Into the mysterious, the heart of light, the silence...
I've often pondered on the fact that I've not found my niche in Chicago. I always long to be with the crowds I see flowing past my window, for they look so beautiful and vibrant, yet when I go to them, I find that I have nothing to say, that I'm awkward, that I speak a different language.
Wednesday night, after immersing myself in the editing of my novel (losing time in the process), I took a long, lovely walk through the approaching winter chill to the green line - that north to Ashland - and then an even lovelier walk through quiet streets, past bright windows, to a bar called The Empty Bottle.
I had come to see a band called The Goddamn Shame (with a band called The Lab Partners). I knew no one when I arrived - graded papers at the bar, read The Fountainhead. I didn't feel lonely, just out of place. Everyone was so cool, so conscious of how they were saying things. I didn't feel there was much honest reaction. People had great scarves, and stood just so.
But then Nick, the leadsinger of TGS, whom I had come to see, arrived; he was very kind, and made me feel welcome. He had a few friends who were very kind as well.
As the night went on, I realized I had found my niche, long ago: at a window, fogged, looking out upon the world and part of it by proxy. I have many friends. Some of them are with me...my best, my wife, whom I love so much it just stuns me sometimes.
My niche is quiet, where I can quietly tell a story; then, when feeling open (and not too solemn), I'll drop in on the other humans. Those who aren't afraid to have an honest reaction to things, anyway. Like everyone that I love.
Sometimes, I get lonely. But I can't be a hanger-on in a room full of smoke and people talking so quietly you can't hear what they are saying.
I've often pondered on the fact that I've not found my niche in Chicago. I always long to be with the crowds I see flowing past my window, for they look so beautiful and vibrant, yet when I go to them, I find that I have nothing to say, that I'm awkward, that I speak a different language.
Wednesday night, after immersing myself in the editing of my novel (losing time in the process), I took a long, lovely walk through the approaching winter chill to the green line - that north to Ashland - and then an even lovelier walk through quiet streets, past bright windows, to a bar called The Empty Bottle.
I had come to see a band called The Goddamn Shame (with a band called The Lab Partners). I knew no one when I arrived - graded papers at the bar, read The Fountainhead. I didn't feel lonely, just out of place. Everyone was so cool, so conscious of how they were saying things. I didn't feel there was much honest reaction. People had great scarves, and stood just so.
But then Nick, the leadsinger of TGS, whom I had come to see, arrived; he was very kind, and made me feel welcome. He had a few friends who were very kind as well.
As the night went on, I realized I had found my niche, long ago: at a window, fogged, looking out upon the world and part of it by proxy. I have many friends. Some of them are with me...my best, my wife, whom I love so much it just stuns me sometimes.
My niche is quiet, where I can quietly tell a story; then, when feeling open (and not too solemn), I'll drop in on the other humans. Those who aren't afraid to have an honest reaction to things, anyway. Like everyone that I love.
Sometimes, I get lonely. But I can't be a hanger-on in a room full of smoke and people talking so quietly you can't hear what they are saying.
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