Venice, Florida. I saw a sign yesterday, while hanging out poolside at the tiki bar of my Gram’s 55 and older community (which isn’t a bar at all, just a thatched escape from the sun), which read “I live where you vacation”. That’s when it dawned on me, it might be scary to apply for that job, or sign that lease, or sell that car, but what’s really holding us back?
Fear is the catalyst for so many of our comfortable routines. We find solace in stressful situations because we are creatures of habit. As I write this I’m listening to Wifisfuneral’s When Hell Falls, a record I would have entirely ignored a few weeks ago. My pride as a “hip hop purist” forces me to skip even the most innocent precursory listens because my habits dwarf my desire to experiment. The new class of rappers is trash. Hail King Kendrick. These sentiments are senseless, and my lifelong quest for new music only staggers when I allow routine to play a part in whether I press play or not.
It’s all relative. If we died today, would it be with a smile on our faces? Would we have really lived, or just mimicked our way through the days? If you’re tired of the snow and cold, pack your bags and go. If you’re in a dead end situation at home, pack your bags and go. Rent, mortgages, kids, none of those issues are anchors, they’re just factors in the complexity of your world.
Play the lotto. Order a double. Turn your music way up. Plan ahead, but leave some room for a left turn. Live like all this shit is temporary, because we don’t grow roots, even when it feels like it.