past participle

Often I will let slips of paper, jotted notes, and other such wallow away in the folds of my wallet. I ate a fortune cookie about two weeks ago, capping a wonderful meal of take-out Chinese. It told me, 'You should be able to undertake and complete anything'.

For as long as I can recall, I have saved these tiny slips of prophecy. Until recently I had a collection spanning about fifteen years worth of Asian outings, innings, and happenstance. They were a simple representation of a functional pessimist searching for something elusive and beyond his means. At times the secrets hidden inside the sweet treat would seem perhaps my only positive thought for the day.

Ever since I was very young I have struggled with intense bouts of depression, disappointment, reservation, and the presumption that I must be living someone else's life. Growing up I felt many times like an unwelcome visitor, having to earn his keep or quite literally be left at the side of road somewhere. A lot of my upbringing instilled in me this need to shy away from and hide all of my human qualities. I have had uncountable experiences over time when this life, this flesh, this reality felt too ill-fitting to be remotely real, as if I were the victim of Nicolas Cage's 'Face-off' or Sam Beckett's leapt into body of the week. It takes a lot of effort to fight back against that and to be far more who you are than everyone's designs upon you.

Eight months ago I got a job at the local airport. It was a miserably hot Florida day. The interview with the district manager went long, since he seemed to enjoy speaking with me so much. Afterward there was some volleying between different management types as to who would be offering me the position. Obviously I realized this was a very good thing, but there was a lot of unnecessary waiting involved. I kept making quiet glances at my cellphone, which kept clicking along past the point of no return. Since I live in a college town, everything revolves around campus and the sight of a city bus in the vicinity of the miniscule airport is but a drive-by every hour.

As mentioned previously, this job proved to be a short-lived purgatory that echoed of much of my past. The place was run by a female overlord with too much to prove and a fierce God complex, and who felt inclined to teach personality. The second in command was a weak-willed workaholic who spun around his constantly duplicated daily life with such precision and who in ways reminded me of my former father-in-law. The rest were just a sad lot who lived by a stifling script.

I can't.

Not anymore.

My current job had shown itself upon my life like some sort of glimmer of sunshine through dark clouds. The cattle call interview process seemed to peg me against high school kids and retirees. I am glad I held out, though, because most days I feel like I belong there. It taps into an interesting cross-section of facets of my knowledge, interests, and skill sets.

But everyday when I step away from the building, I know there's more to come, and change afoot. Sometimes I look up briefly and sometimes I breathe it in. Staring back at me, reflecting off my windshield as I put the car into gear, is the traffic light at the intersection of Main Street and 16th. As a veritable gypsy at heart and traveler deep in my soul, I know I am at the center of what's now and what's next, but more than ever 'here' feels like home.

And when I pass by
don't lead me astray
Don't try to stop me
Don't stand in my way
I'm bound for the hills
where cool waters flow
on this road that will take me home
-Mary Fahl, 'Going Home'