A Letter to Emerson - Between Sunsets and Campground

Emerson Chronicles: An Open Letter to Emerson

Who is Emerson? He is a bit of an enigma - a part-time poet and full-time drunk. He is not famous or a celebrity, but he's what some might call a ladies' man, although, after a night with him, they often wonder why. Silver tongue devil...

In hindsight, Emerson seemed full of insight, inspiration, and whiskey, but not necessarily in that order. 😉 I wish sometimes I had been smart enough to tell the difference back then...

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Dear Emerson, 

I’m not sure where this letter will find you. I hope that you are well. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you stumbling into a bar. I’ve been thinking about you and some of our adventures. You always seem to know what to say to me.

I’m damaged goods.

I’m not whole.

I’m not even sure where I belong these days, and it’s hard to find a reason not to feel this way. I’m sure I need therapy. Every time I turn on Social Media, it tells me I need it, plus boner pills, and women. Honestly, all of that seems like a lot of work – the wrong kind of work.

You might think I’m suicidal, but I’m not. I don’t want to die. I’m just not sure what to do with the time I have left. It’s not that I don’t have anything to do either. I have work. I travel. I can occupy myself. I think that’s it, I’m just occupying myself until… what… I die or something else happens. 

I’m dying, well, not in the sense of immediately, but time and tide wear us all away. Eventually, I’ll be dead. I don’t know where or when…

You might think it would spur me on to do something, to get me out of this… whatever it is. 

I’m faking it. I put on the sincerity and the empathy to deal with the world around me. However, I’m just going through the paces with one foot in front of another. 

You can call me depressed, and maybe I need a hobby. I bought a 60,000 camper van, which is an expensive hobby. I’ve been in it, driving to the various campgrounds, and spending time with nature. Yet.. I’m still this.

Another thing Social Media tells me is that I need God. If I give myself over to this being of power, I can be happy. Most people who believe in a divine power are suffering worse than I am. People who fall into the “It’s God’s Will” camp are not facing anything; they are running from their fears and hopes.

At least, I feel like I’m being honest with myself. It’s what I tell myself.

I have a son. His mother and I split and divorced right before he turned one. We weren’t meant to be, is what I hear. I don’t know. I think it was because neither of us wanted to do the hard work. It was easier to come undone. It’s been twenty years since then, and I think about that moment still.

However, I’ve tried to make sure the fallout didn’t fall too much on my son. It wasn’t his fault that his parents were horrible to each other. His joy has been a source of pride to me. When I’m with him, I feel less damaged. 

Despite our best efforts as people, I think his mom and I raised a good human. I’m still not sure how that worked out. There are so many stories out there where children from divorced parents are even more damaged than their parents. I did what I thought was best at the time, and it seemed to have worked out. 

You’d think after 10,000 years of human civilization, someone would have at least had a manual written for being human.

Instead, we have numerous books, each offering a different perspective on what it means to be human. It might seem incorrect to categorize us as a single species; perhaps we are many, which is why we require all these varied guides. I'm being sarcastic. In truth, we humans are indeed one species. 

Douglas Adams wrote in his series The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy about a woman who had figured it out. She had figured out how humanity could actually work, and no one needed to be nailed to anything. Then Adams blew up the world.

Maybe being damaged is the best I can do for now. I’ll be dead soon, relatively speaking. We have such short times on the globe. I hate for it to end on this note. 

There is a story about Death, how she walks the earth and collects the lives of the people who have died. She collects an older man, a young adult, and an infant. Each asks Death, “Is this all I get?”

Death says to them, “You get what everyone gets, a lifetime.”

Maybe that’s the trick. A lifetime is all any of us get. I don’t know if I’ll use mine wisely, or if I’ll keep stumbling forward one campground at a time. But maybe that’s enough — not to fix myself, not to win anything, to live until I don’t.

A lifetime. That’s what I’ve had so far. That’s what my son is just beginning. If being damaged is the price I paid to give him something better, maybe that’s not the worst bargain I could’ve struck. I’ll try to spend mine honestly, even if that means being damaged.

Yours always,

Dono

January 10, 20225 - 70mm, f/9.0, 1/1600, ISO 100

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