(To the Tune of Man of La Mancha)

I’m probably over thinking this but what would you do if one day you decided you needed to become like Don Quixote and seek some new windmills to defeat but in choosing your loyal squire, Sancho Panza, he or she suddenly decides she’s Don Quixote and you are HER Sancho Panza, be-atch?  Should I be offended? Should I demure? Perhaps in this day and age of egalitarian sex roles and relationships one should just split the difference and be a little of both…..a little bit Don and a little bit Sancho, a hybrid kind of Don Sancho, which at least sounds more impressive then Don Panza, who I believe is a lounge singer in Vegas.  Maybe I should back up a bit and let the reader catch up….

 In a previous CaptCliff blog detailing my inner thoughts and IBS related problems with severe gas and bloating, I proposed to journey West, to California, the land of the free and the cosmetically enhanced to seek fame and fortune and really cool upscale bathroom fixtures like the electronic urinal at the Madonna Inn in San Louis Obispo. Echoes of my childhood sang to me as I now, at age 58 years old, languish in my semi-retirement at my abode, the well known Nevercompletelyremodeled Ranch in Sandy Springs Georgia (not to be confused with Michael Jackson’s inspired kiddie porn mansion in Santa Barbara). I knew that such an inspired quest would involve exquisite planning, a detailed intiniery, and alot of gas, both of the petroleum and Gas-X variety. I also realized with my kind of ADD, disorganized type, such a trip would need a loyal sidekick with all the mental strength and organizational skills I genetically lack. For their sake, the epic journey forth should probably also include a gas mask and a strong sense of humor. Fortunately, my friend Amy from the Nordstrom’s Rack saturated suburbs of Chicago practically defines these broadly outlined skill sets. She is smart, spiritually advanced (she has some weird swami like designation due to years of practice in various obscure healing arts), artistically inclined, and is similarly at a time in her life when the road beckons and self-discovery calls….beyond watching Planet Earth  on cable TV for the 5th time, that is. She is my Sancha Panza to my Don Quixote, I thought!! Voila, when she called me coincidentally  from LA, mentioning that her neck wrinkles in Brentwood made her stand out among the surgically enhanced denizens like a Thanksgiving turkey in late November, I knew that the cosmic forces were operating at full force, unlike my intestines and GI tract, I suppose. We quickly compared notes and realized that we both needed not so much a break from life but rather a confrontation with whatever was holding us back. I’m not even going to give you the IBS analogy to THAT one. Do some of the damn metaphoric work, yourself…dammit.

Anyway, I admit to feeling both excited and scared by the prospect of meeting Amy, or Don or Sancho or Sancha in California because it means not only do I have to dip into my Frequent Flyer miles which I hoard like jars of cheap spaghetti sauce from Big Lots (dont mind the superficial dents), but I have to face my own demons and psychological fears. What if I cant get over my Facebook addiction and get stuck in a Holiday Inn in Barstow with no hi-fi signal and a sub-par bathroom lacking adequate ventilation? What if I not only cant operate a GPS or smart phone to find our way on the treacherous Highway I toward the enlightened New Age workshops of Esalen Institute, but , more importantly, cant get my inner GPS to tell me what I want or need to do with the rest of my Baby Boomer life??  I guess I dont need to worry so much if Amy wants to be Don Quixote or Sancho Panza at this point. Maybe what i really need to do is trust that there is a beautiful road called “adventure” stretched out before me and that every journey starts with a first step….and my three pack of Immodium from Costco.