The Girl Who Travels

I married the girl who travels.

In our 13 years together she has been as far away as Kazakhstan and has gone to Marfa more times than I can begin to tally (I have never been, more on this later). I knew this when I said “I do” just the same as she knew she was marrying the guy who will prattle on for hours with useless music trivia.

I don’t think that separate vacations is such an unusual proposal and this travel isn’t really vacationing. It’s more of an art form. Me? I have traveled quite a lot in my old rock & roll days, a great opportunity to see America, but not much of a vacation either.

There is no resentment or difficulty or jealously when it comes to this aspect of our relationship. I totally get why this is an important part of her life. Some ladies need an expensive car or a big house or an ambitious husband (Lady Mac Beth anyone?), but the girl who travels needs to just do that.

We do take trips together both as a family and occasionally as a couple, there frequent trips to the ranch in Uvalde and we tool a recent trip to Saint Augustine, Florida for a wedding that was a delight.

People are always shocked when we mention that I have never been on one of the Marfa pilgrimages. It’s usually a well crafted group of people and more often then not, it’s a girls trip. (Not in a snobby way, she just invites folks with the best disposition for a trip that can be challenging in its accommodations.)

If you asked me what it is that the girl who travels does in life I would say that she assembles groups of people into some sort of forwarding momentum. Sometimes that’s the creation of an amazing life transforming event, other times it’s a trip to Marfa. So in a way, taking me to Marfa would be the same as dragging me to the cubical. Well, maybe not, but the closest example I can come up with is John Lennon setting up a bed in the studio for Yoko Ono during the making of the White Album. I’m not going to be anyone’s Yoko.

There’s also another part of our relationship dynamic that influences this: I tend to dote. Because the Marfa trips are in a way “work,” my doting on the girl who travels would be counter productive with what it is she is up to.

I love my girl, and I love that she's the girl who travels. I couldn't imagine changing that anymore than I could imagine changing the way she laughs.

l'art pour l'art or ars gratin artis

For the most part, I think of myself as an artist. I would even venture to say that I am a "Renaissance Man" except that the Renaissance ended some time in the 16th Century and that I actually produce very little. This makes me something more akin to Jeremy from the Beatles' movie Yellow Submarine.

I would love to be able to paint more, write more, play more music, perform more, but, I am a busy stay at home dad and to take time for this would be selfish.

Or is this just a convenient way of not doing the hard work involved in producing art?

See, my struggle with this is that everything I do has to be good. I am competing with my peers, or at least avoiding looking bad in front of them. And the funny part is that I know the only way to make great things is to fail along the way. And even what some might consider to be great I will find to be below par.

This puts me in a crazy little cycle. I can't fail so I won't do. The standard that hold for myself far outranks my ability and my ability will not improve unless I take those chances.

"Do I dare to eat a peach?" (The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T. S. Eliot)

I have a little tiny business doing freelance graphic art. My only real client is Undermain Theatre for whom I design postcards and posters. (There was a mention of my last design in the review of their production of The Shipment on Theater Jones.) I would love to do more. It's difficult. I have a good relationship with the Undermain and there is a great opportunity to make some good, creative, meaningful art. I'm afraid that other clients won't get that. They'll just want something to stick on a card or website that looks like what everyone else has and that's it.

This fear doesn't pay the bills. Or, moreover, doesn't make for better creativity.

Years ago I was a "personal chef" to a couple of families. What I found after a while was that I didn't like cooking for strangers. They didn't "get it", the love and soul that I put into what I was making for them. They we're just standing in front of the 'fridge eating out of the Tupperware™.

So now I cook for free and this makes me very happy. I don't know if I could afford to do this with art.

So, I have started a blog.

I wonder why, but I also know why. I've always had fantasies of blogging... obviously I need to get out more... but I always doubted my abilities to consistently blog. I'm not a big talker. I'm not comfortable running a LiveJournal type existence. I'm far too worried that my blogging won't live up to my potential. I am far too guarded to let you people in to my world. I'm afraid I won't be funny enough. I worry about my grammar (thank god for those little red squiggly lines).

For some time now I have struggled with the social aspect of the internets, balancing halfway between resentment and addiction. Having a presence on the 'net runs the risk of ego propping and and a narcissistic existence. But I do have something to say. I am an insatiable commenter, often getting into debates. This is not a good thing, I really need to channel it into something more... productive? positive?... something more not like that.

So, I start my first entry with some trepidation. I hope that you, dear reader, will stay with me. I want to blog daily, I promise not to argue and I will brush my teeth before typing one word.