Happening:

Seeing through the smoke


Christopher Gallagher

Opportunities, changes, and a goodbye to a friend

Ar 180309985
Courtesy of Stephanie Gall

Chris Gallagher and David Holub, at Cosmic Omelet in Manchester, Connecticut, in 2017.
Ar 180309985
Courtesy of Stephanie Gall

Chris Gallagher and David Holub, at Cosmic Omelet in Manchester, Connecticut, in 2017.

There are those sayings you have heard a thousand times, the ones that firmly form that border between Quite Trite and Oh So Deep. You know the ones: “This, too, shall pass,” “Change is the only constant,” “Every beginning comes from some other beginning’s end,” and their ilk. The kind of stuff your grandparents quietly whisper to you while the rest of your family mutters and moans over your latest gaffe. The kind of stuff that goes in one ear and most of the way out the other until later that night, as you lay awake staring at the ceiling, trying to think your way to a better situation. When it returns, just a whisper, “This, too, shall pass” and you bolt upright in bed and realize that Bamps may be the wisest man who has ever lived.

Cannabis, in her own way, is wise like a grandparent. She whispers her plant wisdom to us when we commune with her, assuring us of the peace we carry in our depths but fail to remember in the midst of the hustle and bustle life throws our way. She brings a softness of focus when things stand in the harshest light, whether it be the annihilating blaze of our most difficult revelations or the blinding burst of those things we are not ready to face yet. Sometimes life is hard. Maybe someone you love dies. Maybe a relationship ends. Sometimes you wonder why.

Maybe the police come to your door at 5 or 6 in the morning like they did mine and you end up on the front page of your hometown paper and the entire surface layer of your life goes out the window. Maybe only two things make you feel better: your grandma telling you, “It’s OK, darling ... just another chapter for your book,” as she has a few times through the years, and that one day a month, after seeing your probation officer, when you can do a couple bong hits and lay down and breathe and let things go for an afternoon and begin the slow process of flowing into your new life.

Things do, in fact, constantly change. We go where we go. We meet who we meet. We do what we do. Sometimes it all feels the same, but the details never stop replacing one another – a new car, a new pair of pants, maybe a bigger pair, a couple new friends, a change of address, a change in our diet – and one day we look in the mirror and chuckle and barely believe we ever thought what we thought and believed what we believed and a space opens up inside of us to accommodate our constant change.

Maybe a friend calls and offers you an opportunity like I was offered at this magazine. And that space that opened up inside you just happens to include a reservoir full of interest and energy and care and all the other resources needed to do this thing well and you never would have known it existed if not for the opportunity. And while you work together and enjoy the work, you have to remember every once in a while that, this, too, shall pass and it is important to take a break every once in a while, maybe spin a nice spliff and enjoy it while it lasts because maybe someday your friend will follow the space that life opened up inside him to allow him to flow into his new life.

So, that’s what I am going to do right now. I am going to roll one up and reflect on the past two-and-a-half years of work here at DGO under the steady hand of our founding editor, David Holub, and with a smile, wish him the best and thank him for being the best. Godspeed.

Christopher Gallagher lives with his wife and their four dogs and two horses. Life is pretty darn good. Contact him at chrstphrgallagher@gmail.com.