I spent all yesterday morning indoors. As I walked out late in the evening and squeezed through the huddled masses Union Square, I felt slightly disconnected. Underneath the throng in the bustling subway, a troubadour serenaded the crowd and lamented regrets about how the only guarantee in life is death. While I listened to his aria fade and watched the blur of graffiti pass by from the moving train, I remembered the phrases carpe viem, memento mori, tempus fugit and carpe diem.
I once lived as a country mouse in my poor home when a vagabond friend, a London mouse, inspired me to live life, travel, and see the world. I left a modest life in the Midwest for the hustle and bustle of the east coast, and even visited my friend in the UK. I have yet to explore many more places, including Scotland and still much of the States.
Dear Time, I missed traveling to Berlin and Portugal in 2010 because I mistakenly thought you were abundant. Now every alarm clock in NYC blares in my head, heeding me to travel more in 2011 and perhaps play my little pink guitar in some strange cities. I relish a road trip across America, Jack Kerouac style, so I may likewise chronicle my adventures. I want to go to San Francisco, kiss my sister, hug my nephews, and wear red sunflowers in my hair. I desire a hearty brunch with my grandmother and her lively old friends with a side of flavorful laughter followed by drinks and debauchery with familiar faces in Chicago. I long to jam at a High Voltage night in Los Angeles and to promenade down the Boulevard of Broken Dreams.
Life is short; time is fleeting. I try to balance my responsibility and ambitions in this life in the hopes of a good legacy. My mother helped create my character; she named me after the Errol Garner song Misty. As the story goes, mom was watching Clint Eastwood’s Play Misty for Me when she heard Johnny Mathis‘ signature version. She loved the sweet sentiment of the song and named me after the title, only changing the spelling to match that of my sister’s name, which was found in a magazine. As far as reputations go, I cannot think of a greater privilege than being named after such a breathtaking song. I used to joke that I would marry the person who took the time to learn and play the song for me, but recently and in all seriousness, I think I would rather do it myself.
I am seizing these days. I grow weary of wondering what I miss. At the risk of sounding cliché, as far as I know, I only live once. I vow not to take my home and family, nor the open road and my friends for granted. I will try not to stress and worry about things, like illness and other people’s eccentricities, over which I have no control. I swear to spend more days writing prose, reading stories, listening to music, and creating songs. I will also walk in Memphis again and make a musical memento at Sun Studio.
Today I feel more connected. Later this evening this trobairitz will serenade a crowd and lament lost love, regrets, and how the only guarantee in life is death. While they listen to my arias fade from a dimly lit room in the back of the bar, perhaps they too will remember the phrases carpe viem, memento mori, tempus fugit and carpe diem.