Homage

Home. Or at least, the truest form I’ve ever known it to be. The rig crests the tallest pass of the Sierra Nevada, Donner Summit, in the sparkling, mountain daylight. The iron grill of the truck glints in the rays of the sun as it chugs and churns and pulls the trailer over the peak, grumbling and grinding along in a momentous force of steel and driven by an unwavering determination. It’s all downhill from here, the rig whirring through the pines of the foothills and into the central valley below, which spreads out like a welcome invitation to take root in its fertile soil, to drink from its flowing rivers, to rest in the shade of its old trees. On the other side of the valley, where the rivers meet the salty ocean, lays in wait the metropolis of the Bay Area- a bustling beehive of cities, people and dreams, nestled around the inlet waters of the Pacific Ocean and cradled by rolling hills like two hands cupped to take water. It’s the place that I’ve called home the majority of my life. I was born there, raised there, thrust from the womb and into a world without innocence, given a pair of water wings and told to sink or swim. The place where as a kid growing up we would ditch out on school, cunningly avoiding detection but not always, and take BART into the big city for unadulterated and uninhibited adventures- oh how we laughed so easily and carelessly, our eyes so wild and hearts so light! It’s the place where I first found the graces of love, sitting cross-legged on that dusty path and staring back at me in perfect stillness, as the rest of the world ran around us, like the currents of the stream breaking around a giant rock in the riverbed. It’s also where I inevitably was first acquainted with the throes of loss, their hollow reverberations echoing through the empty hallways of that halfway house and deep into my core. The place where at 17 I was given a one-way ticket to the rest of my life, a kiss on each cheek and a pat on the ass, “Go out there and be somebody”. I habitually was to return though, most holidays, to sit around the fire and get a proper meal, stuff my face with turkey roast and candied yams, stuff my ears with the same, aging carols, my family unfailingly gathered around and in good cheer singing along. It’s where I could go down to the pub and find the familiar faces of my dear, long-time friends and we would recount the stories of the good old days with such exuberance and vigor! We would pick up right where we left off and fill each other in on life’s new triumphs and tribulations, and for one bleary, teary night it was almost like we had never left at all. It is the place that I had indeed been living in for the past 5 years before this current expedition, a surviving, contributing member to society, paying taxes and commuting daily to fall in line like a good little soldier. The place where I was trying to jam a circle into a square and force a life that just wasn’t meant to fit, molding myself to meet the needs and approvals of others. 

I knew though that upon my arrival the Bay would be happy to see me. I’d been absent for 10 weeks and that’s long enough to make any heart grow fonder. I knew that I was going to see my family and wrap them up in an intimate embrace and find comfort in their warmth. I had no doubt that I’d see each and every one of my friends, have new stories to impress upon them and receive their highest praise, adoration and encouragement. I looked forward to competing in the Santa Cruz Masters Cup and the San Francisco Open, two tournaments and courses that I knew like the back of my own hand. I was surely destined to do well at both, in front of my home crowd after having cut my teeth out on tour all year long. I would turn off the rigid and unimaginative GPS, for it is not needed here; I would navigate the streets confidently and without falter! I expected that I would pass through like a returning hero and that all these ambitions would become true because I willed it to be so. 

This year I’m supposed to be working on not forming expectations, though. For when the California leg of our tour does come and go, this is what I find to pass; it was as if I was taking everything in for the first time in a long time, as if I was just finally realizing how much my home had transformed. 

My childhood house still stood there, by all accounts on the same lot on the same road in the same neighborhood, but the walls, paint and structure had changed- an accumulation of alterations that I was just truly noticing. My boyhood bedroom had long been converted into a multipurpose room and much like the faded ironing board in the corner, the memories of that sacred space were faded too: sneaking out the window into the dead of night with reckless abandon, whispering my secrets to my childhood cat who may have been the only one to truly understand their implications, making love for the first time on that soft spring afternoon in the bed that is no longer there, with the lover who was gone years ago.

My parents greeted me with twinkles in their eyes and hugs to take my breath away, but I saw for the first time how grey they really are. The lines etched in their faces stand testament to the fruitful lives they’ve lived, but they aren’t the faces I remembered from my youth. It was a new look, one of impending fragility, that accompanied the realization that I might soon take care of them as they took care of me. It was a thought that made me shudder and one that I didn’t want to face- that I’m one generation’s length away from fighting life out on my own. 

The pub was quiet, the smiles and voices of my long-time friends no longer present. There was no one there to share in on my tales. They’ve moved on, to other physical and mental and literal states. I toasted to their honor but was overcome by melancholy. They’ve all outgrown the places that we once loved. I kept asking myself; if they’ve changed, is it I who has stayed the same?

The disc golf tournaments saw me falter and finish in lack luster position. Perhaps I was too busy and didn’t allocate the proper preparation to my task. Perhaps I was too concentrated on other matters of the heart and head to be focused in the moment of my game. Perhaps I let the expectations I held going into the events give me false confidence. Those damn expectations again. 

And the streets, though at first cheery and inviting, dissolved away to skeletons of former days. Right there used to be the record shop; I’d gotten love, I’d gotten drunk, I’d gotten beat up in that parking lot. The tattoo studio where I received my first keepsake had been converted to a loans office. There’s the hill where we skidded off the road one night and into the ditch and were lucky to escape unscathed. It was like driving down memory lane but always arriving at the corner of bittersweet. And if I’m so familiar with these streets, how come I kept ending up in the same parking lot of my old apartment complex? Staring at the last flickering star of the inky night and missing the one I left behind. 

All that I expected was not so. Everything was not how I left it. How could it be? I had been living in the thick of it and was therefore too short-sighted to see beyond, but this time around I was on the outside looking in at everything with brand new eyes. What started out as a hopeful venture turned itself instead into a reminder that we can never go back, only forward. Time waits for no man, and it’s more fleeting than ever before.

Now the rig rolls on, that silver skyline and the golden mountains behind in the rearview mirror growing ever smaller. But I’ll never forget those moments and the people and the failures and the ghosts; I carry them with me on my back, occasionally looking over my shoulder but always sailing onward. I’m not sure where I’ll end up when this adventure comes to a close. I may continue exploring or I may settle down. I may choose somewhere familiar or I may go to a place undiscovered. There’s even a chance that I’ll end up back in the Bay. Actually, deep down, I’m certain that someday I will return there. Someday when everything has changed, including me. Someday when I’m ready to start again anew. Someday.