Midway In The Midwest

In the armpit of America, where the plains are stretched out like a sea of gold, the skies are gray as fuck, the people are carved from the raw, unfiltered essence of this land. There's a brutal honesty here, a directness that slices through bullshit like a scythe through summer wheat. Do not ask a question of which the truth may hurt, for the truth here is as unvarnished as the soil beneath your feet.

Growing up in Ohio, a place where an allegiance to the State means despising the land up north, caught by an age-old rivalry. Ohio and Michigan, like the Hatfields and McCoys of the Midwest. Ann Arbor, a city that is still a whore, and wears its sins openly. But in August, it transforms. The air is a soft seventy degrees, a gentle breeze whispering through the leaves, and the world seems to chill out with the air. That whore becomes angelic.

The women here, far more striking than my memory serves. Well some. They stride with wide hips meant for bearing the weight of several children, their curves are a beauty to admire. I am drawn to the confidence, a swagger that speaks “I’m a bad bitch”, even when the reality falls way short. But, there are those rare beauties who embody it fully—demons in disguise, those filthy succulents drain you of everything, leaving a shriveled man gasping dust. Their apartments are shrines to conquest, walls adorned with clichéd mantras “Live, Laugh, Love”, but they are the silent trophies of broken men.

The weed in Michigan, holy shit. I’d heard of its potency, but skepticism is always my response. Now, here I sit, eyes bloodshot and mind fucking blown, glued to my chair by the sheer force of the high. It’s been a decade since I felt this way, and the sensation is both foreign and familiar. I’m supposed to be training for my new job, but the haze got me, and I forgot the very reason I left my home. My beautiful family, my slice of paradise back in Florida, all for this forsaken land I’ve been taught to hate. I’ve taken a giant leap backwards as far as a position in my career goes in the hierarchy of the field I’ve been working in.

Why, you might ask, would I trade the helm of a dealership for the bottom rung of the ladder? The pay a mere fraction, the prestige nonexistent. The truth lies somewhere in this fog, obscured by the weed smoke and my own rambling thoughts. The root of my slight mental break down or midlife crisis is I just want to spend more time with my son. But here I am, in Michigan, amidst the cool breezes, the potent weed, and the nostalgic whispers of my youth long past.

There’s a haunting familiarity here, a sense of belonging that defies the boundaries of reason. I hated living up here. The air seems to whisper my name, calling me back to days when time flowed like an endless river and the future was but a distant shore unchecked. Here, in this land of both hostility and unexpected beauty, I find myself standing once more at the foot of my youth.

In just a few days, I’ll be turning forty. The thought of spending it alone puts a loneliness in my heart. I yearn for the laughter of my son, the warmth of my beautiful wife’s embrace. The joyous sound of my son's voice, bouncing off the walls, is a sound I deeply enjoy. It’s a profound loneliness, this aching pain when separated from your child. It feels like a miracle to have them, and the very thought of being apart tightens around my chest like a pair of vice grips, choking off the air. Cruelties of life. Though it’s only temporary, the sensation is the same to imprisonment. If you’ve never known the unfortunate experience of a few nights in a cell, the theft of freedom leaves you utterly powerless. It’s a deeply helpless feeling, especially for someone like me who usually wiggles out of trouble. I often emerge from situations unharmed, but now and then, I stumble or fuck up and find myself seeking forgiveness for my mistakes.

At forty, I’m sensing the midpoint of my journey, and here I am, back where it all began. Fuck. I thought I had grown so far from this place, but it seems as though I’ve merely circled back. All the climbing, all the worked hours, sacrifices I made, were they pointless? Im standing in front of my elementary school, long been closed windows with steel plates where windows used to be. such a beautiful building with ornate sculptures above the doors, Ohio has many well preserved 1800 building and houses. Now it looks like a scene in the end of a horror move with grown up vines and mismatch furniture in odd places.

Life is a cycle, repeating endlessly. Each life is a giant cycle made of countless smaller ones. I've come to this profound realization: we can steer our destinies. The way we live our lives form a cycle, a cycle only we can break or create.

A random call from an old friend I haven’t heard from in years, a return to where I grew up, the restart of my career, and as if the universe was listening, Blink-182 plays a show right in front of me. I had decided to wander downtown Detroit, and there I stumbled upon a band that had marked my angsty years.

