A Vagrant Story
Moving to a city has meant a lot of things to me. I have never been in a place so big…so available. In so many ways I am finding myself a citizen of the most ordinary proportions. No longer am I the biggest fish in the humblest of ponds, but an everyman, simply trying to get through the day.
I graduated with a little over forty students–most of which entered into kindergarten with me. People came and went in handfuls, but at the core of my youngest life, I experienced the same people for so long. I dated every girl, loved and hated every guy. We were closer in some ways than family. In our unified experience, that of growing up and growing old, we bonded on a lot of levels. From the quainter times of playground soccer to the battlefields of Friday Night Lights, we lived through one another. Our girlfriends were lifelong partners; our friends as close as siblings. It may be the most beautiful thing I will ever know. Seeing girls grow from children into women, seeing boys evolve into the beasts of men…and knowing them as completely as you can throughout it all.
A nest, a cove, of beautiful friendship. Eternal and everlasting. Unchanging and undefinable.
I moved from that life to reaches of East Texas, garnering an education from the most modest of universities. Driven to this place by things as petty as money I instantly hated it. I felt my mind was being wasted. I felt that I had been forsaken by my parents. But its simplicity grew on me. It reminded me of home. Old money and older grudges–a history rich and self-concerned, for in these peoples’ minds nothing existed outside the piney fortress which protected them. Protected them from this, where I live now. The hustle and coldness of city life.
And I bonded. I bonded with so many people from all walks of life. And in time they too became family–brothers and sisters in a life that was so basic, so distilled, so pure.
I find myself now alone. Alone in a city of a million. The Friday Night Lights glow without me…the dissidents protest without my leadership. Alone…and without a greater purpose.
I think back to those days as a child. Taking the field with brothers…holding hands and staring deep into each other’s eyes. I am constantly reminded of a moment I shared with one of them. We walked hand-in-hand as men, as leaders, to the field. We were seniors. We bore the weight of a season’s expectations together. And he looked into my eyes, with his unbelievably blue pools of stoic intensity, and he told me that this was it. There was no one else to fall back on. It was our time, and no one else’s.
And we won.
I think back to those days as a young man, on the floor of the Student Senate, sitting amongst a caucus of like-minded allies. Flirting with the Senate secretary with only my eyes and a wry smile. I longed to stand at the podium beside her and lead this respected body. In the back of my mind, I knew it would always happen. I would will it into existence. Her smile back invited my future company. And in a matter of weeks, I stood beside her. Gavel in hand. King. More appropriately…Speaker.
The biggest fish in the smallest of ponds. Again.
These moments, however isolated, represent something bigger. They represent purpose. They represent direction and meaning…however trite and uninspiring they may be. Now I lack that sense. Where am I going? What is my purpose here, in the city of a million strangers? Who can I lead? Where is my flock…for I must attend to them…
A leader lost. A story not yet written. The writer’s block of my life.
I have and always will believe that every human being has a story, and their choices are their pen. For so long I wrote with such deep and dedicated conviction. I penned a fantasy of love, victories, conquests, and unforgiving will. Now I sit wondering…where does this story go from here..?
Wandering the circles of my mind I find little peace. I find that my current surroundings are perhaps unfitting for me. I always longed to get lost in the world, to be absorbed by its grandeur and become the everyman I am today. But not here, not now…I want to do more. I want to give more. I want to create more. I want to be more.
A stupid salesman in a city of a million strangers. A bachelor’s degree in history hanging on my wall–the consummate reminder of everything I’ve done and everything I am no longer achieving.
History…maybe that’s all I am.
Maybe the greatest of those isolated moments will pale in comparison to the future…but through the rows of cubicles and headsets I see little light. Not here. Not now.
What is the reason that I am here…in a city of a million strangers…?
One Response to “A Vagrant Story”
Leave a Reply
You must be logged in to post a comment.
December 18th, 2007 at 10:13 pm
I like to think you ended up in that big sea of people for a reason. I think when you’re in the confines of the people you love and the environments that you control, things become more of a game than anything else.
Austin threatens to change the very person you are, and in some aspects has already succeeded. I think it’s trivial which side of the aisle you’re on when you sit around drinking cheap liquor and talking about theory and politics. But what’s not trivial is who you are, and you who you want to be.
This is the first real time in your life you’ve been tested this way. Do you crumble to social pressures? Or is that who you’ve always been and you just haven’t had the opportunity? Or maybe you were the real you in Whitewright and later Nacogdoches, and this is you succumbing?
The only real way to know why you’re in Austin is to have an honest sit down with you. Not with EJG. Not with Griffin, not with MC Dell. Sit down with Elliott. Ask him what he wants to be. Who he wants to be.