Falling When You Jump

So I'm driving today, one of those long aimless spurs through the Columbia Gorge. I'll stop at a coffee shop somewhere, as long as I've never heard of it before, the owner is also the server and she's over 40, and the only music is a jukebox, the kind with vinyl singles. I know, I'm picky. It's one of my things. Shut up.

I think best this way. Today the circles in my head tell me we're starting a new website. It matches you with your future self. Depending on how much insight you can give into the way you are now, you can pick from more versions of that self.

Let's say you've been through some things, and you've taken pains to be aware about it, that helps the site figure out where you're going. You remember, those times where you trusted someone-- over whether they'd bring the car back on time, or do the laundry like they said, or not break your heart like they promised, you know, everyday shit--- And it ate away at you because the sense that you were about to be betrayed was thick in your nose like the smell of burning plastic. Then the Lady of the Lake appeared, deus ex machina, and your faith was rewarded. I know you remember those times, I do. They stand out.

F'rexample, you forgo a Friday night of bourbon and haze to sit in a coffee shop with this dude, he's more casual acquaintance than friend, says he's having some rough patches with that woman. She's that one where you were in the same bar as the both of them that night, the night they remember meeting. So he thinks you two have this connection, you're his Sherpa or his rabbit's foot, he gets those two confused. Then there it is, the two of you Nighthawks sitting there in a window table like you're posing for that Hopper painting.

As an offering to karma, you decide to do it without fidgeting, giving those Gotta-Go signs, or looking at your non-existent watch like you usually do. Then sunuvabitch if just as you're about to go Evil Twin on yourself, he says something that's a little toss-off phrase for him in his thinking-as-he's-talking therapy, but that phrase, it twirls through your head and pops the top off some emotional can of constipation you didn't even know you'd been struggling with.

So Bolt From The Blue you realize that there's this thin electric blue line that connects everyone. Maybe it's the same one the Hippies and the New Agers jump up and down about, maybe not, who gives a crap. It's there like gravity-- You can believe in it or not, you're still falling when you jump.

I'm out to Latourell Falls by now going east, the 2:00 pm sun is already on the fade, it's winter in Oregion. I'm still thinking about this website we're doing. What it is, you get to answer some questions, about yourself, your past, your future. You don't have to post a picture, because you already know what you look like. I'm trying to build it as bullshit-proof, because you know how most people are about surveys: We judge other people on their words, we judge ourselves on our intentions. The algorithm for that one is a bit more complex than I thought. I think I haven't opened my doors of perception quite enough yet.

Eventually you are matched with one of your future selves. Stay with me, this part is still a little inexact. The algorithm, again, has to filter for multiple paths, actually millions of paths, because that self of yours, it's having these millions of daily interactions. The one at the coffee shop, that one really moves things along, you wouldn't believe how many future selves that eliminates (and trust me, the ones that get eliminated, you didn't wanna know from that guy to start with. He smokes generics, a lot of him. Jeeziz).

Hell, even things you don't consider matter in this deal. You keep a stone-face or you smile to that person you pass on the street-- You know, the one who's in that ethnic group or age group or economic group that you get to look down on so you can feel better-- You smile, like a Real honest to shit smile, it works wonders. You do more of that, our computations get easier and easier. All that: You pet the dog instead of kicking it, you give back the extra change they give you by mistake at the Safeway, you create instead of wish, you do instead of watching someone else do.

Now I sound judgmental, though. I mean, it's your future self, do whatever the hell you want with it. I'm just saying, heads or tails on that coin, it all makes a big difference.

I haven't exactly figured out how you get to meet your future self yet. This time travel thing, I know if you watch sci-fi you think it's easy, you get all glowed up and disintegrate into all these sparkly little bozons and leptons and there you are in medieval England or somesuch fairytale. Thing is, there's this physicist Ori from Israel that says you can travel through a time loop that looks like a doughnut-shaped vacuum, and since it's a loop you could go farther and farther back each time. Honestly, most of which doesn't interest me, unless it somehow hinders people from ponying up the $14.95/month for the site subscription. Christ, I'm not working for the Red Cross here.

My team tells me that relationships factor big into the calculations. It's the everyday ones, yeah, but the intimate ones, those are huge because they're catalystic. My teams calls it the Human Acceleration Factor (Don't use that, we've already service-marked it). The stay or go, the commitment to the everyday, the falling when you jump, we're working hard on that. So close to a breakthrough. The rest of it, it's this half-ass formula that any professor who ever consulted on Good Will Hunting would probably step on like a cigarette butt. I can't say exactly, because again, the legalities, but it's half Marianne Williamson, half Nelson Mandela, and half Bertrand Russell. I know, 3 halves, it's a quantum model, it's possible. Don't bother me with details, I'm a big picture guy.

Finally, there's Skamania, and I cruise right on into Stevenson on the Washington side, to Jolinda's for coffee. She sees me come in, knows the contemplative look, knows to bring the Americano tall and strong. We'll talk later. She'll like the website idea.

I slide into the booth across from 65 year old me. He's an unpaid consultant, so far. Very helpful. I stir in a little sugar, we smile the same smile at each other. I don't have to ask him how we found me. He's explained it a bunch of times and I don't understand it, but he says I will in about 10 or 12 years.