eateggs

I’m leaving Arizona.

I’ve spent the last two years here, with no more interruption or time away than the odd ski trip.

It’s been good, my season in the desert. I’ve explored–and learned to love–another corner of the great American west. I’ve scaled to the tops of its rugged peaks, explored its canyons, and marveled in the majesty of its (remaining) unspoiled desert. I’ve sweat through 120 F heat, and shivered in blowing blizzard. I’ve experienced parching thirst for lack of water, and experienced acute peril when there was too much water. I’ve learned to place trad protection when climbing, and learned what thin protection a t-shirt is on a motorcycle. I’ve developed a valuable professional skill-set. I’ve made few friends–but cherish those few immensely. I’ve learned to paddle, and improved my skiing. I’ve seen too few sunsets, and read too few books. I’ve forgotten how to write. I’ve lost the faculty for interesting thoughts. I’ve introspected seldom. I’ve drank frequently, and too often to excess. I’ve consumed too much passive entertainment. I’ve developed an abiding love for bluegrass, folk, blues. I’ve seen many great shows.

Such has been my time in Arizona.

Let 2012 be the year of fulfillment–in our persons, in our work, in our play. Let us each proceed into 2012 with a new-found sense of self, renewed purpose in our work, and broad new horizons in our play. Let each provide great happiness, rich contentment, fond memories, and earthly rewards.

May we make 2012 our year of breakout success. Make 2012 the year to be our best selves, to be everything we can, to shake off the shackles of apathy, of indolence, of everything human which breeds ruin and inhibits success. Let us trade these follies for new energy, lived ambition, and realized success.

Mayans be damned–this is an auspicious year! May we open ourselves to its good fortune, seize its every opportunity. May we be preoccupied with the best, the positive, the good–and live oblivious to thorns, to arrows, to outrageous fortune. We make our own fortune. Raise up a cheer to 2012 and the coming of our time!

I have thoughts. Honest. I do. Honest. Thoughts.

But nothing to post here. There’s nothing appropriate to share here. This is the public facing self. And so this blog has to wear a tie. There’s no casual Fridays on the internet. Not anymore, there’s not.

I could write about climbing some real rock (for the first time in three years) in Saturday, or about hockey games, or about why there was a 8″ chef’s knife on the coffee table Friday morning. But–let’s be honest. I don’t care to write about it. And I expect you don’t care to read about it.

So. Scottsdale’s warm. And sunny. My core hurts. The refrigerator is stocked (with food, among other things). And, I’m still waiting for this shoegaze thing to blow over. In the mean time, Deerhunter is keeping me awake–fueling my keystrokes. No Fuel–but fuel enough.

Raft trip in three weeks. To be honest, I’m still not sure where we’re putting in. Or where we’re taking out. Or where my phone is. Word.

So, I’m sitting in the airport. I’m taking some time to think about the details. The milieu. The thousand cuts of modern life which I do my damnedest to ignore. Times. Gate. Terminals. Flight numbers. And so on.

To be fair, technology eliminates about 90% of the need to pay attention to details. For example–what time is it? Who cares! If there’s something I need to be doing soon, my phone will beep and remind me. What’s so-and-so’s phone number? Who cares! My phone knows. So I don’t have to. What airline am I flying? Who knows. I’ll read the confirmation email en route to the airport. Where’s that piece of paper I need to keep track of so they let me on the airplane? Oh, yeah–my boarding ticket is on my phone now.

But, as great as technology is, it’s still not a free ticket to functional somnambulism.

For example, flying home after Brandon’s wedding? When’s my flight? Um … sometime in the afternoon. 2:00 pm, I think. I’d already missed my flight by the time I bothered to check this. Turns out 2:00 pm was my ARRIVAL time. Details, right?

Or, for example, this morning. What airline am I flying? I pull out my phone and check, one hand on the wheel, driving 70. Delta. Got it. Which terminal? Signs. U.S. Airways … terminal 2. Park. Wait. Forever for a bus in economy parking. Security’s backed up in Terminal 2. Security clear (still have yet to get rapiscanned), and I’m off to gate 23. Except–wait, what? 20 minutes till my flight departs. There’s only 19 gates in this terminal. Uh oh. Where’s a monitor? Where’s U.S. Airways? Wait, what airline am I flying? Phone. Delta. DELTA. Which terminal is Delta in? Phone. Internet. Oh. Terminal 3. Shit.

Details. Right?

So, I need to start doing one of two things: paying attention to my flight information (you know, like writing it down somewhere and thinking about it)–or showing up more than 50 minutes before my flight’s scheduled departure (you know, a little margin for error).

(In case you were waiting in active suspense–John McCain did not respond to my letter.)