About Your Track
Post 282:
So it’s last night, and I’m having a really intense night at work. Playing and singing songs for a rowdy bunch is fun, sure, but it carries with it a lot of pressure and stress—in other words, it’s a job.
Nothing special there.
Fortunately, I do get the occasional break. I walked outside the sweaty steamy club and perambulated about in the snow, taking in the cold Ohio air. There’s a little bridge next to the venue that overlooks a railroad track and I found myself frozen, not by the cold, but by the miles and miles of forged steel in my view.
There’s these moments. You don’t plan them and sometimes you don’t even know that they’re happening, but something stirred in my soul. It might’ve been simple, like the juxtaposition of being alone on a bridge, when moments before I was surrounded by a bunch of screaming knuckleheads—or it might’ve been more significant than that.
Who knows.
Nobody, I guess, but it felt like a moment. The quiet and the cold and the view came together to create a feeling; a feeling like I understood something.
Most things profound are not easy to put into words, but it’s never stopped me from trying.
For a second or two I knew where I was and where I was going. Let’s rephrase. I knew specifically where I was and I knew vaguely that I was going. It was all right there. I was alone, on a break from my job and waiting to go back to my job, simply existing. I was looking at those tracks, some sort of symbol for where I might be in a year or decade or whenever.
It sounds a bit weird, but there was a beautiful sort of reverie in that. Too often we don’t stop down from the bustle and breathe in the state of ourselves. Too often we don’t stop down to look down the track and realize that there’s miles ahead, new places to go, a road never traveled.
Life puts things in front of us. It’s Grace that allows us to look up, see where we might be, and hope.
Cheers. Stay on track you animals. See you after.
