life is the laborious
realisation that
everything plods
toward the inevitable
cliché.
how could one with
such kerouacian dreams,
and rock and roll yearning
succumb to this state
of mid-life crisis.
my dad told me
on the phone
the other day,
that although
he is turning seventy one
this year, he still sees
a young man in the mirror,
whenever he looks—
“i feel like i am still
in my forties or fifties.”
the true spirit of adventure
blooms in the ability to transform
what the average person
sees as obstacles,
into opportunities.
you can’t rely on
the open road
or the ocean
or a raging freezing
himalayan river,
or the alleyways of
foreign streets,
or sunrise at mount kenya
or the gentle waves
of a fire in the wild,
to make you feel alive.
there is heroism
in banality,
it’s the work that
reveals the frenzy
in contentment.
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