Two Paths Diverged...

Written by hand, when I could not sleep. 2.55am.

I approached a fork in the road. ‘Two paths diverged’ ahead, though not in opposite directions: neither path veered away, but only gradually did they drift apart. Entirely unremarkably, one road seemingly paid the other no attention. Nonchalant. Indifferent.  Faced with this junction, I analyzed both choices. Neither looked particularly worse or better. They were all but indistinguishable; everything I knew about what lay ahead on each path I had learned from the past. They would inevitably lead to further junctions, bends, twists, hills and other geographical oddities that ornament the days of all our lives with trials and decisions, problems and solutions.

I cannot remember the first fork in the road that I passed, but it would have marked the moment where my mind became self aware, and understood the intangible concept of choice (and its logical consequence “WHAT IF?”). I would have chosen the left or the right, depending on some conditions or factors that hindsight would have later rendered unimportant. Trivial. Irrelevant. What matters is that the choice had been made. One foot in front of the other, I would have strode forth, cautiously optimistic and yet with one eye on the adjacent and meandering path that was not chosen.  No doubt my mind would have been keen to remember that choice, and as the unchosen path meandered alongside, I would see it begin to drift away, aiming for the horizon.  But before that path would have reached its goal and drifted out of sight (or was it I that had drifted?), I would have seen it fork, then fork again. Simultaneously, the path I would have been traveling on would split as well, and I would be forced to make another choice before moving forward. At that moment, I would look behind me to the previous fork, trying to reiterate and recapture my reasoning and motives that had ultimately made me choose this path. Consistency would be key in reaching any goal. Contradiction would lead me in circles.

Then I would have glanced to the path not chosen and its various forks, bends, weaves. Each fork had two arrows, essentially road signs presenting the two options. I would not have been able to read the arrows: my path had drifted too far from the other; it was now shrouded in the deceptive fog of the unknown. Knowing I should not be concerned with the unknown paths, I walk forward choosing, say, the path to the right (or was it that path to the wrong? To the left?) At the consistent rate at which time passes, I would have made these decisions, each choice adding to the myriad of possibilities that could have been chosen. I assume this is how the story of my first choices went, because I do not remember.

At night, I would stop and sleep, and I know that the dreams in my head was simply my spirit skipping across the yellow fields to other paths, seemingly at random. Had I made different decisions, those dreams might have been a reality, for better or for worse, and I would be dreaming of my current situation. Not in the ‘there’ of my dreams. Those paths could have been chosen, but they were not.

Where might I have ended up if I had chosen the other path when making my very first decision, that ignition of the Primary Choice? Those paths have long disappeared over my horizon. Or have they? Perhaps at some point the other paths have joined to the one I am presently on. I have noticed other roads merge with mine in the past. Surely there must be multiple ways, varying methods of reaching the same end? If they all end up at the same point, then fate has a firm clutch on my mind and soul, and stopping to ponder each direction could be viewed as a waste of precious moments of life. I would just be a rat in a maze and it’s only a matter of time until I find the one way out. And as I ponder the value of pondering...it strikes me that every path essentially does lead to the same destination: they all lead to the unknown -it actually doesn’t matter which one you take, they DO all have that consistent destination. Hence, fate might as well exist. I do not know whether this is tragic or cause for celebration. Another path to choose, I suppose. My mind wanders...

Here I stand at this present dilemma, seeing two seemingly identical paths only slightly deviating from each other. One to the left, one to the right. Of course, I seem them as virtually identical now, but in time I will look back and I will not be able to imagine a starker and more fundamentally contrasted set of options as the ones I am faced with presently.

Now suddenly, I begin to question the rules to this game. Say I choose the left path, and as I wander along it, I keep my eye on the unchosen alternatives. I imagine I frown as I realize I might have been happier on the right path. Can I turn around, trace back my steps to the junction of importance and select a new route? Is there a way that I can I return to the point I was at? I might not necessarily regret the path I chose, as it would have given me its own share of life experiences, and the wisdom and knowledge to know I would not make that choice again. Can I change directions in mid-swing, drop everything and run?

I would suppose that if I tried to turn around and run back, the result would be similar to those dreams, nightmares where no matter how hard I try to run backwards to the junction of concern, I gain not one inch of ground. I glance ahead again. It’s impossible to tell if my current path will meet up with the desired goal. Curse the fog of the unknown! It feels unwise to continue this direction when I have no passion for it.