The friend who reached out was with me when we were sixteen, another pivotal point in a person’s life. Not just because you can finally drive and explore those places you and your friends dreamed about, but because you start to understand yourself amidst the turmoil of puberty. High school friends become solidified, and your clique forms. Myself and two of my best friends planned a day at Cedar Point, unaware we’d see live music. Eve 6 was playing a free show at the height of their popularity. We weren’t die-hard fans, but we could’ve sketched that fly on their debut album from memory. I still love the line, “I think I’ll be sick like ginger ale.” Everyone wanted to put their tender heart in a blender and watch it spin around to a beautiful oblivion. Rendezvous, then I’m through with you, so don’t hate on Eve 6. That day remains etched in my memory. It’s strange how places, sounds, and smells can evoke such strong emotions and memories, and how they differ between people, yet sometimes two individuals share the same feelings. These connections are the best ones, are unexplainable and undeniable, understood between people despite the odds.

The dual nature of friendship: a lifeline and a challenge. Friendship is often seen as a vital support system that helps us navigate the complexities of life. Friends keep us grounded, providing comfort and companionship during both joyous and challenging moments. However, there are times when friendships can also lead us into chaos, influencing us in ways that may feel overwhelming or difficult to manage.

Throughout my journey, I’ve been fortunate to maintain friendships that date back to middle school. These enduring connections have weathered many storms, and despite the occasional tragedy that life throws our way, the majority of us remain closely knit.

The beauty of long-lasting friendships lies in their resilience. They offer a sense of belonging and understanding that is hard to replicate. Yet, it's important to acknowledge that these relationships can also bring complexities. Friends can sometimes lead us to make choices we might not have considered or challenge our perspectives in ways that unsettle us. The balance of friendship can be both a lifeline and a challenge, shaping us in profound ways.

If life is but a cycle, a ceaseless turning of the wheel, and you come to know the rhythm of its revolutions, the destinies of its diverging paths, then you might bend the current to a straight and narrow course. We cannot grasp all things at once. Such an experience would shatter our mind or collapse the universe inward. One must abide the cycles, as the earth does, turning faithfully through the seasons.

If life is merely a series of cycles, one after another, then what meaning does it hold? The repetition of moments offers a certain liberty—to falter or to strive, depending who you are. So why not let the universe collapse, let the mind spiral? The very thought is a thrill. Given the chance to relive your life, knowing all its outcomes, what path would you choose? In a cosmos of infinite universes and possibilities, you might choose wealth and fame. Or you might cling to the familiar, the mundane existence you've kept taking for granted.

Imagine a life where every choice you make echoes through a multitude of realities, each decision branching out like the limbs of an old tree. The weight of infinite possibilities rests upon your shoulders, each path a potential destiny, each moment a crucial juncture. Would you not find yourself paralyzed by the sheer enormity of it all? Or would you embrace the confusion, letting it wash over you like a storm?

There’s a certain beauty in the cyclical nature of existence, a profound symmetry that speaks to the core of our being. Like the earth, we must endure the cycles, the endless comming and going of time. Each sunrise and sunset a reminder of the continuing return, each season a layer to the resilience of life. It is in this repetition that we find our purpose, our place in the universe.

Consider the moments that define you, the instances of joy and sorrow, triumph and defeat. They are but mini cycles in the cycle of your existence, woven together to create the unique pattern of your life. To relive them with the foreknowledge of their outcomes would be both a blessing and a curse, granting you the power to alter your fate while stripping away the spontaneity that gives life its flavor.

If you were to choose a new path, to rewrite the narrative of your existence, what would you seek? The gold, riches and fame, the trappings of success in the eyes of the world? Or would you find pleasure in the simple, the quiet moments that bring true contentment? The choice is yours, and yet it is not, for the heart knows its own desires, and it is to these you must listen.

As for me, I'd choose a cluttered house with my child shouting “Umi Zoomi”, my wife tormenting me with the incessant hum of the vacuum cleaner. That is the happiest place I've ever known. That is the life cycle I choose to live on repeat. In everyday life, amidst the noise, lies a profound calm, a sense of belonging that no wealth or fame could ever replicate. It is in these moments, these fleeting glimpses of pure, unadulterated joy, that I’ve found myself. And it is this I would choose, over and over again, for all eternity.

I’ve made all the mistakes I wish to make, though I’m sure I’ll make more. The concrete facts of life have taught me what’s important and how to safeguard what I love. I’ll be a masterpiece one day, but I’m perhaps only halfway done, maybe a third if I live rightly.

Wisdom, I’ve learned, often rises from the ashes of chaos. I’m not an authority on how to live but a picture of the madness of existence, the kind that stretches beyond the confines of ordinary understanding.