Thoughts... and The Difference Between Thinking and Feeling...

I was thinking, today, about the reasons that I read some blogs. It came to mind, that I sometimes live through other's dreams. For instance: I don't have the sort of choices that I might ocassionally prefer. This is due, in part, from some of my own previous choices... and partly, due to the circumstance I was born into. But, in the end, I don't have all the creature comforts I would prefer to have. I'm not always comfortable with my circumstance. And I don't have the freedoms to do the things I might like to do... or the freedom to act on my desires, at will. I can't just jump into my Mini Coooper (I don't have one) and ride down to the beach (I live at least 3 1/2 hours away) and jump into the surf (besides, it's been ages since I've even been in the ocean water). Instead, I might read where someone else has grabbed their fins, jumped into their sports car, ridden down to the ocean, just bits away, and experienced something akin to what I might like to experience, exhileration-wise.

There's a lot that I can't live... but, I guess I can live some things through someone else. I'm thinking that's what story-telling is all about, from the reader's point of view, anyways. Add to that, I like the style of some blogs. Instead of being long winded, whiney sorts, like mine can sometimes be, I enjoy sometimes following the thought processes that others might share... instead of all that heart stuff that I tend to share. It's interesting, sometimes, following where someone's mind leads them, instead of the heart. In fact, it can be down right hilarious, where some thought processes go. So... today, while driving the boat, I started thinking about the thoughts I was thinking... if you know what I mean. And never mind how I felt about anything, in those moments (ok, I might cheat, it's hard to go cold turkey)... in fact, who really cares about how I feel... it was more about the thoughts that were passing through my brain. Thought I would give it a shot, this different way of writing. See the below.

It was another typical Sunday, driving the boat. The wind was light and breezy. Ocassionally the sun would come out, but mostly it was behind the clouds. I remember looking at the flag, atop the old mill. Someone asked, once, if they have it illuminated at night. You're supposed to have it illuminated, at night, they had said, if you are going to fly it at night. Yes, had been my response. I had seen it illuminated, on many night drives, and had even taken a night photograph of it, illuminated, once. Now I was noticing the Christmas lights around the tower. They weren't on, but I was wondering how long they had been there. Did I just never notice them, before, or had they been there all along? Then I noticed the sky. It was beautiful. It was a bright, bright blue, accented with fluffy white and gray clouds. I didn't know if I'd ever seen it that blue, before. Then I remembered that I was wearing my sunglasses, and they always make colors look brighter and more intense. I pulled them away from my eyes, and glanced at the sky. The light hurt my eyes, and I squinted as I covered them back up. I couldn't help but repeat the process, just checking the difference in definition, a couple more times. I don't know why, really. Then my attention became distracted by the sight of a hawk, soaring high above, riding the current in the sky. It looked like great fun. Oh, but to fly, that would be grand. Then I turn my attention back to the water, where there's a bridge coming up that I must pass under. There's a guy fishing, from atop the bridge. He starts reeling his line in, and I slow the motor, giving him time to pull it in, just before passing underneath. The tour guide's now talking about shotgun houses, and making some lame joke about why she thought they are called shotgun houses, before she found out the actual reason that they are. Her way of delivering her vocabulary is annoying, her history and facts are sometimes slightly off... but, she's a good guide, all in all. And then I wonder just what being a great tour guide really means. Each one is different from the next. No one gets it all right, all of the time. And each one has their own little quirks. I miss interacting, that way, as a guide. The Captain is just driving, hardly ever talking. And then I remember how one of our Captains used to annoy one of our guides, because he was very boisterous, and full of quacky humor and energy. You never knew when he was gonna pipe up and change the subject, right in the middle of your tour. Sometimes it worked, and the crowd would roar... other times, it was way out of line, and I felt a little embarrassed for him, in their lack of enthusiastic response. My supervisor thinks Captains should sit there and shut up, that it's only the tour guide who should be part of the show. I was a tour guide, back then, when she said that, but I didn't feel the same. I looked at each Captain, and I saw how they each contributed, in their own way, towards the special character of each individual tour, adding their own special flavor. Some were... well, crazy, and sometimes out of line. Others were bashful and never spoke unless spoken to. Yet, others were down-home and welcomed each one with warmth and kindness. I didn't agree, that Captains should remain silent. It felt, to me, that they were a part of this package... and their participation contributed to, not took away from, the tour. I thought, too, that it was good to have us each feel a part of this process, this touring process... like family. It had seemed, to me, that this supervisor (who used to be a guide) did not like the Captain stealing her show. She was not able to share the stage. And I think of myself, and how I interact. I'm pretty serious, and have my mind on the safety and well-being of the people for whom I am navigating. I think I take it too seriously, but then how serious do you take someone else's life? I'm not as relaxed and laid back, instead I'm concentrating on scooting the boat through the small opening in the bulkhead gate (boat 13ft wide, bulkhead 15 ft. wide). I'm not tolerant of little kids standing on their feet, in the seat... because I don't want to see them topple over. I worry that someone will have a heart attack, on my watch, and I might have to perform CPR. It's not as much fun, driving, as guiding. But... sometimes I am able to relax, once I've made a good pass through the bulkhead, and didn't even lose a splinter of wood. It's then that I might take a moment to watch the soaring hawk, catching a ride on the thermal wave... and then I might think of my blogger friend, who is somewhere, in Cali, easing into his alpha, grabbing his fins, riding down to the ocean, and catching another kind of wave.

I dock the boat, wipe up dots of something that looks like a combination of bird crap and watery white paint, loosen the lines, hook up the chargers, flip the switch... and I'm gone.