Uncertainty might seem to slow me down, but then I think of the hunter tracking the herd. He saw the deer herd bolt out of sight when alerted to his presence. They headed west, but the hunter does not simply set his compass west in pursuit of the goal. Instead he stares at the ground, cautiously tracing the tracks. He knows that if he runs west, eyes on the empty horizon, he will never catch his prize. Only by following the footprints one at a time will he have any chance of reaching his wandering, elusive goal. It would take patience, to be sure. But the only way to not lose grasp of the goal is to not lose sight of the plan. One step at a time.

Presently, I still stand at this fork. I know I will not be able to turn back once I choose, but that each final decision leads to more final decisions. Only by keeping my eyes on the trail directly in front of me, and only by keeping my mind on the goal, will I have any hope of finding satisfaction. With that, I need to pause to determine the goal, and then the plan. 

Because even though all roads lead to the unknown, we still have the freedom to decide what we want to learn, know, understand along the way...and it’s ultimately wanting to make these choices and taking the initiative to imagine our own opportunities that gives rise to each divide in the road. Carry on.

Mmm

I was on my way to General Studies (my favourite and most attended class), and decided that due to the dropping temperatures, a steeped tea from Tim Horton's would make it an even more enjoyable experience. The line wasn't too long, which made this an easier process, too. But for some reason, people wait in line for 10 minutes just to buy a coffee, and then they get to the front of the line and when they are called forward with an 'I'd like to help you here!', they are somehow distracted and hold up the whole line because they won't go order their coffee! Come on people. Pull it together!

So what should have been a 5 minute wait is now pushing 7.5 minutes (brutal!), and yet I'm still in perfectly good spirits. I promptly approach the counter and get straight to the point. No need for small talk. Down to business:

"I'd like an Extra Large Steeped Tea, three sugar, two cream, please."

"What?"

"Steeped Tea, please. Extra Large, triple double." I quickly repeat.  I realise I don't know which one is triple and which one is double. Is the 'triple' part of that referring to cream? Or sugar? Who makes these rules?

"Um.." she turns around and has a conversation with a coworker, which appears to be entirely unrelated and then comes back to take my money. I have already counted out the $1.73 in exact change, and am looking to get this done efficiently. She takes my money and I move down the counter. I receive my steeped tea in good time, but from past experience I know I need to stir it. So I open the lid ..and there's no cream or sugar in it. I explain my unfortunate circumstances to the closest employee, and she quickly takes my cup, dumps out about 1/4 of the steep tea, and adds the cream and sugar. The cup is still about 1/4 empty, so she reaches for the pot and fills it back up.

"Wait!" I said, pointing to the pot in her hand, "Is that steeped tea?"

'You ordered a steeped tea, no?" she replies with attitude. I smiled and walked away, thanking her.

I'm walking through the hall and decide I better take a sip before venturing outside to my next class. I crack the lid and take a sip. And stop. My already large eyes get even wider--so wide, that if we were at laser quest and the little kids saw me in the black light, they'd scream and cry (therefore making it easier for me to shoot them repeatedly and pin them in a corner...throw in an evil laugh, and they're scarred for life! MUAHAHAHAAAAaaa...).

Something was different about this steeped tea. Really different. Really wonderfully different. I smile at passer-bys, as they look at me suspiciously. What has happened to this Steeped Tea?

I replay the situation in my head, consult my taste buds, and come to an exciting conclusion:

That last quarter cup they filled my cup with after adding the cream and sugar: it wasn't tea--it was COFFEE!

Holy brown cow this is tasty, I think. I felt like I was holding a classified, world-altering secret in my hand, and that anyone finding out about this might try to destroy it, because mixing tea and coffee has got to be a faux pas to the extreme. People wouldn't only frown upon it, they may revert back to the 5th century BC and stone me to death. I moved quickly through the halls, avoiding eye contact. I realized there was a small chance that the Tim Horton's employee might have realized her mistake and come running after me to apologize, only to see me smiling as I sip the hot beverage. Then, naturally, she would be furious that I would like such a liquid, and feel compelled to call her rich uncle to hire hit men to come silence me for all time. So I was late for class, doubling back and making sure no one had followed me. I seemed to be safe for now.

