Flip-Flop

we sit and make some small talk before it's time for me to get off at Ashby. he asks me if i'm writing. i tell him about this blog, but feel somewhat sheepish doing so. is this really writing? (if so, it's this kind of writing.) what happened to the zack who was writing books. who had a column in Kitchen Sink Magazine? who had an agent at ICM?

at meg's, i'm surprised to see sonja. sonja used to live with meg when meg and i were in love. sonja moved to LA years ago and i haven't seen her in ages. sonja and i catch up, and she asks me if i'm traveling. somewhat sheepishly i tell her about my planned trip to honduras; a week of diving at an all-inclusive resort. but is that really traveling? what happened to the zack who put his life in a carry-on sized bag and wandered around the world for a year without a plan? who flew to nicaragua for a month with no idea what was there? who had to get extra pages put into his passport?

it all makes me think about how people see me. to chris, zack is a writer. to sonja, zack is a traveler. maybe to grace, zack is the guy who works at the symphony. or who survived relationship-SARS. to meg, i'm the boy who made her heart flip-flop at fifteen, nineteen, and twenty-four. to my brother, i'm the man who keeps a step away. and to you, i'm what?

once again, i'm someone new. i feel like all these impressions of me are the rings one would see if i were to be felled like a tree. yes. i am/was/could be a writer, a traveler, the boy who makes your heart go flip-flop. today i'm the man who drinks iced coffee, procrastinates getting the NYT crossword, who wakes up remembering all his exes and how it felt to have them curled beside me.

a few years ago, i spoke with my father about the future. i said i had no idea what i wanted to do with my life. he confessed that he felt the same way.

so maybe the trick is not figuring out what you want to do or be, but accepting that you're never going to know for sure.