There used to be a news, traffic, and weather station that had a key phrase. “Know before you go.” I like this line. I think this holds true to more than just traffic and weather. In fact, this holds true to life.
But please, allow me to explain.
Before going forward, I want to be clear that this is something from a personal perspective. I want to be clear that what I’m about to share is based on my experience. This is not to point fingers or say what is right or wrong. Instead, this is to reveal what it was like for me in teen centers and adolescent rehabilitation centers. I want to be clear about something treatment was a benefit for me. There were others with me at the time. And for them, the outcome did not turn out quite as well. I can say that I know why. I can say that they were inaccurately placed and became part of institutionalized system that did not get better for them.
The world is a much different place when you’re young. Then again, everything is different when you’re young, crazy as ever and willing to dare it all on a whim. The world is so big and new, yet so small, consisting only of you, your friends, your family, the town, the same places you go and the same things you do. I knew there was more for me out there. I knew where I stood. Or, at least I knew where I was trying to stand. There are so many unspoken components to our youth. There are impulses and changes, which we cannot understand. There are different pressures to young life; pressure to fit and belong; pressure to perform and to produce.
I knew there were more things to do and more places to see. Like anyone else, I had a drive to be elsewhere. I wondered what it would be like to live somewhere else or be someone else.
There are so many things that I haven’t seen. There are so many places I haven’t been to and things I haven’t done. But I’m here. I’m waiting. I’m ready, Mom.
I’m looking to experience, smell, touch, taste and see new things. I swear that I’m ready this time. I think age can be a problem — not to be too young or too old, but either can be the culprit of why we cease or desist. I think this is a mindset. You know?
I think this has to do with the way we see things. I think this has to do with our fears, our concerns, our wants and needs. I think what holds us back the most are obstacles in the mind. It’s our thoughts. It’s our ideas and our worries that the worst will come true.
There is a way things work. Everyone knows this. We might not always know or fully understand the science behind something like a light bulb or the way electricity works. But at minimum, we know that if we flip the switch, the light goes on. The same can be said about a car. We might not fully understand the work behind auto mechanics, but, it’s safe to say that we know what happens when we turn the ignition, start the car, step on the gas, and go. I simplify this, not to be silly, basic or to insult anyone’s intelligence. Instead, I simplify this to create an easy example.
I have been part of the regular working world for about three decades. I have worked as a salesman. I have had easy jobs and tough jobs. However, for the last 23 years, I have what I call my “Day job,” which is what I use to feed my family. Over the last five years, I have been working an extra job to feed my heart. One job feeds my family and the other job feeds my sanity. For me, it’s that simple.
When I was a kid, someone told me that when it rains,
it means that God is crying
I figured, “This must be where the sea gets its salt.”
Maybe this is why I find comfort in the tides.
Maybe I come here to weep too.
Maybe this is why I love the anonymity of the shore:
each wave comes in to wash the sands
and each wave goes out
(to take away our secrets).
I am writing this ti empty my thoughts. I use this as an exercise and write my words without direction or coercion and without any force, except this, to free myself, — to breathe, to live, and to excuse myself from the mental congestion, which does nothing else but hold me back.
Are you ready?
Good, because here it goes . . .
It rains today. The sky is gray and the morning is quiet. The streets are wet and the blacktop on the street in front of my home is sort of glistening beneath the morning light. The white lines on the side of the road and the double-yellow lines down the center are a stretch down the country road where I live. Spring has sprung so the trees are exceptionally green where I live now, which is up in the mountains but not too far from the streets of New York City. I’m just over a bridge now and farther north. There is something peaceful about this morning. The grayness and the rain is fitting and comforting and yet, this is sad as well. Perhaps this is an acknowledgement of what this day means. Maybe Mother Earth knows. Maybe this is why she rains sometimes because she weeps too.
I recall the sunrise on the beach in Fort Lauderdale. I remember the warmth and the breeze that moved through and palms in the palm trees. I made sure to be up early to watch the sunrise. Ever see this before? Ever watch the sun come up in the sky with the ocean below? The horizon starts with a band of orange, which grows and eventually overtakes the sky.
There was a somewhat old man with tanned skin. He was a little more than middle aged, wealthy, spoiled in some ways but mainly drunk and someone that always seemed to find me in the mornings. I didn’t know the man per se. I only knew him because he was staying in the same motel as me. He would drink all night and sleep most of the day.
I have a strong belief in the visualization process. I can put this as simply as this; if you want it then you have to see it. I believe in the value of our visions but more, I believe in the hunger this creates. I believe in the need to see things to whet the tongue and have the taste for more. I have to see my dreams. I have to detail them. I have to know what they look like so I can build them. Otherwise, what am I looking for?
Another thing I believe in is the need for support. I believe in the cheering section and how this needs to begin with one. namely me, or you, or us. I believe that in order to find motivation, we have to create movement. Otherwise, there is only stillness in which case, where do we go except for nowhere?
I am older now. I am out of range from my past. So are you, by the way. Older. Out of range. We are out of reach from yesterday’s grip. No matter how close this seems. Yesterday is still gone and neither of us live there anymore.
I am far from the time when I was lost but yet, there will be times ahead where I will feel lost again. And consequently, there will be times when I am found once more. There will be days when I am enlightened and delivered. There will be days where I am confused and burdened.
There is of course, this journey we call life. There is the search for “Self” and the drive to achieve or “Arrive” so-to-speak. There is the need to fit and the need to understand and comprehend. More to the point, there is a need to achieve balance. There is a need to find that station in life, in which all is stable or harmonious. And too, — there is the misunderstanding that balance or serenity is the absence of adversity.
I suppose the reason I began to write is simple. I began to write about my thoughts because I never thought I could tell anyone about them. How could I tell someone?
