Our Lady of Perpetual Astonishment

I met a random older fisherman at a bar in West Yellowstone. During his first triple shot of Bacardi on ice, I learned some and laughed a bit. Somewhere in round two, he suddenly asked me if I knew I’d broken hearts. He was sure I had, serious. I couldn’t laugh. I’d meant to become a legend. I didn’t intend to cause pain. A dream somehow realized that has been heartbreak for me as well. I never wanted to be known, only to be wanted. Now I am committed to work that involves being known and it’s terrifying and normal and boring and altogether the biggest adventure of my life. The first time I was considered brave for traveling I was baffled. “I was running away,” I tell people, “I didn’t feel brave.” Bravery is another person’s assumption that I had been known, somewhere at some time, and left it for unknowing. Most of everything I’ve ever known is unknowing: it took me a very long time to get acquainted with my self. To be alone in a strange place with few resources; to make my way on kindness, willingness, and open mindedness. To be “Good, Giving, and Game” in my experience of the world. That I am already in love with the unknown is a gift, I am sure. An expensive one.