"Hey Josh," says Jenn, a wonderful girl in my class.

"Jenn, I have to tell you something. I just discovered the ninth world wonder!"

"Um....what's the 8th?"

"Well currently, there's a debate whether the 8th world wonder is in fact sliced bread, or whether it's me."

"I think it's probably sliced bread. What's this new number nine?"

And I proceeded to tell her the story of this phenomenal new drink. I would not share it with her, however, because I was sick.

She didn't immediate whip out a scythe and kill me, so I could take comfort in knowing that there are some people who won't be terribly offended by the monstrosity that is tea+coffee.

All that was left was do name this drink. Then I could market it to the masses. if the name was good enough, I believed that people wouldn't be angry about the sacrilegious product.

teCofee?
Coftee?
toffee?
coteafee?
glorp?

These suck. Darcy suggested something more psychologically appealing. And then I had it:

Mmm

Yes, that was it! What better marketing scheme than telling them how to react to my product before even tasting it! Hahaha! I could almost see the millions of dollars pouring into my bank account! When I tell them about my product, they'll be inclined to strangle me, but in the end, they'll put down their razor wire and snuggle up in front of a glowing fireplace, saying "Mmmm..."

So consider this my copyright notice. I introduce you to Mmm, the 3/4 tea, 1/4 coffee, cream and sugar drink that does not give you wings, it gives you a rocket pack. It is the best part of waking up. Just watch out for the hit men...

The Crunching Of Leaves

I didn't really make plans with anyone today. Which is normally not a big deal, but this week has been a grand series of highs and lows and twists and turns. And no one likes to go on a roller coaster alone. Actually, I don't even like roller coasters.

I went for a slow walk with no destination in mind, and it turned out to be somewhat meditative. I walked along the very edge of the sidewalk, where all the windswept and yellowing leaves collect as they begin to fall from the trees. Every step became very rhythmic as one foot would land on concrete and the other would crunch the leaves. Such a satisfying feeling. It's like audible progress; every stride takes me further into who-knows-what. But the endpoint is not the reason I'm walking. It's for that crunch of every meaningful step forward.
Sounds like a metaphor.

I'm definitely a people person. I go crazy pretty quickly when I'm alone. It's not necessarily that I don't like silence, or that being alone makes me think about things that I'd rather glaze over with meaningless conversation. I could thoroughly enjoy that same walk if someone was walking along beside me in silence, making sporadic comments about a well kept tree on the left, or a old lady contentedly raking leaves on the right. Just sharing that random experience with someone can be rewarding for me. You know the way kids are with grown-ups, that they can say anything and it wouldn't be a big deal...but they just talk about the simple stuff.



Fall is an interesting time, isn't it? We go back to school, slightly pessimistic in a way, because we can't say things like "I'm so excited for summer!". We know that we are getting back into that grim life of homework and exams and studying. It can only get colder and grayer from here. After such a high which we call summer, it can be a bit depressing. But at the same time, going to school means meeting new people, learning and doing new things. We start playing our favorite sports in the mornings; we develop that routine. We have a chance to be productive again. It's almost like the death of summer is more or less a rebirth for people. September is that fresh start. It's optimistic in that sense, right? That 'go get em' attitude seems to prevail.

I feel that certain numbness coming on again, though. Like I'm about to 'check out' and coast on through. This last week was a week of grand possibility, one might say. But as we hit the weekend and head into the next week, it feels like we're a on that hamster wheel. On and on and on. Round and round. Maybe in your own way, you can relate. Because I'm sure this seems extremely vague.

What is it I'm looking for? Someone? Something? A goal? A plan? Novelty? A constructive routine? Jelly beans?

Yeah, that sounds about right.

I'll keep on keeping on, for sure. Don't get me wrong: I'm in no way miserable about life. I'm very excited to see what happens. I want to achieve and win and grow. I just have forgotten why we push so hard for success and perfection. I need a reason.

I guess for now, that perfect sound of leaves beneath my feet is reason enough to keep me ambling along. What a beautiful day!

A Dented Confidence.

It hurt a little.

...that's not a great place to start. Let's back up.



