Voyages

Hello folks. It's always amazing to me, even in this Modern Age, that one can arise in Illinois, and by the end of the day, be relaxing in Minnesota. 500+ hours, gone in the (relative) blink of an eye. Had I been in London, that same amount of distance would have taken me to either Edinburgh or Glasgow, with miles to spare. I think there's a lot of perspective to be gained in voyages like this; I think there's a sense of immensity that we too often forget with our airplanes and future phones.

Because I'm too often accused of being cryptic, I spent last weekend on an adventure of semi-epic proportions. Twin Cities to Iowa City to beautiful (but not quite Twin Cities beautiful) Champaign-Urbana and back again. It was quite a long drive, but I firmly believe that good times and good friends are worth 1100 miles. Plus, I got to catch up on my "This American Life" podcasts. Fantastic.

I can't say I'm too often thrilled to spend 9 hours in a car on any given day, but as I alluded to earlier this summer, there's something cathartic about the open road. Especially when you have a lot of thinking to do. Not that I necessarily did, but endless fields and small towns are conducive to thinking, whether or not that's your intent. Of course, it was much nicer on the leg from Iowa City to Champaign, when I had the pleasure of good company and good conversation. Among the topics: the crisis of modern American masculinity, having work be a part of your person rather than your entire person, many incredibly interesting quips about medicine which I did not understand, and much, much more!

In any event, the countless hours of diesel-fueled fun culminated in yet another Luther College manboy get-together, which I daresay, is the best kind of get-together. The weekend had a severe lack of groan-inducing trombone quartets posted on youtube, but I suppose that was rendered moot by the dual orchestral concerts that we had the pleasure of hearing, featuring Cedar Falls' finest on the bass trombone. In any event, there was exquisite food, expensive beer, morning coffee on a porch, and trophies to commemorate the weekend. Oh yes, and we also channeled our inner viking warrior spirit by drinking mead. Nothing better.

You know, I always used to hate that "manboy" moniker. It was coined via a somewhat legendary short story, the product of a person who had a rather unique, intimate view into our collective friendship. It always seemed so juvenile to me, when, considering some of our college antics, it was probably quite appropriate. At that time, I thought maybe it was a backhanded insult, since I fancied myself a sophisticate. Now, I don't think I mind it so much. Maybe it's my increasing self awareness, but when there are four grown men singing "Mr. Blue Sky" at the top of their lungs at 1 in the morning, "manboy" seems an apt descriptor.

I don't think that's bad either, because I think it's clear from our conversations that most of the time, the four of us work, work, and then work some more, trying to be something or another. It's easy to work at being a lawyer, or a doctor, or a musician, or a physicist. It's not quite as easy to work on being a person of substance, a person who has human connections. If that involves ELO singalongs and nighttime sprinting, so be it. Certainly better than the alternative.

Of course, I was rudely reminded today, as I stumbled through 25 pages of how a mortgagee perfects their assignment of rents, that such revelries are unfortunately, temporary. I used the somewhat misleading metaphor of a caravan going through the desert, stopping at an oasis, and then heading back out into the sand. Like I said, this is misleading, and maybe inappropriate - I don't necessarily think life is akin to a desert. However, with the stresses of school, job searches, women, friends, the general challenges of life; it's pretty important to just stop for a few days, and drink some water. Or, as the case may be, some overpriced beer.