Whew, another Valentine’s Day out of the way. The final tally is two “Happy Valentine’s Day” and zero “Be my Valentine” were offered to me. My record remains intact. Oh, and one “I’m so sorry” from the chick that passed out. (Being a good guy sucks)
That’s really not too bad of news. The REAL bad news is that now I have had two consecutive Valentine’s Days where I didn’t get laid. I definitely don’t want that trend to continue.
So now we can move on to bigger and better topics. Has anyone else noticed that before the end of March I will be on Journal 100? Hmmm, I need to do something special for that installment, just not sure what yet. I’ll think of something though.
Developing a relationship is a learning process, and we are quite often drawn to those who can teach us the most about ourselves.
I had started writing yesterday about the unfair advantage women have with their boobs. But as I was driving in to this place this morning, there was the most amazing moon shadowed in the most incredible way by the ONLY clouds in the sky. It reminded me of a time from my past.
I’m sure you have heard of the “Happy Place”. I’ve heard that when you get stressed you should close your eyes and visit your happy place and it will calm you down. I wasn’t sure I ever had a happy place. I mean I have always loved beaches; like Galveston, Padre Island, and Corpus Christi. I also love rodeos and being around livestock. But I guess my happy place was always just cranking up some rock music and disappearing into the haze.
But this morning I remembered something that may be my own happy place.
Back in High School, a friend and I stole some acid from the Chemistry Lab at the school. We drove to the airport and used the acid to burn a square out of the fence protecting the landing strip. We made it big enough to drive a vehicle through, and kept it in tact enough that we could re-attach it with twistys.
We were then able to drive our vehicles onto the field just in front of the landing strip. Then a group of us, guys and gals, could lay in our truck beds or on the hoods of the cars and just watch the night sky. But what made it totally amazing was that jets would fly right over us all night. It is the most incredible sensation you could ever imagine.
You would be lying still, completely relaxed from watching the moon and the clouds drifting by. Then you would spot these headlights in the distance. You could just watch as the magical bird drifted your way, slowly and powerfully. It would literally captivate my thoughts.
I would imagine the people on that jet. I would think about where they were coming from and where they were going. I could imagine business men and women, vacationers, guys racing home to be with their woman, and everything else. I could sense them gazing out their window in anticipation of what lie ahead. I could feel their excitement.
But the most beautiful part was when the jet passed overhead. We would set up just off of the landing strip that the jet was heading for. We used no lights so we were oblivious to the jet. It would blow right over our heads, maybe 50 feet above us. There was the loud noise of the huge jet engines as it approached, getting louder and louder. You couldn’t hear a thing. You basically were in your own silent world at that moment.
You would marvel at the lights, and watch as the wheels were released. The jet always looked like it was sitting still in the air as it approached. The only way I knew it was real was the flashing lights and the movement of the wheels being lowered. It was like this magical bird coming down from heaven to take away all your cares and concerns.
But then, the most incredible part was when it flew right over you. You could feel the power of the engines. You could also feel the wind as the jet split it forcing it to be held in the sky. Everything would vibrate. The ground and bushes would quake. The vehicles would bounce. And you body was completely immobilized by the thrusts.
At that moment, your senses were dead. You couldn’t see from the bright lights. You couldn’t hear from the jet engines roar. You could only smell the exhausts of the jet fuel. You couldn’t feel anything but the vibrations. The power generated by the jet overwhelmed you and consumed you.
Your entire world came to a halt for a few moments.
There was no pain or pressure in your life. Nothing mattered at that moment. Your mind was a complete blank from the sensory overload. You were a kid again without a care in the world, if only for a few passing seconds. Everything was happy.
There always was a little bit of a letdown after the jet had passed as you heard the tires screeching to a stop. Everyone would take a breath, but no one would speak. Thinking back, I never remember any conversations occurring in all the trips to the landing strip that were made. It was always silent, as if everyone was getting the same thrill and peace from this event.
But the let down would be short lived. As soon as the jet had cleared you would gaze back into the warm summer sky and you could spot the next jet on its approach.
I guess that this was my happy place. I just never realized it or remembered it until this morning. I’ve often talked about moments in life. Those special moments that makes life worth living. These moments and the memories of those moments are to me the meaning of life. I’m not here to do anything important, or to be here for someone else. I am here to enjoy these moments, and to remember them for a lifetime.
I guess the worst punishment would be to lose these moments. Dying isn’t a punishment, because you don’t know that you have forgotten about these moments. But being told that you have brain injuries, and within a year you will not have any memories about your past, including all your moments would be pure hell. How would you prepare for that?
Maybe you would write everything down; the things that make you smile, the people that you love, and the stories of you past and present. Then you would pray that if / when this finally happens, that one of your friends would guide you to your stories, so you could see who you are and what you did; even if it only stays with you for a moment.
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