Roll back the clock to some distant past moment in your life. Who were you then? Who was the most important influence over the person you became from that moment? What do you think of that person, now? If you could guide your past self, give them a word of advice or redirect their attention… would you? What would you say? Do you ever look back and… wonder?
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
I found myself thinking about my early influences as a young adult, yesterday. The remembrance was sparked by seeing a 1975 interview of Hunter S. Thompson in my video feed. I had watched that interview then (or excerpts of it). At the time he made a huge impression on me. It would not be an exaggeration to say he influenced my approach to writing. Was the actual person who was Hunter S. Thompson likely to be a “good influence” on a brain damaged bookish ‘tween girl eager to explore the adult world? Hardly… and by “hardly”, I suppose I mean to say emphatically “no”.
I look at the smoky hazy morning sky. The air quality is looking pretty bad. It’s probably not ideal to be out here walking in it. The weather report calls the air quality “acceptable” today. I’m not sure I agree. (I can feel that it is harder to breathe.) The moon that had greeted me as I left the house was a distinctive rust sort of hue, against the night sky.
The funny thing about the people who influence us most (and I don’t mean those vapid performative self-identified online “influencers” shilling products to make a buck), they are also other human beings, having their own experiences and fucking shit up more often than we can ever know. Just other people. Humans being human. Growing and changing over time just as we each are, ourselves. They aren’t really any different, in that regard. We are each having our own experience. Walking our own path. That’s an idea worth facing, embracing, and making real use of. Where does your path lead? Is it your own, of your own choosing, or are you chasing someone else’s dream?
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I can taste the scent of wood smoke in the air. The haze has become, overnight, sufficient to obscure the view of the hills and mountains to the west. The sky is a peculiar color. The wind has changed direction and now it’s our turn to see sickly orange-brown skies.
I sit a little longer thinking about the various influences there have been over the woman I have become, some positive, some not so much.
…I don’t actually recall where I thought I was going with this; I am distracted by the strange smoky sky, and now it is already time to finish this walk and begin again.
Evening Light 