I have been thinking about firsts lately. Most of them are clumsy half hearted attempts that never lead to anything.
My first stand up wave was on a Styrofoam kick board. It snapped later that day. My first stolen joy ride, on my older Bro's translucent Val Surf skateboard, ended in blood and a beating. My first stroll around a drum kit was a mishmash of Sears (and other worse things) with tin cymbals. My inaugural jaunt on my Kona Fire Mountain, laid my lunch out before me in the parking lot of Winn Dixie. Elizabeth O'Mara probably doesn't remember the patented half nose, half upper lip maneuver I pulled on her in forth grade, but I could close my eyes and paint that picture. There's no avoiding stubbing toes, in the off balance dances we perform, heading into the unknown. If they were on film you would turn away and suffer an involuntary wince reflex, and a tattoo on your long term montage, that no amount of editing, or slick soundtrack could make poetic. They were epiphanies and train wrecks in equal scale.
Each one of those horrific first ascents put a gaff into my side. Lifelong obsessions all. I know its corny but, a ride can change your life. A revolution can occur anywhere. I found that out, on a shoulder high right this weekend. It was like I awoke from a coma. So powerful was the episode that now my normal routine on the hamster wheel, is simply idiotic. People are having serious conversations all around me and all I hear are echoes of the phrase "Who Gives A Shit!" I ain't gonna abandon my post, but I have to say riding bikes, playing drums, and getting waves are the priority right now. My discontent has sprung from pretending these things weren't as important as they once were. All that changed with one wave. Now I am reevaluating everything.
The Kool-Aid has officially worn off. I am reading a new script. Get the bandages and motivational posters ready. LAY DOWN SOME GROUND FIRE.....I'M GOING IN!!!!
W.B.Z.N
