I have this thing about song lyrics. That is not new news.

Sometimes I love a song when it’s lyrics could’ve been mine, especially if I had any writing talent. Sometimes I love the lyrics of a song when the lyrics are 180 degrees away from where I am, or where I’ve ever been.

And then there are songs like “Indonesia” by Amos Lee. It’s a little of both.

To begin with, I am baffled by the song’s title. Read the lyrics here, and if you can tell me how those lyrics relate to the title, please clue me in.
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There are only a couple of lines of “Indonesia” that apply to me. But that hasn’t kept me from having the song on repeat.

Lately (and especially since January 20th) I have had the desire to go out to the countryside and find a place; a desire to run away and hide. The idea of going to Rome or NYC, before they get vaporized, is also very appealing.

The refrain…which I invariably sing along with…has absolutely nothing to do with my current situation, and pretty much never has. But that doesn’t keep from singing along all 8 times with the “when will I be free?” refrain.

I don’t wake in a box….haven’t had a supervisor in forever…and don’t know where I’ll die, but sure don’t expect it to be St. Francois county, MO. But how could I be any more free? Seriously. Is it possible to have less ties than I have?
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People often seem surprised that I don’t have pets, especially when they know that I often house-sit, which is more accurately called “pet and plant care.” I tell them that I do like most dogs and cats, but will never own one.

There is a simple reason that I don’t have pets: I’m too irresponsible and too impetuous.

I always have been. I like to be able to get up and go whenever and for how ever long I want. You can’t do that if you have pets. Well, maybe you can, but it takes effort that doesn’t interest me.

An example of my impetuosity: 40 years ago was the first time I saw the Redwoods. Three of us were sitting around playing 3-handed spades in the first place we ever lived in Corvallis. It was after 10 on a Friday night. Some homemade blackberry wine had been consumed. None of us had ever been to the Redwoods.

From the time one of us said “let’s head for Crescent City” until the ’74 Super Beetle was packed, no more than 10 minutes had passed.

A few Vivarin and some Mountain Dews, and away we went. In less than 6 hours we had traveled almost 300 miles, marveled at some big, beautiful trees silhouetted by moonlight, and were sitting looking at the Pacific Ocean…waiting for sunrise.

That wasn’t the first time that something like that happened. And it most certainly was not the last. There were many times that on a Friday night, after I had burned through a fifty dollar bill buying happy hour drinks at Portland’s Veritable Quandary, that we would pack up on the spur of the moment and head to the beach or the mountains for a couple of nights.
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I know I’m lucky to have lived the life that I have lived and that I live today. There have been some bumps and hairpin turns. But relatively speaking, it has been smooth sailing.

The answer to the songs refrain of “when will I be free?”: yesterday, today and tomorrow.
(If the question was “when will you be impetuous” the answer would be the same….)

The answer to “why is this song called Indonesia?”: beats the shit outta me. But I really don’t care. It doesn’t matter.

Be. Just Be.