tangential meditation

My life is one long, lovely tangent. It seems I always end up perpendicular to my goal. For instance, today. I got onto Itunes to purchase Josh Ritter's "Kathleen". Ten minutes later, I bought Dar Williams' "The Beauty of the Rain" (and no Josh Ritter).

Or, earlier this evening, I left the cloth store to go to Office Depot to buy some plastic sleeves for my students' notebooks. I landed across the street from Office Depot at Target where I bought contact lens cleaner, hygiene products, including a toothbrush, several greeting cards, a plastic box, and heart shaped York peppermint patties. I didn't exactly execute Plan A.

I find I do this whenever I work or write. I set out on what seems to be an obvious, straightforward path and end up somewhere else. This afternoon I wanted to work on lesson plans. Instead, I did four loads of laundry, cleaned and organized my bedroom and bathroom. My essential goal of being productive was met, but I didn't hit my target at all.

I have a knack for getting lost. It's rarely a "in the dark of an eerie forest with an evil villain chasing you" kind of lost. It's a more of a "rambling in an Greek village where none of the citizens speak English and realize you have no idea how to get back to your hotel" kind of lost.

I wonder if my goal-setting mechanism is faulty or if I'm allergic to every To Do List I write. I love writing TDLs. In fact, my lengthy lists always become jokes with my roommates because I never look at them again. I'm a Random Abstract in a world of Concrete Sequential. It's odd because I'm so terribly pragmatic. In short, I'm a dessert recipe that calls for a tablespoon of tarragon. I just need to chillax as my twelve year-olds tell me.

Whenever I needle myself about this idiosyncracy, I inevitable return to the JRR Tolkien poem:

All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king.

In a world of shiny people who write and execute 10 year plans, I feel like a wandering, lackluster dolt. But, perhaps, this is not so. Perhaps, my proclivity for getting lost is a gift. Maybe my tangent is leading to the exact point I need to be in the straightest way. The tangential nature of me and my life leaves me feeling like a stranger in a strange land. And, after all, I am. We're on a journey where not all gold glitters nor those who wander are necessarily lost. This is not what Madison Ave. would have us believe. So, I gain my bearings by burrowing into every glorious story I can get my grubby hands on.