In times of either peace or war have you, ever been involved in, or suspected of involvement in, war crimes, crimes against humanity, or genocide?
Have you ever supported or encouraged terrorist activities?
Have you engaged in any other activities that might indicate that you may not be considered a person of good character?
Wavering on this last question, I wondered how detrimental ditching fourth period to suntan in the quad during the last week of school senior year, would be for my record.
Gently bubbling in the blanks on my accusatory visa forms, I couldn’t help but wonder about all this prosecution aimed at my application, clearly the UK government harbored some secret grudge against philosophy majors. Then again, even Thoreau had to spend a night in jail.
My oldest brother calls it, “The fog.” It’s that patch of unknown, just over the hill that you’re about to reach. But still haven’t the slightest as to what lies beyond.
Just a bit of hazy expectation, built of photos ripped from magazines, and a folded corner in a guide book.
But more certain most of all, that it’s making sense.
Because when you lay on the ground, inspecting the details, it’s easier to get caught in the trap of practicalities.
The trap of practicalities is a scary place to be tangled up in.
Although it likes to hide itself behind the pretenses of sensibility and rationality.
It really just trips on its own tail worrying about things like finances, and the potential career options accompanying a degree in philosophy, or, lack thereof.
The trap of practicalities shot dangerous daggers of doubt at me, like wondering if I was ready for the commitment of college, of a degree, of a permanent location. I couldn’t hardly commit to my cereal for eight minutes after pouring the milk on it, how was I to commit to the rest of my life?
But that’s just it.
Because I realized something beautiful. And that’s that I want this to be the rest of my life.
Because the rest of my life, includes me, alive at this moment, and insert your cliche of choice here, that was how I’d decided to spend my existence.
Brian Andreas says it best, “There are things you do in life, and they may make no sense, and they may make no money and it may be the real reason we are here: to love each other and to eat each other’s cooking, and say it was good.”
I like their accents…so passport in hand, and plane ticket an arms reach away, I’m folding my favorite pair of cut-offs into my incessantly overstuffed suitcase and salivating over the journey to come in nine days time.