Author: Craig Cutshaw

Jack ebbed and flowed around the rocks. Picked up dirt in thick layers on the bottom of his shoes to be deposited miles later. Filled his belly with fish and drank the rain to nourish his body. Moving, constantly, for if he slept for even a short while it would mean certain death. Acting with his most natural instincts the environment changed around him, never to be quite what it was before. While this may be detrimental to some of the creatures of the Earth, Jack knew that his presence would save others. It was not within his mind to worry over such things, he simply moved. After many years he realized he had dug himself a great hole in which he may lay, but he knew if he stopped moving he would cease to exist. So he lay in his hole working harder than ever. Centuries gone by, but with luck, centuries yet remaining.

Over time I have learned, through experience, that most people don’t seem to think in quite the same way as I do. And that’s okay. Sometimes they may even be right, for I know that perfection will never be mine. And yet, for most situations I have a very strong tendency to agree with myself. And that’s fantastic.

A needle drags. Vibrating with determined practice to achieve a purpose it was made to fulfill. Yet it plays but a small role in the quality of its art. “How do you feel about this?” I ask the needle. Alas, it does not respond, leaving me to contemplate a place which one has no control over its effect on the outside world. And I wonder. I wonder just how different my life is from that of this helpless needle.

If I run around the world smiling, laughing, telling jokes, and offering kind words; then surely the world will become a happier place? Right? Yet, there may be some onlookers who become jealous of my joy. Those who are angry that I should be merry while they feel stuck and steeped in misery and pain of their horrid lives. Or, someone has pushed through the monotony of a workday and feels okay about themselves; until they see me frolicking around laughing at little nothings leading them to wonder what it is they haven’t done that they are simply average and they doubt the quality of their life because it’s not better, it is not what they picture my life to be. A foolish notion without question; for none know better than I how far short of extraordinary my life is, and yet I enjoy it.

So, I may not fully be able to control my effect on the world around me, but I can control my own thoughts and emotions. If I want to be happy, I simply choose what to think about… how about a puppy playing with a baby… Ha-Ha! Yes! It worked! I wanted to see a baby and a puppy and lo and behold an infant learning to walk starts to fall, but ole’ reliable (or young reliable since it’s a puppy?) is there to save the day with the flick of a snout and another step is made towards those scrumptious cookies! I wanted to be happy and look at me! I’m positively beaming! Again, I think of the needle so helpless of its work. It can’t choose its emotion. It is angry and red, blood like in hue. It is passive as a pale blue sky. Serene, green like a thousand-year-old forest. But this is not a choice, it was forced upon this thing that lives as a slave to a higher power. Surely then I am the superior being.

I return again to my vain and selfish thoughts. If I consider my friend, not just any friend, but the guy whose been with me through thick and thin. If I consider the seldom normal and frequently insane ideas that spew through my head and out my mouth in his direction; when most would walk away he smiles and says “okay”. There is no doubt in my mind that his happiness is my happiness. Then there’s this girl. Nothing I could say would be enough to explain how simply amazing this woman is, so I won’t try. Suffice it to say that I would do whatever I could to make her happy. And they get together. And both of these people who I want to be happy are VERY HAPPY! And I am very VERY… not. So I try to think of puppies and babies. I try again. Again. And yet. I can’t not think about them… and I feel like the needle with no control.

I wonder what atrocity the needle has performed to deserve a life where it has no say in its own movements. Perhaps it caused something to become mangled, bloody, and scarred? And now it must pay for its treachery with a life resembling that which it changed forever, for without question the state of it has deteriorated over the course of its work. I do not question that I have more control than the needle. Surely I can do better than it! I know I can! The needle stops dead, its life’s work complete. I look down and I see what it has done, the magnificent work of art it has created.

The world is a big place. The world is a big place and sometimes I feel small. The world is a big place and sometimes I feel… sometimes I feel so small that I question whether or not I’m even there at all. With my existence in jeopardy I meander through the crowds of commentators full of opinions on things that mean nothing without a sense of something. Anything. Context. Purpose. Self. Self. I know I have a self because I am human, and being human means I am incredibly selfish. Selfish to the point where I question whether or not anything matters if I am not real, if I am somehow disjointed from my surroundings in a way much more important than presence on a physical realm. Of course other things continue to matter; but not for me. Perpetually right and wrong at the same time, impossible to be simply one or simply the other.

The world is a bowl of cereal swimming in milk, swaying with the movement towards the table, ultimately to be destroyed in the process of bringing forth life to something greater. I am the piece that missed. I am the piece that missed the bowl cascading off the table onto the floor. I too shall be destroyed, but by a shoe, crushed into a stain. Not a stain of wine with color and passion and fortitude. A stain of dust to dissipate along the floor and in the air without even my assailant being aware of the life they have ended.

I wonder if it would be better if the world were a smaller place. I am alone. I am alone on a planet inhabited by billions of other people. Some of which I interact with. Some of which I care for. Some of which care for me. Yet I wake up alone because I go to sleep alone, and even when I’m surrounded by people whose names I know and who know mine, only very occasionally do I feel anything that makes me feel truly connected. The moments are fleeting. Inconsistent at best. Imaginary more often than not. And I don’t actually know if there has been a single time when it was reciprocated by the other person. Experience would tell me no. Not once. But maybe. So I question what would it be like if the world were a much smaller place; if no more than twenty people existed would I feel more or less lonely?

I question just how real this feeling of lonliness is at all; or is it a moment I currently reside in that has simply dragged itself across my life at multiple times in a semblance of what is my eternity but is actually just a moment. Unfortunately I don’t believe that, though I am very believing that it is impossible not to be biased when thinking about one’s self, particularly at the current time. Myself. In this case. At least for me. I find it hard to imagine that the countless times I’ve spent with others were so disconnected. And yet it’s not as hard as it should be. So I relapse to the only thing I’ve ever communicated that I know to be true: I don’t know.

 “She is my world,” he answered.

 “You’re world is too small if she is it.”

 “You can’t criticize the size of a world”

– From Wicked by Gregory Macguire

Over the course of 2017 I did some ‘sploring. Mostly throughout the western US. It was pretty rad. I met tons of cool people, spent time with a few awesome people I already knew, and saw as much nature as I could (which led to me sleeping in a tent 45 days of one particular 90 day period). I’m not too bad ass just yet, but I’m working on it. Over that time I took a little video and a fair amount of pictures and put it to some music I like which I had also listened to on the trip (#relevant), the last song fitting on an optimal level (#fire) due to a large amount of smoke experienced due to forest… well fires. Okay then.

P.S. Many of the pictures from this trip / on this video are also featured on this site!