, and I gently nudge her awake.

"Hey. This is you."

Her eyes barely open, she smiles, blinking, and sits upright. My shoulder falls a little without her. The train slows.

She stands up and beams down at me. The train screeches to a stop, and the doors slide open.

"See you around," she whispers, and, turning, leaves.

I glance over to her seat to see if she has forgotten anything - if she has left anything behind - but the seat is empty, its steel surface reflecting the dull, fluorescent lighting. I stand up anyways and find myself moving towards the doors. Somehow, she must have forgotten something.

At the doors, I hesitate.

Please stand back from the doors. Beep-beep...

Destinations

After having being on the road and in six different cities over the past two weeks, I've learned a thing or two. Of course, I've had more crammed schedules in the past exploring the Pacific Rim (eight cities in a week?) but none of it has ever been quite as work-oriented or quite as alone. So, in the midst of this seemingly lonely, busy time, here are some of the things I've grown to appreciate:

1. Sleep, whether it is 3 in the Chicago morning and you're punching your pillow because you have to wake up in 3 hours, or it is 6 in the evening after a busy day in Cleveland and you still have to talk, of all things, at a reception in your hotel. You also develop an incredible tendency to find it almost anywhere - on the plane, in the limo, or during a conversation about the Nigerian economy.

2. Unique hotel rooms, because a snakeskin couch or automatic blinds may just provide that end-of-the-day kicker that a predictable room can't. If you're gonna be having one-night stands with one nightstand, then they might as well be enjoyable.

3. People, or strangers, rather, who, if you allow them, will come into your life and change them forever - if only for a fleeting instant. I wonder where they are now, that Hawaiian army-brat family-man taxi driver who worked for Cisco in the Soviet Union, that girl from Atlanta learning to accept her identity, that bond-trading real-estate investor who went to his first interview in a red suit and cowboy boots...

4. Frequent flyer miles, which, I think, have already allowed me to earn a free flight or two over just these past few weeks.

You know, I think I'm going to have to go watch Up in the Air again. I think I know why I liked it so much now.