"Forward, never straight," says a friend in the know, and as one who now likes to travel the scenic, cynic route, I'm inclined to believe her.
I don't know where I'm going these days; the destination and the path are dual mysteries. As a younger man in the black-and-white days I used to take pride in having an itinerary, a Plan, but I have learned that the best-laid plans often lead to a fucking that is neither pleasant nor for the best.
I have put away those rigid rules of youth and embraced the capricious part of my nature. Delicious irony, given my history with a crazy-mad impulsive muse, but fitting, and somewhat scary-hopeful. When I glance back at where life has taken me, I realize that being careful usually led to satisfaction and success, but being arbitrary and taking unpredictable zigs has been where I discovered the most joy. Following that logic, my uncertain journey forward means I should be entering nirvana soon. The path forward is the transparent vacuum, without circumference or center.
Nirvana — or I'm about to careen right off the cliff. Either way, exhilaration awaits.