recovery road

I love to travel.

Or, at least, I claim to love to travel. The two things may be quite different.

My writer and professional pal Jennifer Rose recently asked me what was happening in my life. She noted my essays written during my last four trips (Panama, Zacatecas, Zamora, and Australia) sounded as if I was forcing myself to appear happy. That some underlying angst was taking the edge off of my travel experience.

She was correct. And she did not have to rely solely on reading the tea leaves of my subtext. I have written about how my last two cruises left me a bit cold.

In her role as my internet psychoanalyst, she forwarded a Youtube clip to me. The clip is an Adam Sandler skit from Saturday Night Live. I almost did not open it.

And here is why. When Saturday Night Live started entertaining us late at night, I was in law school. It was cutting edge. Bracingly unorthodox. "Kill Gary Kilmore for Christmas" was not only outrageous, it was once of the best anti-capital punishment pieces I have seen. Memorable.

When the original cast left, the show began a slow spiral into predictably rather than inevitability. Sure, there were some very talented people on the show. Tina Fey comes to mind. But she was a big exception.

Adam Sandler was not an exception. His humor has never clicked with me. Every film I have seen him in has been painful. "Banal" would be a compliment.

So, I almost did not open the clip. I am glad I did.

Once again, Jennifer has tacked my id to the wall. I should let you listen to the clip before I tell you why. But I won't.

My problem is that I am somehow expecting my little adventures to change who I am. Like most people, I claim circumstances should not affect who I am. We all like to believe we surf on the waves of life's travail.

But we don't. I don't. Try as I may, I can claim that circumstances do not matter, that presence makes the difference. I then live the opposite of what I say.

It is not the trips that were less than satisfying. It was something else in my makeup. Something that has made me less than willing to enjoy what I claim to enjoy.

I don't yet have the answer. But that is never the point of psychoanalysis is it? Sometimes we need to be content with knowing the correct (or close-to-correct) questions.

And that is as good a place to stop as any.

Watch the skit. Enjoy. And consider.