What a wonderful day. The temperature soars to negative 12 degrees Fahrenheit. I woke at 6:30 a.m., the whites of my eyes cracked with red from falling in bed too late the previous night. This bitter day met me at the door like a slap to the face, the only part of my body exposed to its' greeting as I pulled at the knob. I inhaled deeply, welcoming the frozen air to beat my lungs to life. I could feel my blood begin to rush through its' veins and my eyes watered. A new strength came to me as I raced to beat the cold which was trying to penetrate my clothing before I could start my vehicle, return to the warmth of the indoors and finish my morning hygiene rituals. Mr. Winter won. Though the sprint caused me to become more aware than what I had been moments ago at waking. Took the sand right outta my eyes.
When I think about this life I live and the beauty of the land I'm in, I'd have it all no other way. I love this land. Yeah, sometimes you southern Minnesotans get on my nerves. All your, "Yeah, sure"s, weak coffee, repressed advertising customs and dang monotone cursing. But I really love ya'll. I'm one of you for cryin' out loud! In fact, I'm probably more a culprit of some things I try to blame others of doing than those who get the flak from my spit-fire.
Bills come and take, but days are unsure. This day is fresh and full of possibility. I started by disciplining myself with a little early morning jog and weight lifting at the 24-hr gym. Then rushed off to shower and open the family business at 9 a.m. But it seems I'm living like tomorrow is coming. I grow weary of that. I grow weary of myself. My greatest fear is that I'm not my own. Though a greater fear is that I'm on my own. I see us fear that we will only ever dream our dreams. That perhaps what we see as the desires of our heart are only selfish ambitions. We're in a routine, phisically and mentally.
Tell me what you're looking to find, Americans. Proof of your soul? Truth? That there's more to life than rituals and customs? Is everything mechanical? Does everything in this life have a formula? Do you see real meaning in the cogs of which you play a part? If you do, is what you see a vision of what waits outside the mechanism? The broken cog is the cure, my friends.
I want to be everything for someone. I don't even have to know them. Just to know that I can pull the sun into their view for an instant would make me proud. Too proud perhaps. Because I think that it's not even about the girl, the money, the Minnesotan comrades. It's about knowing that I can't fail. It's about reassuring me that everything will work out here in time, when I don't know that it will. I don't know that anything will be ok until the end of time. That all this fussing over what I did wrong, what I did right and what I should receive recognition for is worth anything. It's dead cold, I have failed and I'm a glad person. How? Something that transcends time, I believe.
I'm not gonna let it all become meaningless.
Andrew R. M. Hanson
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