ACT II - Use Ink Only

On a recent trip to the Berkshires with my brother, it became vividly evident to me why this landscape was so rich with heritage in the field of visual and performing arts. From Tanglewood to the Mohawk Trail, the vast tracts of the wilderness in the western parts of Massachusetts are as breathtaking as any sacred place on earth.  It is a reminder of how gentle and yet, intoxicating the presence of nature can be. I marveled as a family of turkeys quietly crossed the narrow road we were traveling.  My brother and I pulled the car over to witness this heartwarming moment. Within seconds, a car was behind us.  At first I thought they were patiently waiting for us to press on, however, they soon pulled up next to us just enough to watch as well.  With neither a harrowed stride, nor a sudden flight, it became evident that this family of gallinaceous birds were focused on their mission to cross the street on their terms, not on ours.  

As a teenager, embracing the possibility of everything outside of Worcester, Massachusetts seemed like a lofty goal, especially for someone armed with a wheelchair.  Yet, for some reason, I spent the last two years of high school focusing on moving west of the Mississippi.  I had big dreams.  Even at that age, I felt as if those aspirations would be expunged by the impacting doom of winter. It seemed only logical to eliminate that fourth season altogether.  But of course, that was then...and this is now. These days I yearn for that very place that I was eager to vacate as a teenage boy. Now New England has become a respite from the vortex of self centered "Hollywood Wanna-be's" scrambling for the klieg lights and ten dollar lattes.

As the pages in the second act of my life turn, I have found myself in a gravitational pull ...almost to the point where there is cause for a re-write...a second draft (if you will) for Act II.  After all, I have control of the pencil...and with it, comes the power to create any scenario that I am capable of drafting.  The only thing getting in the way, is the one thing that will always get in the way...and that is fear.  If the pencil is the instrument to supply the journey, than fear is the eraser that will prevent it from happening. The late and great composer David Rose once told me, when writing music, never use a pencil.  Use ink only.  I've adapted that lesson as a metaphor to living my life in Act II.  It's difficult to erase ink...so I am now a lot more careful of my choices.

Almost certainly, back in Chapter I, there would have been no need for me to stop and marvel at that flock of turkeys...unless of course I was hunting them down for Thanksgiving.  I was racing to the finish line with reckless abandon.  I can't even begin to imagine all the turkeys I missed in the first chapter of my life.  Oh how I wish I had used a pen...then.