After reflecting on a very dark book – Elie Wiesel’s Night – I thought it would be good to take an afternoon walk on this beautiful Spring-like February day.
Some prefer to walk in the quiet woods alone (like Thoreau) to get away from the “quiet desperation” of the lives of the masses. I prefer to be around people. I drove to Bloomington, the home of Indiana University, where you can find more people of various shapes, sizes, colors, differ-abilities, orientations and affiliations this side of Chicago.
I lived on the outskirts of Bloomington for about an eternity one month after college. I had enrolled in the Creative Writing M.F.A. program. I spent the month smoking too many cigarettes, drinking too much beer, and wallowing in the foreboding sense that my best hope as a creative writer was to some day write a radio commercial that gained some airplay. I ran out of money, sold half my baseball cards to finish paying the month’s rent and then moved back in to my father’s basement.
But that was then… this is now. A beautiful sunny day. A job prospect on the horizon. A second short story nearly finished. Some faith-based friendships forming. I drove the winding road with a breeze in my face and John Prine on my MP3 player.
When my mornin’ comes around, no one else will be there
so I won’t have to worry about what I’m supposed to say
and I alone will know that I climbed that great big mountain
and that’s all that will matter when my mornin’ comes aroundWhen my mornin’ comes around, I will look back on this valley
at these sidewalks and alleys where I lingered for so long
and this place where I now live will burn to ash and cinder
like some ghost I won’t remember
When my mornin’ comes around When my mornin’ comes around, from a new cup I’ll be drinking
and for once I won’t be thinking that there’s something wrong with me
and I’ll wake up and find that my faults have been forgiven
and that’s when I’ll start living
When my mornin’ comes around