Kick the Dog

Strolling the board walk with your designer dog in the morning. Coffee and clothes after a late brunch. Gathering around the preverbal hearth to pass the evening in good company and spirits. This is the perfect day. Among the steady and content, my adventurous heart is mistaken for reckless behavior. So what I ski fast? You are going to hurt yourself! Yeah, probably. So buttons, I live for the thrill. The edge. Don’t tell me how to live my life, and I won’t kick your stupid fucking Pom Pom in the ocean next time I feel the urge. I love gap jumps and heart skipping ascents. You like peppermint mochas and your sporty little AMG. Let us celebrate our differences.

Once on the edge, there is no retreat. Seeping into every crevasse of life, manifesting into action or chaos. Every day. As a child, gaping portable staircases on my bike. In college, blacking outing on weekdays and stumbling into quiz sections and tennis matches shit faced. As an “adult,” working 80-hour weeks and ripping mountains in every free second. Then a week of type two traveling. I will explode otherwise.

A few years ago, my friend asked me to visit his family’s ranch in Sauz de la Sierra, Michoacán. After I reveled in his stories of exquisite natural beauty, earnest locals, and cold cervezas, I booked my flight then and there. I dove into the culture and community as soon as I got home. Upon breaking the surface, I knew the trip would require special preparation. Michoacán is a cartel-controlled state in Mexico, and a do not fly zone for American citizens. I threw back my head back and laughed at God. Sir, you did it again.

Within 24 hours of touching down, I was robbed by the police and riding in the back of a pickup to pick up a broken pickup. Here I began my cock fighting career and started building my cartel network. I picked up our mezcal right at the source in plastic milk jugs and befriended the village gunmen. I cannot elaborate on many of these stories for my future in this capitalist society and my mother’s nerves. I am thankful that the military intervention did not escalate, and the cartel leader was joking about removing my eye.

Maybe I am a crazy bastard. However, a thrilling life is just unintended side effects. My curiosity is my true addiction. On the edge, I find a life of mystery, adventure. I throw myself from the middle of comfort into a centrifuge, ripped towards the edge of chaos in the search for meaning. A life of luxury is a commitment to one path. Which is fantastic. It sends your child to private school and allows you to be a contributing member of your HOA. I’m sure there is just as much to learn about yourself there too. Within goes deep. But the edge is my call. I cannot help myself. Maybe you shake your head in pity. Maybe jealousy strikes and hate ensues. Or maybe you simply smile and appreciate our mutual love.