If I do the math, and I suck at math, I believe I've moved twelve times over the past nineteen years. I could be wrong, but I think I'm pretty close. Anyway, today, I'll haul all my stuff...mostly books, gym equipment, and my writing office...to another location and start another phase of my life. Another adventure. I'm excited about it, but at the same time, saddened that what I thought would be a permanent relationship has once again gone south. No flinging of plates or shouting matches. No infidelity, no emptied bank accounts, no chemical dependency problems... Just, "Your writing and traveling seem to come first."
|Bet this guy moves a lot...|
My writing is one of the most important aspects of my life (it's how I make my living after all). But lots of things come first. My kids, my health, my mom, and yes, my writing and my traveling. Oh, and did I mention my Jeep? My workouts? My bench presses? My hikes? My pals at the bar? That delicious grilled rabbit at Campo de Fiore in Rome? Florence in the morning. The sun rising in the Sahara Desert or on Machu Picchu? A brown trout snatching your fly off the surface of a clear stream?
Lots of things come first in my life, and it could be the reason why I move a lot. Perhaps I just can't sit still long enough. Anyway, yesterday, we buried one of my best friends from childhood. His name is John Vincent Weglarz. He was only 54. Cancer took him way too young. Like me he loved to be on the move, traveling, seeing friends, working, golfing, just enjoying life. I feel badly, because I missed most of his life, for some reason equating moving on after college with leaving cherished friends behind. Why did I do that? Big mistake.
The last words John spoke to me were, "Docs say I have three days to three months to live. Crazy great life I've had!" My God, can you imagine the dignity and bravery it takes to make such a statement? The resolve? The peace with one's own soul?
Life...living a full life...that's what came first for John. Me too. But damn, if I don't hurt some of the people I love the most sometimes. I'm learning and working on it, however. Like my dad used to tell me even when he was seventy-something, "Vince, I'm a work in progress." I used to think it was silly. But now I know there's a lesson to be be learned there. I can bet my friend John was a work in progress right up until that last breath.
Now, I'd better get moving. The van is about to pull up.
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