I was working at Safeway on Saturday. I drove to work so I could go straight from there to a friends house to help him record a song. Now, this van I'm driving doesn't have power steering. My dad has taken it in to get fixed several times, but they kind of shake their heads the way only brown people can, and with a sorry smile, they say "No, we won't fix this." Why not? "It's too difficult." It's too difficult? Usually they charge more, not piteously smile and shake their head. But what can you do? I will just pretend I've actually got the muscle to steer the van. (I think I've actually lost muscle over time. I'll blame this on the fact that I'm now living on my own, and when we run out of food, we'll usually go a week longer than we should before buying groceries. Starvation saves money, after all! Try it sometime!) So all this to say, that when I drive to work, there's only a select few parking spots that I can actually park in. Fortunately, today it's available. So I strain and pull and twist and struggle into the parking spot. I try to make sure no one can see me do this because they will clearly think that I'm having a stroke, or that I'm drunk, all hunched over the steering wheel. I try to keep a composed face, like I'm the coolest mini-van-driving-guy ever, you know?

I go into work, and proceed to hate life a little more every minute until I realized I've reached an unhealthy level of depression, so I take a break. Since I've only been at work for, oh, say..twenty minutes, I decide to make it a short one and call a friend. I sit outside the front of Safeway and chat. I randomly take a look at my car which is about 30 feet away.

"Hey...sorry, I gotta run. Yeah they need me to get back to work...Mhmm. Talk to you later. C ya."

Oh but I'm not going back inside. I've noticed something. On the back window of my car, someone has written something in the dust, and it doesn't seem to say "clean me." I casually walk a few steps closer, only getting close enough to read it. I mean, if it says "Hey Josh, you're a cool guy!" then there's no need to go over there and wipe it off or anything, right? But as I wander over, I finally make out the letters. It reads "ASS HOLE! " clear as freaking day. I stop in my tracks about 6 parking spots away, and look around as casually as I could in such a stressful and traumatic situation. No one seems to have psychically realised that I must be the guy who drives that van, so for now I'm safe.

I realised I needed to get this writing off. However, there is an old lady slowly walking towards my car, and it would be terribly embarrassing should she see me smudging it off the window. She'd pass by and yell "Young Punk! Don't be an asshole!" and then she'd report me to Safeway for being uncool. So I slowly walked behind her as she inched along. To the average passerby, I must have looked totally suspicious: with a pained expression on my face, following an old lady to the edge of the parking lot.

Just my luck, she opens the trunk of the car beside mine. Great. What now? And she totally sees me awkwardly standing 3 feet away from her, my eyes darting back and forth between ASS HOLE! and old lady. ggyyaahh....awkwarrrd.

It's decision time, I thought. I casually leaned up against the window of my car, looking slightly up into the sky, as if resting momentarily before continuing to a more respectable and cleaner vehicle that must be mine further along the row. And with deft skill of a deft, skilled fox, I swiped my elbow across the window, did a 180, and headed back into Safeway. HA! I thought I handled the whole situation pretty well.

I'll never know why someone felt the need to write such profanity and underline it. I think it was due to the power steering issue. I wasn't right in the middle of the parking spot. DEFINITELY not over the yellow line, but impolitely crowding the car next to me. But it's not even worth the effort to try and fix it. I'll tell you what, though...

It hurt a little.

He may not have dented my car, but he dented my confidence for the moment.

Come on! I try here. Sorry you bought too many groceries to fit them in your trunk, and so you had to use the back seat. Sorry you have a car with such massive doors and it made it difficult to get the groceries in without getting your soft new jacket dirty on my van. But no seriously, sorry about your new Jacket: It was ugly before it got dusty, anyways.

After work, I walked out to my car, and realised that after all my deft-skilled-fox-moves, I had missed the writing with my elbow while looking at the sky. As I stood there shaking my head at my poor coverup job, some guy walked by, his eyes darting back and forth between ASS HOLE! and my dejected figure. He laughed. Busted.

It's Been A While. I've Missed You.

Okay, so this post will quickly summarize my last week. why? Because if I just skipped over the seemingly meaningless events of the last seven days of my life and then next week i wrote a post all about this crazy gorgeous girl who came up to me and said "hey, that is one sweet jacket! You wanna hang out tonight?" you'd all be like "hold on Josh...what jacket is this? why weren't we informed?" and i would feel bad because the artistic measure of this blog would fall based on my inability to properly foreshadow my conversation with said gorgeous girl. so. are we on the same page?


