Monday, March 23, 2009


I spent much of Saturday night and yesterday driving to California. I've made that journey south on I-5 many, many times in my life. It's always been a passage filled with reflection and memories of the thoughts of journeys past. All of my life seems to have been plagued with ambition and fear, both of which fuel endless musing and the determined resolutions that are made more easily in transit.
Even with a car full of children there was much time to reflect. Aside from a brief discussion of the possibilities of buying a house in Corbett, there was no talk or thought of the future. It's a strange thing for me to be in the moment, but that's kind of how it went. I marveled for a short while on how my ambition to make films has disappeared. My wife thinks it will return. I'm not so sure. I have a strong idea of why it has left, but I'm not ready to articulate it.
My entire life has been a battle royale of and with all the stories rumbling through me, torturing me to find a way to get them out. Suffering, anxious longing, frustration, neuroses, self-loathing, fragmentation, self-dissemblement - lots and lots of self hyphen terms. And now? Not so much. Leaves me feeling slightly confused and empty, but I'm learning it is something much more positive. And I'm enjoying it. That's part of the reason I've lost interest in telling stories.
When we arrived in Monterey I went for a walk along the beach. It was very sunny and beautiful, but also extremely windy. As I walked along I could see gusts of swirling and driving sand ahead. In the past I would see such tempests as things to avoid and signs that things weren't going well. Yesterday I anticipated entering the petite shamals joyfully with the confidence that the stinging grains of sand would be an experience of elemental, natural life -- the life outside of the mind that I've come to embrace. There is suffering involved at times when pushing my body against itself and the elements, but it cannot compare to the mental anguish I've been suffering for most of my life.


(Signing off as Signore Direttore doesn't feel right these days)

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