intro:
Most of this was written just after midnight on Tuesday, June 12, in Satellite Beach, Florida, in an apartment that is very much for sale, and has been for some time. Finished the next day, after a haircut and just before lunch with my friend Rickey, at the Sun Shoppe in downtown Melbourne.
Ever Get Home.
by jamie tworkowski
New York City is the greatest city in the world. It is a perfect thunderstorm, scary at first with all it's lightning and thunder, but then you grow to love it, to feel alive inside it. I bought the hat but I can't wear it anymore. I remember how I felt that day. I remember why I wore it crooked.
Rickey is here now, innocent and mature and inspiring in all of his appreciating. He reminds me of all of them. They are the coolest thing happening on the planet. That new baby Murphy will know so much love and laughter. And Joel's constant sharing, inspiring with his honesty. Kory always wrestling, always aware of the tension. Jorge's kind heart, humble and gold and I hope that we're the same. Griffin cool as shit, leading the change and smart and making people laugh. My dear friend Jon, leading all of them, always sneaking off at midnight, to the middle of Broadway, just him and God and the people stuck in moments. He goes to remember, to say his thousand thanks, to know his Father, to love his city. Someone told me once that New York City was like a person, and I suppose I understand that now. It is difficult to lose a person.
They knew me. They know me. My eyes are honest. I don't have to say anything. Or maybe just what Don always says: "We'll see you on the other side."
There is perhaps a strange freedom in my certainty. It's like playing poker with God, and I'm all in – every last chip. And He had to know that I would be, because he made me this way. And I cry sometimes, but I also have to smile, because win or lose, we're walking out of here together. And I wonder if it's rare, this crazy thing always pushing in my chest, the weight also a gift, God always saying "Come on, follow me. Let's go see this new thing. You have to trust me." And me with all my questions, always reaching to rewind, that button always broken. And everyone with their stories and encouragement, words about miscarriage and redemption and "this too shall pass." And God smiling, going "It's me, you know me, I know you, I'm proud of you, Let's go, Let's do this, You've never been alone."
As for a new hat, who knows. Jon always says "You have to live in a place that matters" and it's true. Maybe SD, with it's trains and waves and simple small downtowns. Jon and all his songs, Dustin just north with dozens more. I would certainly stop and ask Bob, "Bob, how do you do these things? How do you keep kind? What should I do?" Or maybe LA, with it's Malibu and Silver Lake and all the houses in the hills. And millions of kids, some older now but they came as kids, and still with all their dreaming. Everybody acting. It would be interesting to go there with very little need, no agenda but friends and the sun on my face and the ocean every morning. I don't need it to name me. I don't need the big break. Just a place to live, a place to come back to life. And now and then, with a friend, or maybe just alone, a drive south to Mexico, or north to San Fran, both so beautiful in their different ways. And I would stop and surf with Britt at Rincon and he would say something strong, his believing always reminding me to believe.
Now, if this happens, I would have to fly home a lot. Every other Thursday. I would have to. If you knew my family, the way our hearts work, you would understand. Either that, or I would have to write the greatest book, and buy them a house with the money. And it would be good if they could also have a horse. I know my mom would like that, and Emily has been mentioning it as well. The book would have to be really good, for houses are very expensive in California. (Horses too, I'm guessing.)
As for me, well, we live in an interesting day. I am fine with the glass house. Maybe something near the airport, for an east coast kid will always be an east coast kid, no matter where he sleeps. Love is home. Love is home. Love is home. And we are only an airplane away. I think I've made that pretty clear.