Walden II

As I drive around North Georgia, from courthouse to courthouse, selling the homes of the unlucky, many things occur to me in my travels. North Georgia is pretty. I enjoy the scenery. I often think it would be nice to live in one of these towns: Gainesville, Greensboro, Canton, Cartersville, etc., etc. But I always return to Griffin.

A common thought: There but for the grace of God, go I. Life is so tenuous. What is to stop me from being the recipient of one of these foreclosure sales? Is the sale I cry the key to keep me in my house for another month?

The irony is that I often cry out foreclosures for my own personal mortgage-holder. As I read the foreclosure notice, I wonder what it would be like to receive a request for a foreclosure cryout from my own mortgage holder on my own house. I assume that the company that sent the notice to me would not send me a request for a cryout on my own home.

Today, I finished early and drove home. I checked on Kate and went back to the office. I waited on a client. Two clients; one didn't show. One did. I sat at my credenza and considered the growing piles of paper on my desk. I wondered at the things I do not know. The items I have not handled.

Tonight I picked up Cindy at work and drove home. I wasn't feeling well. I wondered if I was coming down with influenza. I drove home and changed clothes. I watched the news. I listened to the news of economic hard times and near disasters. I looked for good news among the bad.

I lay down in my bed and picked up a copy of Henry David Thoreau's Walden. When I was in the eleventh grade, my English teacher, a graduate of UVA, assigned us to read Walden. I will admit that I did not read the book. I took good notes in class, but I did not read the book.

Eleventh grade was an unusual year. Many good things happened to me in the Eleventh Grade. I was captain, MVP and Benny Morris Award winner in football. I was elected Student Body Vice President. Pictures of me look strong and more adult than my Tenth Grade pictures.

But at the same time, I was pushing the limits. I was refusing to read assignments. I was testing the limits. I acted presumptious and thought highly of myself.

In some sense, I was emulating Thoreau. I was testing the limits. Looking deeper. But at the same time, I was only scratching the surface.

In the early part of Walden, Thoreau states that most men live lives of quiet desperation. Thoreau posits that at Walden pond, he will simplify his life and find a deeper meaning in his life. This is the desire I have for my life. This is the part of Walden that I have taken to heart.

Last year, in the late Winter/early Spring, we drove to Callaway Gardens and I borrowed a pen to draw some wildflowers. This year, Cindy bought me a gift of some drawing pads and some pens and pencils. Earlier last month, I took my pad and pens and took the time to draw some wildflowers at Callaway.

I needed more solitude. I needed to find a place, like Walden, where I could take my pens and pencils and pads and try to replicate what I saw, without someone looking over my shoulder. Perhaps when the crowds die down at Callaway or when the wildflowers sprout at Indian Springs or some other location, I will find some time to relax and draw what I see.

Some people thrive in crowds, need others. Others search for a place of quiet where they can enjoy the solitude and grasp the world in which we are placed. I am such a person. From time to time, I need to allow Cindy and Kate to go to their beds and leave me in the quiet of the evening. To find that spot of reflection and see where my mind will take me.

Where am I going?