Sawdust and simpler times.

May 11, 2010 § Leave a comment

Ever had peace about a decision that you really didn’t follow through with? Better yet, have you ever had a peace about a decision you at first didn’t want to do but the more you think about the more it makes sense and you find yourself longing for that which you once loathed? Right now, that is exactly where I am. I don’t know if it’s myself wanting it, or if it’s God that is making me want it. I am sitting here, in a city, in a society that has forgotten what hard work is. That seems to have forgotten what a real man is. What is it about getting dirty, or getting grease on my hands, or collecting scars that seem to attract me to a simpler time. This world is not what I know, nor is it doing me any favor’s right now. It’s left me frustrated, heartbroken, and over $50,000 dollars in debt. My path to this point is littered with bad decisions and irresponsibility. I have gained many things yes, but I have I gained any ground? No. Have I enjoyed it? Parts of it yes, others have made me lay awake at night feeling suffocated and scared. I have a opportunity, at least I hope to gain some ground. To sort myself out. To make some money and make a dent in the debt I owe. To be a man doesn’t mean to have everything you want, it’s about being able to push through this life when all it seems to be doing is dragging you down. We all learn lessons, we all scream quietly at night about secrets we wish were kept. About that love which was lost, about that feeling of being stuck. I have been kept up many a night, I have slept through many a day, I have wished that I had a reason to get out of bed. But 4 weeks of wasting time and just trying to get by, losing 13 pounds in a month because I can’t afford food has made me grow up. I am not part of that boyish idea of a society that is lost in image. Lost in looking like a man, like we’ve done something to deserve being were we are. No, this world has forgotten what it means to work. It’s become littered with boy’s that think they are men. I myself are one of them. But I aim to remedy that.

I have been thinking about going back up north. To were I grew up, Houston B.C. It wasn’t until last night when I was talking with my good friend Steve Lockhart that this idea really began to look like a decision that needed to be made. I need to keep my head above water, I need to grow up and make some choices that need choosing. I have been hit with a peace about it. Going home, working with my father…both things that I can only take in small doses seem to be becoming more and more attractive. Waking up at 5am, grabbing a cup of coffee, frying up eggs, crawling into the truck and going to work. I find myself looking at my arms, and wishing they were covered in sawdust, looking at my feet and wanting them to be muddy, staring at my hands and wishing they were hard and calloused. I want to breath in that air, that beautiful northern air and stare at the stars. I want to hold a power saw, I want my cloths to be stained with oil and smell of diesel fuel again. To work. Not pick up phones, or organize activities or even pour a drink. But grab a brush saw and use my body for 8 hours straight cutting down tree’s. Where it would be me, my father, and the forest. Something I never thought I would ever find myself saying. I want to come home, dirty and sweaty at dusk knowing that I worked hard. I want to see small cuts on my hands, I want slivers. I want to pick thorns out of my pants. To know I’m doing something that need’s doing. A month isn’t that long, neither is 2 months.

I’m going to post some lyrics that really hit me just before I wrote this blog about where I am, and knowing that no matter where I go I will end up on the coast. It made me think of all the good parts of being home. It’s by a band named “Treelines” and it’s called “Young Man”.

“Young Man”

A young man’s a river,
He’s wild and strong,
Sometimes he runs careless,
Sometimes he is calm.
Don’t know where he’s going,
But you can see where he’s been,
It’s there in the waves right behind,
Like a driftwood bridge.

The soft yellow light that kept the monsters home,
That blue plastic razor that made him feel grown,
The strange regal air of his Grandfather’s chair,
Always on guard even though he’s never there,
Those crowfoot lines by his father’s eyes,
That always seemed to him like footprints of a smile,
And floating in the back after those branches have passed,
A soft paper note,
The first song that he wrote to a breeze,
Before it blew off to sea.

The Old West Wind came blowing,
He came like a ghost,
Floating from somewhere off of the coast,
He said, “Son you’re just starting,
And have a long way to go,
Always remember those things that you know:

Like the soft yellow light that kept the monsters home
That blue plastic razor that made you feel grown,
The strange regal air of your Grandfather’s chair,
Always on guard even though he’s never there,
Those crowfoot lines by your father’s eyes,
That always seemed to you like footprints of a smile,
And floating in the back after those branches have passed,
A soft paper note,
The first song that you wrote.”

A young man’s a river,
He’s wild and strong,
Sometimes he runs careless,
Sometimes he’s calm.
He’s a part of everywhere that he flows,
Till he’s emptied out at the coast.

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