I walk the line

Today I saw "Walk the Line". Ah, American theaters... Anyway, I'm in love with Johnny Cash and June Carter's story. The bond that brought them together and was so incredibly dynamic. Two larger-than-life personalities. Two people really trying and daring. Depth. Longevity. Passion. All in the face of adversity.

More than the love story, I was struck by a connection I felt with both characters - the need to move and change and explore coupled with the dedication to family and old friends. There's a profound commitment that has to be made to have both and it's rare to find people who want both; more rare still to find someone who achieves it. In my life as a transplant (first in NYC, then briefly in DC and then in Bulgaria), I've met plenty of other drifters - travelers, movers, dodgers, the lost, the confused, seekers, avoiders. I was once awestricken by people who'd traveled, same as I was by people who went to a good school or did other "noted" things. Then I did them and realized that most people do "noted" things to... be noted. Right thing, wrong reason. Many people who've traveled extensively treated the stops like they were rides at a cultural Disneyland - stopping long enough to say they'd been there, get the stamp, get wasted and then move on. Few self-described travelers talk about the essence of a city or its rhythm, much less its soul. Few talk about what a country or town made them rethink about themselves - priorities, values, identity. Just make the stops, get the trinkets. It's not the act, but the "why?" that matters.

Among the drifters is the tendency to recreate life anew at every port. There's a tendency for people to think of the new as more fascinating and having more potential than the old, until the new slips and shows that it too has limitations (psst, and you do too). Time for new again. Drifters have an odd relationship with history - a tendency to never get over it, but discount it nevertheless. Same thing keep happening? It's the world, not you. Yes, yes. Of course. Much like people in therapists' offices, people in new situations control and spin the versions of their personal history. It's a history that includes, inevitably, being misunderstood or victimized by nearly all. A convincing and well-rehearsed story ...the first twenty times. Those drifting with old, dear friendships are few and far between. Even those with them often do not make them a part of daily life. They are something that will reenter when the time is right, usually when the drifter needs something. Out of sight, out of mind. Taken for granted. Undervalued for the new and shiny. The here and now. The easy and tangible.

In my moves and journeys, I've tried to keep my friends and family close at hand. When I said I was returning to the States, I received countless offers for places to stay and visit. Phone calls. Emails. We didn't even need to catch up, just reconnect. They already knew my details, and I knew theirs. I was already a part of their lives and they mine. I didn't need to start anew or pretend to be shiny and perfect - I didn't expect it of them either. Neither of us wanted it.

Gritty drifter. I guess that's what I am. I like being that way and honoring the connections and people who've helped and inspired me. Those things - their depth, passion and longevity - keep me going. I don't want to stand still because of them, I just want to make sure they come with me. Ideally, I'd like to meet other gritty drifters. In fact, I've tired of the shiny ones. I have no room in my life for perfection. If I was dying on the side of the road and had to sing one last song to express my life, I'd want it to be something closer to 'Folsom Prison Blues' than something about how great I was, how much peace I had or how many friends/things I collected.

Moving on and holding on. I walk the line.