A Theory Undone.

I’m a former to fading theorist. I’m marathon runner used to finding marks and moving towards them so I never hit the wall 5 miles in or 5 years out.

Theory only works in theory though.

It’s a fickle term filled with logic, control, analysis and a healthy dose of neurosis. But as much surface and protective value as this little word might have, it comes ill-prepared to face the inconsistent and unpredictable “spontaneous-es and impulsives” of the world.

So isn’t a theory just a fancy and generally badly dressed cover up for the “what if?” Like the words heaven and hell, they provide comfort for those uncomfortable with the unknown. Sure, Einstein made a living from asking questions his whole life, and while his process might have cured his insatiable appetite for the unsolved, for the rest of us with less than genius brain capacity (only slightly less, I swear), the questions only rape our minds with tension and what feels like an honest to goodness old-fashioned aneurism.

I’m a creative.

An over-analyzer.

A student.

An unsatisfied freak.

A thinker.

A developer.

An unstoppable fucking cloud hopper.

A Samuel L. Jackson circa Pulp Fiction crazy-son-of-a-bitch-self-aware-accepting-forward-pushing-in-your-face-soul-on-legs,

wanderer. (not another word for bum)

Sure, wanderers ask questions. We anticipate scenarios and pick apart our brains and allow the over-analytical tendencies (commonly known as the X chromosome) to thicken our thoughts with oatmeal-style mush and ridiculously ludicrous fodder often used for comics and other men, apparently.

But wanderers are also students. We don’t presume to know the nature of the world or how it will work 5 years from now or even 5 minutes from now. Yeah, we really can’t keep asking ourselves if we step on a butterfly now, will it kill the world in 5,000 years?

We grow.

We learn…occasionally against the stubborn grain.

And in the end, we learn to be better. Better meaning removing the questions and replacing them. Not with answers that wreak with assumption, but with spaces. Gaps. Blanks. Holes that get filled in only as your story does.

How interesting would it be if I knew where I and my life would be 5 minutes from now like a bad film rushing to get to the end with no point in sight? (Uhm, I’m sorry Adam Sandler. Really, I am). I’m not a DVR. I’m not even a Blu-Ray whose clear lucidity rivals some of the best 20/20 vision on the planet. I can’t see that kind of stuff, at least not with the astigmatism and near-sighted gifts my father gave me at the time of conception that one summer night.

I’d rather walk into the dark than walk into the light. The light reveals imperfections and expectations at face value. The dark makes you find them on your own.

It’s all a big question, like broccoli between the teeth when you know you haven’t eaten broccoli in years. You don’t really know where it came from, you just know that you’ll deal with it as soon as you possibly can. Or, if you’re lucky the person sitting across from you will be kind enough not to let you walk through life with a piece of green floret stuck between your incisors.

I don’t live my life in theory. I just live my life.