Illicit Transactions

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An arranged rendezvous in the early evening at a small town park in eastern Connecticut. Was this a set-up, the kind you hear about from the annals of Craigslist, or maybe even Tinder? As I waited in the parking lot, were ruffians ransacking my house of whatever valuables I had? Try not to make eye contact as cars enter the parking lot. Best not to look too obvious at the risk of tipping off the authorities of certain illicit activities of controlled substances, or sins of the flesh. Who is the older man sitting alone in his car? Is he a creep, or just a lonely dude with nowhere else to go? Whatever the reason, it can’t be good.

A car enters the periphery of my view and I get the sense that this is my co-conspirator, the other half of my contemplated transaction. The car pulls within a few yards and my eyes strain to size-up the situation, while not looking too anxious. The door of the other car opens, signaling my need to initiate a response. A young man emerges while a younger woman, probably a girlfriend, remains in the car. I approach with the contraband, reaching my hand out with perfunctory greetings. Simultaneously, I hand over the item, a mirrorless camera, another casualty of an aging man seeking to lighten his load in the journey through the second phase of life. After a few questions and answers, money is transferred and we go our separate ways. One leaves with a new tool for life’s pursuits, the other leaves with money in his pocket and hopefully improved clarity to navigate his remaining life.

I have accumulated many things over my forty years of adulthood, markers by which I can map the tides and currents of a life spent in search of inspiration and purpose. These markers are indicators of a chartered course that defies predictability, evidence of randomness, or maybe even chaos. When you are an explorer, the crumbs left along your journey beg rhyme or reason. When the destination is unknown, attempting to understand the waypoints is an act of futility. I have discovered the importance of discarding items that no longer fit into the puzzle I struggle with, pieces of someone else’s picture, sponges that soak up precious time and attention. The weight I carry is declining and my breathing is becoming less labored. Maybe illicit is too harsh of a word to use; however, these kinds of transactions break the customs of a life that will crush even the most hearty of men. I may die from the journey, but I will breathe easy as the sun nears the horizon.

#Simplifying