The cracked air coats everything with dust as the sun glares down. Next to the deserted road a pair of rough boots holds up a loan figure in a long black coat. The scowling face is obscured by the dust. The wind flaps the black coat. Behind the figure is a black vehicle of indeterminate make. The figure just stands by the side of the road and scowls. Harmonica music wails in the background.
It’s hard to believe that this awful presumptuous picture I’ve concocted actually starts in the snow. It indeed originates in a landscape with blowing snow drifts. And there is Han Solo mounted on a Tauntaun, the animal created for the second Star Wars installment. When I saw The Empire Strikes Back, I was already a fan of Han Solo. I had liked Luke first. I was the type to believe in pure good back then. But three years later I admired the roguish confidence that shone in Han Solo’s character. Then when I saw him riding around on the ice planet, the thing that caught my eye the most was his parka. All the rebels seemed to all wear uniforms of a tan color, Han Solo had a thick blue parka with a fur hood. He was different, out of uniform, his own man. I figured that he flew The Millennium Falcon to the ice planet and before disembarking, went to a storage locker and pulled out his warm coat. He was prepared for anything. What’s more he had the means to carry it all with him. I wanted to own and wear a parka around my tropical hometown.
So this first hero I really tried to emulate was Han Solo. Not only was he reckless and cool, he was resourceful and prepared for anything. I had a string of heroes following him. All cool guys who seemed prepared for things. Aside from being resourceful, they also worked alone. I must have been in denial about how many people helped out Indiana Jones.
Mad Max was a loner. He also had big black boots and a cool car that was loaded with everything he needed. There was food and water and extra fuel stored and weapons stashed all over. Even on his person, Max carried tools and weapons.
Sometimes I look at myself and wonder if I ever had an original thought in my head as to who I am. My current vehicle is a dusty vehicle sagging with tools I rarely use, extra water, clothing and yes, a knife here and there just in case I need to open a box or letter. The only person I’ve ever cut is myself accidentally. On most days I carry more junk on me than I usually need including a multi-tool and folding knife and a Swiss army knife, a harmonica and a flashlight and phone. With the addition of my keys, I sometimes wear suspenders. I could say they are to keep my pants up, but I also have to own up that there is another roguish space captain who wears suspenders that I wish I was like.
And owning up is what I think I’m doing here. I am going on and on to say that I’ve spent most of my life wanting to be like other people. Most of them had a few things in common. The resourcefulness was definitely a main thing. They were mostly loners. Maybe it all came down to one thing: they didn’t need to rely on anyone else for anything. I wanted to be self-sufficient.
Fortunately for me, I remember the year when I was out of college before I was in a relationship with Prajna. That was the most alone I ever was. And as much as I thought I liked being alone, I was miserable.
Once in a while I get the urge to get off by myself and go camping, usually in the desert. I do relish the time alone, but I don’t think I would without knowing I have family and friends to come home to. I also dress sensibly in light clothing when I go out there and resist the heavy boots and long black coat. I have to confess: That asinine description at the beginning of this entry was… no is how I sometimes wish I could be. There, I said it. I hope that by this honesty, that there is less of a façade for me to hide behind.
I really did use the name Roadwalker when I named this blog to describe a walk. But I also couldn’t shake this picture:
When I found this picture I couldn’t help notice the resemblance to the pictures of roads I have on my page here.
This is a tough thing to confess, but without the truth being told I don’t feel like my writing is worth as much. I confess that I am something of a wannabe. Not was, am. So thank you for indulging me with this self-indulgent entry today. And thank you for bearing with me as I confess an embarrassing fact about myself. Hopefully this confession is a step in the right direction, taking away the layers I hide behind to find out who I really am.