Not all who wander are lost, but most of them are.
That is what I was thinking as Squatch (remember him?) prompted one random turn after another out in the land of Munson. Gas lines, powerlines, random squirrel trail, he was into all of it. Everything looked like a good idea.
I give him full credit for his appetite for adventure late on a Thursday evening.
Me, I don’t like to feel “unplotted” on the map. I operate from a position of expecting disasters large and small. I automatically calibrate plans b to g for a given circumstance. I enter crowded venues plotting bathroom locations, exit signs, and options for sheltering in place. Every ride I consider the possibility of having to walk it out with a stymied mechanical. Call it what you want, but it comes from past black eyes and kicks in the balls that caught me napping.
I got this way from needing contingency plans and developing scenarios in crisis. It is no coincidence that my work provides me a bird’s eye view of a world where things have fallen apart. When I realize the situation is recognizably altered from the expected norm, I can finally relax.
“See” I think to myself, “I knew it was all going to go to shit. Good thing I read up on the edible organs of the Pine Beetle.” I then cheerily go about the harvest of the beetles, content in knowing the other shoe did drop.
I don’t think Squatch sees it like that. I’m sorry I didn’t want to get my wander on last night brother, but to me that’s just called getting lost.
We are all wired differently which works out in the end.
No, I’m wired consistently throughout my entire organism.
Leaving the known trail(s) does not count as “going to shit”? Seems like if it did, then you could be happy right away.
Unless there were no pine beetles, I guess. What about the joyful release of knowing you are well and truly hosed, with only peers for support? Terrifying enough for many. Maybe that’s why we choose the peers we have.
A friend I have yesterday mentioned that as he grows older, it occurs to him that all his friends are kooks. He speculated about what that said about him. I silently wondered what he meant by implying that I was a kook.
You, Sir, are a kook.
There’s a fine line between expecting the worst and helping it along.
On the other hand, when you expect the worst I guess you’re always either incredibly lucky or right.
I really wanted to get home in time for Matlock.