August 17, 2025 – 7:44 pm
Go to a CAKE concert. Don’t feel young. Don’t feel old. Just the right age. Not screaming incoherently into the void of noise. Not still, unaffected. But attentive. Swaying with the music. Singing the hits. Happy to see my wife and daughter dancing, smiling, excited. And people of all ages and different places connecting. Because we let art do its thing. Expression and absorption all at once—symbiosis at its best.
I was dreading lots. The stupid drunks—because I used to be one of them. The gathering together of people and getting mixed up in all those energies. And, of course, waiting in lines, the parking and leaving. But all of it was better than expected. All of us together. Smooth and tight.
Lake is rough today. Blustery wind against the house. Waves breaking on the shoreline and splashing the yard woke me. From wherever I was. I sat on the edge of the bed trying to remember anything but I could not. Dreams were deep, secretive, and renewing.
I let Astro, the Husky, out. He sniffed around the grass as if he’d been dropped off on the moon. Tiptoed to the closest cedar and peed. Now, he’s on the couch. Sleeping. I’m at the old yellow Formica table sipping black coffee. The breeze blows curtains to-and-fro and tells me that Autumn’s on the way. But that’s okay.
This was the fastest summer yet. I know it’s not over, but I know what awaits. Kids back to school. Wife back to teaching. A return to real life. Alarm clocks and schedules. All of us working for whatever’s next.
But there is no next.
Just like there wasn’t yesterday.
Driving home. Happy behind the wheel. Wife at my side, in the passenger seat. Daughter behind me, curled up under a blanket. Both tired, full, and settled enough to sleep for long stretches of twisty curves and bouncy county roads. And songs on the radio by Pearl Jam, Michigander, Fiona Apple, and Fleetwood Mac. Just a man doing one of the things he loves best—hands on the wheel, navigating the road—eyeing all the two-tracks and trails, feeling the old familiar urge to take one—a different path. But knowing full-well that time for those explorations has passed.
I’ve learned that no matter how many or what type I take, I’m always brought back.
People depend on me to be here. In the present. Doing what needs to be done—working and building, maintaining and protecting, fighting and figuring, saving and spending, and cleaning up messes others won’t touch. That’s my purpose. And when my day is done, and I drift off, I will know I’ve done all I can.
Because I’m going the distance.
~ KJ
Leave a Reply