Last Saturday afternoon Mark and I took a little drive over to Patrick's Point Park a few miles North of Westhaven, hiked out along the rim trail for a mile or so. Great vistas, even with a windy drizzle on. For those of you who haven't been to the Pacific Northwest, there's really nothing like it in terms of raw natural power in a coastline. I suggest you take it in before you die.

It was a good chat. The crisis of meaning is an everpresent first-world problem. Those of us who ascend Maslow's Pyramid of Human Needs, we get past the basiscs of survival and safety and living within a society, and then we're buggered by things like having a social circle that esteems us, and finding that inner source of purpose and reason.

And we're not getting any younger. Mark's 27. I'll be there in another month. We can joke all we want about the 35-to-55 sweet spot for having a family, but the truth is if you want to get there in style there's groundwork to be laid.

(On a related note, I came home to find the only mail that had piled up was wedding-related, from friends. Everyone goes through this, I'm sure, but it sure is new and interesting to me.)

But groundwork. Where and how to begin? I await revelation, listening to the wind and to my guts, searching for way to call down lightning, sniffing around for signs and wonders.

My ability to plan my life has always been somewhat light. What is a plan? A list of things that probably won't happen. Surely I can make decisions, pursue goals, change courses through the exercise of will -- I believe in all that -- but all the Great Things that have ever happened to me came through synchronicity and luck.

I'm an accidental person, embracing the unexpected. It is written in my soul, my genesis. I maneuver into the moment and channel my talents and instincts based on the situation. It all sounds more hippy-dippy on paper than it feels to me inside. I still have great expectations and outlandish ambitions, and I really believe this kung-fu is the best way for me to get shit done. So it's not as though I'm a lost soul or one of those Tolkienesque wanderers. The internal compass and gyro units still run strong, but how this squares with putting together a whole stable life remains unknown.

Awaiting revelation the question rattles: do I settle down and start playing by the rules, or do I persist in my alternative/outlaw style. Instinctually the choice is clear -- I'm an outlaw baby; a ramblin' man -- but the suit grows around me through fear of the unexpected: something demanding medical insurance, a death in the family, who knows what might happen. "Be prepaired," a certain voice says. Ironic: what's the difference between these unexpected events that I should settle down in preparation of and my long-awaited sign from heaven? It's in the eye of the beholder I suppose.

I need to get out from under the weight. This is why I want to get to California for the summer. This is why I want to stop working for political groups and start working in politics. This is why I want to tear down this old website and get back to my roots.

The square world isn't going anywhere. That's one of the nice things about it. It's high time to hew to the ethos.