Flight Distorter

I was looking through my journal this morning when an entry from December 21 caught my eye.

This was a Friday and I suspect it was a wonton soup night—one of those evenings when I just don’t want to face the world--as I had quoted a line from a fortune cookie.

“There’s no boosting a man up the ladder unless he’s willing to climb,” it read.

It’s a good thought to keep in mind, especially now, since it complements a dream I had last night.

In this dream I had just booked a flight to Los Angeles when it occurred to me that I had used up most of my vacation days and would not be able to get the time off from work.

I started to panic, not believing that I had made such a bonehead mistake and wondering what the hell to do. Should I cancel my trip? Would the airline let me reschedule?

And it wasn’t clear if this was a vacation or if I was finally making good on my decades-old promise to move to LA.

I needed advice and my subconscious responding by summoning up my parents, who were alive and well in the dream, and more than willing to help.

My dad said it would be okay to cancel the flight and that I shouldn’t worry. I woke up a few moments later feeling rested and peaceful—at least for a little while.

Later in the day, however, it occurred to me that the dream seemed to validate some rather disappointing aspects of my character.

I have a habit of playing it safe, avoiding new things, and sticking to my schedule so aggressively that my routine starts to look like my religion.

Honestly, how many goddamn years have I talked about moving to Los Angeles?

I’m sick of the winter, I tell people over and over. I want to get into the entertainment business, I want to leave all my grief and bullshit behind and start a whole new life on the other side of the country.

Cookie Cutter

If I had a dollar for every blog post I wrote where I mentioned my desire to head for the coast I could probably buy my own airline and fly out to California whenever the hell I felt like it.

I think it’s pretty obvious by now that I don’t want to move to LA—or least some part of me is seriously resisting relocation even I as continue to run my mouth about getting out of New York.

And what’s more disturbing is that my father used to do the same thing.

For years he’d talked about how he was fed up with the East Coast, how life in California would be so much easier.

He had been stationed there while he was in the army and at least four of siblings lived in the Golden State. But, despite all his talking, he never got out there.

Now I’ve been making some changes in my life. Nothing as drastic moving to LA, but I have been getting out more as part of my “Hey 19” New Year project.

Last week I took a walking tour of Bush Terminal in Sunset Park, even though it was horribly cold, and just this Friday I went to an authors’ reading at the Community Book Store in Park Slope.

That was particularly satisfying because on most Friday nights I’m sitting in front of the TV watching Netflix and scarfing wonton soup and fortune cookies.

But this time I just went out the door at the appointed hour and had a very pleasant evening. Naturally these events don’t remotely compare to pulling up stakes and going 2,700 miles to a new home, but I think it shows I can step out of the routine when I choose to.

The last time I had Chinese food I got another intriguing fortune.

“Life is a verb,” it said, getting right to the point.

Yes, it is. It’s not images on a TV screen or words coming out of your mouth. It’s action.

I’ve decided I’m going to stop talking about California. I’m not giving up on relocating, mind you, I’m just going to quit flapping my gums about it. If it ever does happen, I’ll tell the world.

But I’m not going to boost myself up the ladder until I’m willing to climb.