Monday, February 19, 2007

Back in my next town





People like to tell you about yourself all the time. You come into a room with an opinion or a feeling and people like to tell you right away how it really is, and what you'll really discover later.

I drive back into Santa Cruz tonight and watch the twinkling flat beach city, wait in the road so a tweaking 20-something year old can walk shaking by, go to my school rehearsal with my eclectic group of friends, pull up to my filthy beach house in all its potsmoking glory, hear the talk of parties and nouveau poetic waxations and secretly I want to turn around and drive back out of this place as quickly as I came in.

"you go to the city, you wanna go to the country, you go to the country, you wanna go to the city" -Alex.

So, people like to tell you about who you are; they like to explain to you what's right about you, and what's not so right. I don't know anything about those people, and usually I have no desire to ever. Instead, I'm interested in the people who look at you with a fixed and fascinated curiosity, who see your quirks and escapist desires, who don't need to understand you but want to try. Those people, I love. Those people I trust, and call family.

All of you who made this past weekend a spectacular one. You never question my intentions, you allow me to be myself without restrictions, and in the end you are all my biggest influences. Mom, that cake you gave me as I left today is already gone. The compass helped me map out my way back to Santa Cruz, I'll have you know. Dad, your watch has already seen some solid rehearsal time in the barn, and I had to take it off because I started to get worried about bumping it too much. Heather, your CD's soundtracked my entire drive back to this town. Joey, your concert and friends are more real to me than any college-kid ideal that runs around headless up at my school. And the visits to Mel's this weekend you guys, combined with watching that DVD about the ranch in Delhi and the Philippines, walking about downtown Placerville, sleeping in comfortable environments, receiving true care and seeing the World again - even if for only 3 days -

I can't wait to spread my wings again, once and for all, and swoop epicly away from this little vacation I've been taking by the sea. It's been high time to go, and coming back tonight is like putting strands of hair back into your scalp after they've fallen out of place. In four weeks I'll end this educational endeavor-

and until then, I say Thank You All, for reminding me that life is so grand and unfillable, something this bendy little city of angevils seems to forget sometimes.
I love you all, and thanks again for a bright weekend. That is all.

5 comments:

AdieSpringB said...

Don't be mad at me for not seeing you this weekend. I need your address! Now! please send or text me it!
I love you!

heather said...

mikie i love how you can make seemingly normal things seem so epic and grand and beautiful. like going to mel's or something. and it's true that watching that dvd with you and dad (dad sleeping of course, with cream puff) was somehow magical. i loved this weekend too, even though it was relatively "normal" to me, it was so wonderoo to have you here. so what are you doing on the REAL birthday? and isn't it cool to have a new kind of cake to be in love with? i hope you are liking the cd. sorry i gave you the same ditty bops song, i realized too late. any particular songs stand out to you? love heather

heather said...

by the way, where was this picture taken, the one in the cave? i really like it and want to go live there and set up a tiny wooden shelf of my few belongings and sleep on the ground with a cozy patchwork blanket and greet animals who pass by.

Mikie Beatty said...

hah! animals or Bums. I took that picture down that backalley running parallel to Main St, just below where you used to live Heather!

Susan said...

Mikie, you don't realize this, but you make it fun. It's you, yourself who brings the light and energy into any doing that we do. You could say "you're full of it" but what you're full of is joy, joy in living and in inching every bit of moment and breath out of life itself. You inspire me to look around and quit skimming the surface of life - to make each and every moment be one of notice if nothing else. Take note my friends there's lessons to be learned in all things - everywhere you look. You are awe inspiring Mikie - yes you! Love you so much, Mom