First of all, i'm still sick. friiiick. Last time I was sick was May. The WHOLE month of May, too. I can't do that again. I have now taken:

Echinacea
NeoCitran
Advil
Nyquil
Vitamin C
Halls
and the aforementioned unmarked pills.

Quade has more medicine than one person should ever need. Ever.

But my slow death is not keeping me at home. Last week, I went shopping for new clothes. Hold on....that needs to be emphasize a little more.

LAST WEEK, I, JOSHUA MANERIKAR, BOUGHT NEW CLOTHES!

I never do this. I never go 'shopping' for 'clothes.' I may wander the mall, enter stores, pick out different shirts, pants, shoes, and the like, but I'll never try it on, and unless its a red t-shirt, I won't buy it. It's depressing. I used to shop with my mom. She'd pick out all this stuff and I'd be like 'mooooommm...seriously.' And then I'd try it on and 93.4% of the time, I'd love it.

Then I would go shopping with Leslie. Which means I paid for it. So I would never buy as much. But Leslie would pick stuff out and I'd be like "Okay." No argument. If she liked it that was good enough, since I didn't much care. It's not that I didn't want to look good. I just never knew what DID look good on me. I never see anyone out there in the world that reminds me of me, so I never have a fashion role model.

Enter Brynn from stage left, Jon from stage right. That's right. They surrounded me. Bombarded me. FORCED me to go shopping. (that's not really true). We went to the supposedly fantastic new mall north of Calgary, and the battle began.

Interruption: I will be paying for school this month, I was hoping to have a second job downtown by now, and bills are due. Hmm? Oh, no reason.....totally irrelevant information...continue.

"Hey Josh. So here's how this is gonna work. I'm going to hand something to you," said Brynn, "and you are going to put it on. Okay?"

"Aight." She has no idea how hopeless this mission is, I thought.


They gave me things like pink t shirts, and v neck sweaters.

Hold on, I'm Josh, and I don't do V-neck. Why? Because I'm not this guy

This guy sports the V-neck and skinny Jeans. He listens to screamo and has a girlfriend who threatens to run away from home because her dad won't let her get her tongue pierced. This guy's room is always a mess and he writes sad lyrics on tiny scraps of paper. He probably likes his mini-wheats soggy, too.

I'm not that guy.

Hold on said brynn. We aren't done.
And she handed me a white button up shirt and then I was this guy:


Well--besides the whiteness and the jockiness, and the "I'm probably an ass in real life-ness"

But Frick, I thought. I don't know what guy I am. And if awesomely cool people like Brynn and Jon think this looks good, then I suppose other awesomely cool people I'm sure to meet will also like this. So, screw it. I'll try something new.

Then I bought another t-shirt, and Jon picked out a long sleeve shirt and jacket. Everybody loved it. It was probably about $200 all together. That part, I loved not so much.

That night, we went out to a show at a coffee house, and I saw this girl. She worked there. (I know right? ANOTHER coffee girl.) I was wearing my new jacket, and so I was pretty hot. Not "good looking hot", necessarily, but it was toasty in the coffee shop. And I caught her eye, and she smiled (very pretty smile) and walked towards me......Oh I'm not even going to finish this story. It's as anti-climactic now as it would be at the end of the story.

Whatever.

FST:

Free Spaghetti Thursday was a mini-success. Mini because there weren't a lot of people here. Success because that's what I wanted, and the people were 100% quality. A few randoms from a previous show (so we played them some tunes that night), and friends of friends. Good times, top notch noodles. There's now a facebook group, so it's freakin official. Search :Free Spaghetti Thursdays.


Guys. It's Sunday. School is on Tuesday. Who will run away to Mexico with me and forget all the troubles we know we are up against this semester? Like...Who's going to shovel my sidewalk when it snows. And all the money I can't afford to spend on hot London Fogs and Chai Teas once I bike to school in the cold early morning.

PS. Side note. We emailed Pilot Speed asking if we could open for them for their calgary show on October 3rd. Todd personally replied! He said no, there's too many bands that night to add another, and that he'd check out our songs! AMAZING. Could that have gone any better?

.......

*Star struck*

A Taste of Pavement

On June 25th, I got hit by a car.>>

Here's the story...

