Last night, we had a great show at the College of Mt. St. Vincent in the Bronx, New York. Great sound, great folks, great coffee (it was Dunkin' Donuts, and we all know how I feel about that). Plus, their campus is apparently haunted, and for all I know, it could be. I mean, they have a building that looks like a castle.
Tonight, we drove up the road a couple of hours to Hartwick College. The state of New York really is pretty - lots of hills and trees and all that jazz. When I travel like this I always remember the joy I had when I was a kid when I saw something new. I can remember going to Washington, D.C. in the first grade and feeling blown away. Somewhere, somehow, I lost that feeling, and I've come to associate big cities with feelings of waste, excess, and pollution. Seeing all the lights on in a big skyline used to be something like Christmas; it became to me a beacon of burned resources. New York has wowed me, though, and brought back that same crazy enthusiasm I had as a child. I feel like such a tourist, but I don't really care - I've never seen a city quite like this. It really makes my heart burn to go to Europe. I hope to one day.
I've missed being excited about stuff. I've had people close to me tell me that I don't really get excited about things, and while I always feel a little surprised by that, I can see their point. I come from a line of worriers, and I guess I would say that I tend to temper any enthusiasm with "realism," which more accurately translates to "cynicism." I want to be excited again. I want to experience as much of this life with eyes wide open, not fearing what may happen, but looking forward to the unknown with a childlike joy. I can't help but wonder how my relationships would be if I saw the world like my daughter Molly sees it. I hope she never loses that feeling.
I hope I keep it around for me, too.