My mood is good and my spirits are upbeat. Currently my goals are very finite. Right now I hope to finish writing this sentence. Now I’m striving to finish writing this next sentence. The journey is all there is. Today is. I don’t trust tomorrow. I have mixed emotions about it. Part of me still has a plethora of dreams. Part of me wishes I had died before March, happily married, a plethora of dreams on the horizon. Part of me wishes IMPACT had been it. Time’s up. Take me during a moment of joy. Part of me is anxious to heal and curious to see how good I can get. Part of me is attracted to the other side, the next chapter, the big sleep, that good night. All of me wants to embrace the soul of the moment, the power of the heart and the joy or sorrow of today.

I don’t have much feeling for or against the faceless jailed Julie. I don’t want her to drive or do this to anyone else, and I’ll do what I can to stop her. The DA has a strong case with multiple charges and eyewitnesses. My personal injury lawyer is wading through her past and my insurance policies.

Yes, I’ll probably get back on the horse again. It’s too much joy to discard. The odds are in my favor now. I survived every rider’s worst nightmare: a drunken driver suddenly swerves into your lane. Had I been on a bicycle, I would have been a squashed bug. Had I been in a car, who knows? I’m not going live my life terrified that every car may suddenly swerve into my lane. Take me during a moment of joy.

Dreams and desires? Heal. Sell the company. Stop. Pack. Move. Ride west. Fly far east. Bike New Zealand. Dive the Great Barrier Reef. Rent an apartment in Thailand, Vietnam, Fiji, Tonga. Explore the Galapagos Islands. Spring in Spain, summer in Scotland, fall in Love, winter wherever there’s warmth.

And stay away from 44 year old women. Two hit-and-runs by two of them in six months. Three’s a charm? One lessen I’ve learned: The second IMPACT was easy. All the pain in all my broken parts can’t touch the pain of one broken heart.

Last Saturday my dear friend and erstwhile companion Stephanie picked me up for a birthday party. I opened the door and she said, “You know what, you look…” (Pause.) “Well, you look…intrepid.” I said, “What, like the aircraft carrier? Things are flying off my head? What does it mean?” She said, “Oh, bold and daring with a hint of persistent and determined thrown in. Overtones of a clever explorer dealing with unexpected things.” Hmmm. Intrepid, eh? I suspect she noticed my “beard and stache” and thought my face was “interrupted.” Or I looked like some lost arctic seaman, wandering aimlessly on an ice floe, unable to shave because of frozen fingertips.

Define it as you wish, but Oxford states: “INTREPID. Resolutely fearless or dauntless. Brave, courageous and bold. An intrepid explorer.” I’m going to go with that. I may even lose the name Scott. “Ahoy, me name’s Intrepid F. Jones. No, no, not Indiana…Intrepid. The F? Frankenfoot. Back off or I’ll bleed on you.” ( Previous page )

If anyone asks you
how I am,
just say,
“You know what?
He’s intrepid.”

ã2002 by Scott Jones, Winston-Salem NC, USA, 27.09.02  

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