the $700 billion question

Honestly, I don't really understand how it works.

I know only what I remember from high school economics, with a horrible teacher who tested us on cut lines underneath photographs in the textbook.

However, I have lived in America off and on for the past 8 years. And the works of George W. Bush do nothing to inspire confidence in me.

I'm not saying this is his fault. (Could someone tell me what the hell is going on?)

I don't own a house or a car or a retirement fund.

All I know about global economics is that my dollar has gotten progressively weaker. My hours spent toiling under the sun account for far less while traipsing through cobblestone streets in Europe. And it makes me mad. (Especially since road tripping to the great West isn't much cheaper these days.)

I know. I'm fine. No debt, good credit, semi-steady work and even health insurance!

Until January.

I don't know. $700 billion? At least? Maybe we the taxpayers will recoup on "our" investment (wow, Congress acts fast sometimes). But how is the morale of the American people? Did anyone ask us?

I know, we're supposed to be strong! We're supposed to pretend like we don't have feelings. We're supposed to criticize people who need a hand instead of admitting how frightened we are that it could be us. We're supposed to buy more stuff to hide in our storage closets. Pride! Self-reliance! Independence!

Except, to be honest, I am American. And I don't like trying to do everything myself. I don't like the prospect of working 60 or 70 hours a week to get ahead. I don't like the fact that many people work those hours just to get by. I don't feel particularly motivated by the prospect of 10 days of vacation a year.

So here I am, transitioning to God knows what, and I don't want to be burdened by excessive stuff.

So I have been decluttering.

Someone (sometimes me) has spent thousands and thousands of dollars to provide me with all the comforts of American society.

I feel a little bit embarrassed. Really, only 4 or 5, or 6, boxes left, including clothes. Um. Want to buy some music? Nick Carter? (Come on, we all have our vices. It was on sale! I was lonely!)

Still. Thinking ahead.

I don't want a cookie-cutter house on a golf course in the suburbs. I don't want to trade my time for trinkets and televisions that pacify my distress at working a meaningless, if well-paid, job.

Have you noticed that there is always, always, always a cooler, cheaper digital camera to be found? Sometimes a week after you bought yours?

I don't like buying stuff, really, except plane tickets. I don't like selling stuff (unless it's to fund an afternoon traipsing across those cobblestones).

You know what I like?

I like being with people and thinking, "How fortunate we are to meet in this one moment in time. Isn't this amazing?"

So how does that work? How can I actually fund my life?

Writing?

Do I even like writing?

So many people say I'm good at it. I think they like what I say as much as how I say it.

But still ... I worry ... Ssshh - I know I don't need to care what others think - what's this; my throat chakra is closing up? I like the collective, but why collect the echoes of secondhand opinions when I have so much to say?

Sometimes.

word of the day

I am so angry. I am so angry.

LeRoi Moore, 1961-2008

Just yesterday I had a talk with a friend about entertainment. Really it is art, the kind that rattles around your soul and inspires you to breathe life into your own creative impulse. But Monday I thought about how one snippet of a song can capture my heart and hold on for so many listens that I want to back away before I get sick of it. But I just can't stop. You know how love goes.

Immediately I thought of Dave Matthews Band's "Lie In Our Graves" from that epic Red Rocks album. Dave's voice, Carter's drums, Stefan's bassline and even Boyd's electric violins fade behind LeRoi's stunning ode to the joy of sax.

Oh. My. God.

Throughout the adolescent years I listened to that solo over and over again. I could not get enough. Hear it and weep.

But love fades without attention.

In time, DMB no longer inspired me like they had when we were all younger. I had my hands full in Generation iPod, and I didn't have room in my heart for an old flame.

But today I heard that LeRoi died. It isn't news to anyone but me; online reports fade within minutes, and I was two weeks late on this story.

Still. You know how death makes everything stand still, intensifying desires for reconciliation, inspiration and gladness of heart?

That song plays on. It's echoing in my ears, spinning through my memory channels and bringing joy to my heart once again.

Thank you friend.