Pasta, a Clog and a Really Long Snake

I'm forcing myself to sit and write. Therefore, I preface this post by saying it won't be my best. After writing every day in March, I'm exhausted. The same thing happened last year, and I didn't write anything – other than birthday cards – until November's NaNoWriMo. That's too long of a break, and my dream of becoming a published writer won't happen by sitting idly by. Well, not idly by. I teach full-time, then yard work becomes my nine-to-five profession (or obsession) during the summer. Who needs a gym membership when you're lugging around buckets of rocks from one side of the yard to the other? Besides, it's a good time to flex for my wife, who spends her outdoor time floating in the pool. It's okay. She deserves it. 

 

We're blessed to have our home, and the more dirt I get under my fingernails (my garden gloves look more like glovelettes, a shout-out to all my Harley friends…which are currently zero), the more I give glory to my creator. 

 

I figured it may be a good time to write after having a one-hundred twenty-five-foot snake in my house this week. Don't get too excited (or frightened); that sucker cost me over three-hundred bucks. Yep, the plumbers were beckoned by a regurgitating garbage disposal. What? How did that happen? Oh, right. Pasta. Lots of pasta. But it wasn't the leftovers making the disposal spit up like a newborn. 

 

It was years of build-up. A slow clog taking over twenty years before it reached its limit. Part of being a writer, a big part, actually, is observing. It makes sense that my encounter with a snake in my house would get me thinking about how humans are no different than water pipes. The fact that the snake was on the brim of the sewer at one-hundred twenty-five feet is symbolic. One can't help to think of Shawshank Redemption because, like Andy, my pasta, along with a little bit of god-awful gook, made it safely to the other side. Who would've thought the price of freedom for sauce-stained noodles would be so steep?

 

So long, my tasty cylindrical friends. May the meatballs ever be in your favor.

 

With this experience, I reflected on circumstances preventing me from reaching my potential and my freedom from grease-induced clogs. Water always finds a way unless it's in a clogged pipe. Minus any perforations, the water sits there. Stagnant. Preventing anything good from coming along – redemption, salvation, joy. 

 

It's the human condition. We work hard all day, all week, with aspirations waiting in the shadows, anticipating the light needed for growth, and life gets in the way. Or, in my case, we let things build up, blockading our dreams and desires. The absence of healthy avenues to unchain the necessary light ultimately drains us. Actually, "drain" would be a good thing in this metaphor. How about depletes? Either way, it impedes the importance of positive outlets.

 

Which I do have. I've discovered new music and authors in the last few years and have my reading, writing, walking and yardwork. These help and should suffice, but I need more. These are solitary activities essential for the heart, mind and soul. 

I need more. 

 

I need a consistent small group (I miss you guys) and weekly softball games mixed in with some tennis and hiking. I wouldn't mind if my best friend moved to Virginia, either. But I don't have those now, which leads to a fundamental question: Do I do something about it, or do I become my own clog. The latter, let's admit, sounds gross. It goes without saying the former is the only choice. 

 

But how often are we the culprit of our own stuffed drainage pipe? How often do we find ourselves at the end of a hundred-foot pipe on the edge of the sewer when it all could've been prevented in the first place?

 

We are victims of complacency. At least, I am. I get too comfortable in my routines, too exhausted from daily demands, but there is a workaround. It only takes us prying ourselves from our realm of comfort. No big deal, right? If only. We don't want to get to the end of our lives (we never know when that is) and tell ourselves the ultimate lie: I didn't have time. Or worse, the ultimate utter of regret, I wish I…

 

Because we do have time. If there's time to binge-watch TV shows, then there is time. You could call a friend, join a group, or take the next necessary step in obeying the insistent and consistent voice within, reminding us we are meant for more. That voice doesn't lie. Truth is only distorted if we victimize ourselves, allowing uncontrollable forces to puncture our spirits.

 

I am the culprit for running after my dreams for so long and not having anything to show for it. I let circumstances such as finances, idiotic statements comparing ancient rocks to modern guns, lack of competent leadership and inflation get the best of me. And by that, I mean anger me. I wish I could take everything with a grain of salt. Instead, I them with a grain of sand, and then the wind blows it in my eyes and mouth. The grains of grit blind me, slow me down and ultimately drop me on the soggy ground of defeat. It's not easy picking yourself up, which is why we need those outlets. Those positive community connections. They are the forklifts when we need them most. More importantly, it gives us a chance to lift others up. Otherwise, we reach our boiling point. We bubble with anger, stress and frustration. This does no one any good. Only harm.

 

Perhaps this is why my life lacks strong, solid relationships with my daughters. I know it's normal when raising teens. At least some of it, but I fear the lack of healthy outlets has irreversibly damaged the one thing I want most in life.

 

While I continue sharpening my observation skills as a writer, I must do the same as a dad and husband. I need to seek out the windows of opportunity that will strengthen my relationships. Finding the window isn't enough. I need to get to the other side, but not by going around it. I must go through it. We all do. If they're anything like my windows at home, hard to open and impossible to close, then they you may need to throw a brick. Or use a hundred-twenty-five-foot snake. Be creative. Just get through. What's holding you back? A glob of potentially-pipe-clogging noodles? You're better than that. The voice within guarantees it.

-rg