It was 11.10pm and I was biking home from Safeway after work. I was heading eastbound through the stoplight intersection at Dalhousie drive and Dalford Road. It was dark(I was wearing black pants and shoes, and a brown hoodie. No helmet. Feel free to chastise; I fully understand how stupid that is), and the streets basically empty. The wind at my back, I was going at least 40km/hr through the stale green light. A black SUV (Hyundai Santa Fe) approached the intersection from the opposite direction and signaled to make a left hand turn (across my path).

Fully comprehending that I had the right of way, I proceeded through the light (as I did, it turned yellow....irrelevant) expecting him to yield. He slowed down for a split second and then accelerated as he turned--smashing into me and my bike. Luckily, he hit the back half of my bike, narrowly missing my legs. I catapulted forward about 8 feet and bounced along the pavement landing primarily on my left side and face. Again, this is that moment where I cringe to think about how it should have been since I had no helmet. I wish I could remember the actual flying-through-the-air part, but your brain shuts right down when things like this happen.

My bike landed on top of me, pinning my body to the ground. I couldn't move a muscle. First word out of my mouth: "OW!" in a more irritated and strained than frantic voice. I could feel my legs and feet, but the weight of the bike was too much to pull free from without extreme pain. Almost a minute later, as I laid there trying to catch my breath and figure out if I had broken anything, a white man in his early 30s got out of the SUV and walked slowly towards me.

"Hey, buddy," he said in a vaguely curious voice, "you OK?" He stops beside me, staring down.

Heck no, I'm not okay. I just got hit by a car. What a dumb question. But I'm breathing, not gushing blood, and nothing is broken.

"Yeah...can you take the bike off of me?"

I laid there trying to figure out how to move my legs without sending brutally sharp pain up to my neck. A car slows down beside us and rolls down his window. "Hey guys...did you know your car is blocking the road?"

I looked at the black SUV behind me. He had completed his turn and then stopped. Fair enough, it was blocking traffic, but could this guy not clearly see I had just taken quite the fall?! I shook my head at him. Gosh, I thought, now I feel bad since I'm blocking the road too. Pffff...idiot.

Almost as soon as I stood up, I checked my bike for damage. The handle bars wouldn't turn, but nothing was noticeably messed up. He handed me my backpack and water bottle and said "I'm sure I had my turning signal on, so I don't know how that happened. I didn't even see you. But you seem to be okay, so i'm going to head off.

This frustrated me on so many levels. First, I don't care if he had his turning signal on. That means he plans on turning left--it doesn't imply that he's planning on taking out a biker as well. Also, just because I can stand up doesn't mean I'm fine. I still couldn't stand up straight. I had lower back spasms with every step. My bike wasn't in working order. How did this guy expect me to get home?

I made a note of his license plate and car make/model, and told him he should drive me home. He said he had to pick up his fiancé from Safeway first (she worked at the Dalhousie store). I laid on the side of the road and called Darcy. I calmly told him that I was hit by a car, and asked him to look up the legal aspects of this situation. I definitely handled the whole thing with a level head. The other guy (his name is Andrew) was either in shock (understandable) or not very bright. He dropped me off at home where we inspected the damage on his car: a powdering of dust from my bike. I later realized my bike was in perfect shape; the handle bars had just been turned 360 degrees, causing them to not turn properly.

How is this possible? I was hit pretty hard with no helmet. And all I had to show for it was a tiny cut on my ankle from the bike landing on me. My bike was in perfect shape. DUST on his bumper? Granted, my body has been a mess for the last few days and only now can bend down to touch the ground. But seriously, I got very lucky.

I filled out a police report the next day. The police called in the driver (Andrew) and asked for his version of the events.

Andrew claimed I knowingly ran a red light and apologized for it after he hit me. Funny, since he offered to pay for any bike damages. The cops can't really rule it one way or the other since nobody else saw this happen. I don't really know what my options are legally, but I plan on finding out. I wouldn't be all that angry if he hadn't lied. But now it's war.

I have more to write about, but it can wait for a couple days. Congratulations for actually reading this whole post...sorry for the length. Feel free to leave a comment.

Bonus joke: "Doubly-wrong"

"Hey Josh, I saw just-born kittens today. I named one 'Cat'. "
"Of course you did, Darcy, that's just like you: simple and minimalist."
"One of the other ones was named Napoleon."
"As in the explorer, or the ice cream?"