It’s been over 2 weeks since I posted last. In case you weren’t counting, but were vaguely curious. No excuses.
It’s not that I haven’t had enough on the brain that might’ve been worth sharing, it’s a matter of figuring out how the devil to express myself, and filtering down to what’s actually worth expressing…
Mom’s best friend, every so often, will ask her for another ‘Jeff story.’ Mom takes it as a compliment, as do I, as I’m sure it’s intended. I’m quirky enough, and forever into something uncommonly sufficient, for retelling. I try to be. As the quote on my posted picture way back in September states, Life is too short to remain unnoticed. (Salvador Dali). I truly believe this. Or, I have in times past. ‘Believe’ means, literally, by life. Whatever you ‘believe’ should be painfully obvious, statements unnecessary, by your life. The way I carry myself daily should indicate that I’m certain my life doesn’t have enough spare time for mundaneity. I prefer to be quirky. I like being strange. Sticking out like a healthy thumb on a sore hand…
Or so I say… I don’t feel that I’ve been upholding my own standards so well in recent weeks. To be fair, though, how many of y’all have camped out in a Chick-Fil-A parking lot?
I have a few different lives. Farmer Brown honestly exists only in memory now. I don’t expect Professor Brown, who was at one point pursuing a Masters in Literature, to resurface again any time soon. Parson Brown has been laid to rest, save for the occasional ranting sermon on here. Jeffro The American Billy Bob John Deere the Backpacker, the Hippy Within, is all but suffocating here in Northwest Arkansas. I’m having multiple identity crises. I went from eating every other meal as and with a vegetarian to residing once again in the Deep [Fried] South. Accustomed as I’d become to walking and taking public transit, and doing my best, transportation wise, for the environment, I’m now once again driving a fire-breathing dragon with an 8.1 litre engine. I’m still living in a backpack, though I’ve been on the same couch nearly a month. The same couch, mind you, that I spent 7 months on in ’06, and 2 months on at an earlier stint this year. I’m awfully stationary for a drifter. I like being able to collect all the worldly possessions I care to keep into a 40-pound maximum weight pack, but I’m vicariously enjoying joint custody of a china tea service housed in Edinburgh, Scotland.
To use a Britishism, I’m a complete nutter.
In Europe, I quite obviously didn't fit any particular theme, fashion or otherwise, beyond 'trekker.' The only thing I felt the need to conceal was my telling accent. I wanted to be a local, and if you've never heard my voice, I've been told that I have a very distinct vocal quality. I never wanted to stick out too much, to be easily labeled-- here or anywhere else. Now, I'm back in the world in which not only clothes make the man, but the vehicle he drives as well. I'm uncomfortable with outward signals, but those I'm already swathed in are precise in their statements about me. The wardrobe I kept in Europe, and prefer at all times, is highly non-committal about my station in life, even my home continent. Every moment of my day today that was spent outside of my parents' house screamed precisely of class definition-- the store I made a few purchases within, the vehicle I showed up to work in, the job itself that I was working at, the clothes I was wearing. Everything spoke volumes.
Tomorrow, I could dress differently, drive the other car, and make a few bucks elsewhere, and be an entirely different person. The day afterwards, I could trade the truck off for a Jeep, throw away all of my non-open-toed shoes, and start from scratch yet again. Now, granted, there are some very precise definitions attached to anyone carrying an orange backpack through the average European train station, but I am pretty comfortable with all of them that I'm familiar with-- good, bad, or otherwise. The classification I receive at home, however, doesn't sit so well, and I doubt it ever will, in any circumstance-- whether I work in a cubicle, atop a tractor, beneath a car jack, in front of a computer, behind a parts counter-- I DO NOT want to be so easily qualified as a ________. It doesn't matter what shape the hole is, I'm one peg that simply didn't come off the lathe so well.
I was described, as a ten year old, as someone who 'marches to his own drummer.' Thank you, Mrs. Crouch. At just under a quarter century, I'm still proving you right.
Further On.
7 comments:
You're not what other people say or think you are. To quote George Michael "Sometimes the clothes do not make the man."
Where your rationale strays, is that you are labeling yourself while you denounce labels in their own right. You are who you are and you were that way since you came out of your Mama whether you want to accept that fact or not. It only matters as much as you let it as to what OTHER people say, think percieve you to be. Relax and be Jeffro Brown.....no one knows better than you. Most of all, get over yourself, stop telling what and who you are and where you are most happy and what you are most happy doing. Start being that man and doing what that man wants to do, but keep in mind that we are ALL connected in some way so you will never be your own island. There are labels for that too, don't you know.
Tis all from the Sunshine State
Jacob
As stated above by "j wilson" it doesn't really matter what I think about you, nevertheless, I feel led to a say (er, type) a little. I, and I think others also, definitely see you as a multi-faceted person and I see and like the different facets each differently and at different times (uh, too many differents there). For instance, sometimes I see the Jeffro that indeed has some great stories, like that time you were "coming out" at the disc golf course; "maybe not". Or the times that you've eaten any handout you could get to save a few bucks and then turn around and remind me that it's good just to carry something with you with the intent of giving it to someone you run across because you think it might be meaningful to them. Though all this may not have made sense, rest assured that although in my mind or actions I may "label" you at times, I also see many sides to you. I almost finished this comment with a quote from Dana Carvey in a parody of George Michael but thought better of it and left it off.
Anyway, Christ is Risen,
Mike
Wonderful post.
We'll be in NWA May 7-8. The evening of the 7th is booked and we'll leave at some point on the 8th... Are you free at all in that small time frame for us to visit? Email me your phone number.
I estimate that drum beat to sound something like.
boom, tap, boom, tap, tap, boom, tap, boom, boom, boom, boom, clack, tap, clack, boom, tap, tap, tick.
Perhaps its time for another story, darling? Its cruel to deprive the world of your innermost thoughts.
XX
have you been kidnapped?
Post a Comment