Besides, writing is writing and telling is telling, which means I am safest here. There’s no judge or a jury. There is no one around to reveal or expose me or worse, there is none here to humiliate me. Plus, who would care to read something written by me? Who would care? I was too scared to dance and scared to sing. I was too scared to share myself in any way that might unmask my deepest vulnerabilities. After all, I was just a kid, right? I am still a kid at heart, yet I have grown. Or perhaps I should say I have outgrown the old layers that buried me deep beneath my life.
I admit that yes, I have said this before. “Damn kids!” I admit this and laugh because I remember being a kid and laughing when some old person shook their fists and shouted the very same thing.
I remember this. I remember the differences between the generations and the communication gap, which seemed to be ever-widening. There was us and them, the young and the old. Between the two views, never the twain shall meet. I say this with full recognition that this is an old, outdated saying, which means two things are too different to coexist, relate or understand each other.
Where does anything begin? I suppose we begin everything from the start – and since we all have our own story, this means we all have our own page one. This means we all have our own beginning, middle and an end.
I think about this. I think about the different chapters of our life, which leads me to think about the opening of David Copperfield by Mark Twain, in which it says, “Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether this station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show.”
Music [ myoo-zik ]
An art of sound in time that expresses ideas and emotions in significant forms through the elements of rhythm, melody, harmony and color.
The tones or sounds employed, occurring in single line (melody) or multiple lines (harmony), and sounded or to be sounded by one or more voices or instruments, or both. Musical work or compositions for singing or playing.
The written or printed score of a musical composition.
Such scores collectively.
Any sweet, pleasing or harmonious sounds or sound.
I see you. . .
It wasn’t so long ago that I was you. But yet, I have to correct myself here. I have to correct myself because I was never you and you were never me. We are both entirely different people.
I was much younger once. I can say this for sure.
I was certainly much younger than I am now. I was once a different person and in my former life, I thought differently. I lived differently and viewed things through different eyes. I was perhaps misled, but yet, I was still me. I was raw. I was unsure, frustrated, afraid of so much, and yet I was brave enough to dare the world (if I had to).
The other day, someone said “There are 7.5 billion people in this world and you’re going to let the opinion of one person stand in your way?” I have heard different ways this has been said, but yet, hearing this the other day was as if I had never heard this before. And suddenly, a light went on in my head.
I like this way of thinking. I like this because it is true. There are billions of people in this world. There are so many different ways to become the person we want to be, and yet, for some reason, we allow people to interrupt our path in life. We allow people a voice in places where they have no say. We take things personally, when in fact, most times people say or do something this has nothing to do with us. This is more about them than anything else, and yet, we adopt this. We accept this and we take this in.
There are those that talk and there are those that do. I suppose the real question is who do you want to be in this equation? Do you want to talk about your life? Or, would you rather live it? The question itself is simple.
Keep in mind, each and every one of us has a dream. We all have hopes and wants. We all have desires and ideas. We have visions that can often be clouded by our perceptions and doubts. We have distractions that provide obstacles that aren’t even there. I find this amazing. No one else can see this the same way. No two people are exactly alike and although dreams are shared, this does not mean that everyone has the same desire to achieve them.
I sometimes wonder if art has been lost to technology. Or maybe it would be safer to say that art has been stolen right before our very eyes and no one saw it coming. Or did they?
I can say that the written word is hardly written anymore. It is more often typed now, or texted maybe. The glory of the pen to paper has been hijacked by small, handheld devices. I can say that yes, this is true and that yes, I have signed on to the social media bandits and yes, regretfully, I admit my attachment to my cellular device as if the device itself is more important than my wallet or my car keys.
As a writer, or wait, as someone that writes their thoughts down or as someone that even wrote a letter or a post card, can you remember the first time you felt the ballpoint pen on a page? Can you remember when your thoughts flowed into ink? Can you remember ever writing something down that was so freeing that the ink on the page meant more than just the words that were written?
I still see them sometimes, the bullies from my past. They visit my thoughts when I least expect them. I see them in both old ways and new ways.
I see them on their social media pages wit amazement. They are parents now. They have children of their own. And yet, I wonder how they would respond if anyone treated their child the way they used to treat others.
I wonder about a father of three and the one son with Down’s Syndrome. I wonder if the jokes he used to tell are still funny. Or, does he make the noises he used to make while picking on someone with special needs? Did his jokes change now that the jokes hit too close to home.
There are defining moments in life that are more than just defining. They are undeniable, They are the moments that we can never get back or retrieve again.
This makes them all the more priceless. These are the days of our youth. These are the times of our life. These are the moments, like say, the first time we were on a bicycle and realized we were doing this all by ourselves. These are the moments when we saw something so profound, like Mom and Dad standing together when they were young. These are the memories we carry with us. This is what shapes us. This is what makes us who we are and helps defines who we become.
This is somewhat a bit of an abstract theme. What I mean to say is this is only an exercise and so from here on, I will write in a stream of consciousness. There will be no rules. No form. And more importantly, no excuses or explanations. No, this is from me.
This will be from the inside and with no apologies. I will see this as a means to clean house — and by house, I mean the one upstairs inside my head.
There is one lesson that I’ve learned which has been helpful to me. And this lesson comes after years of living with my own losses. This comes after me finding a sense of recovery, which has been ongoing after the loss of my Father and then certainly after the loss of my Mother. I have lost friends and relatives. I have seen death, up close and personal. and through it all; I have learned that above all, grief is very personal. It is not my place nor is it my right to compare my grief or suppose that mine is worse or better. Grief is grief and loss is loss. Period. End of sentence.
I try not to entertain the old thoughts. I don’t give them much room nor do I welcome the old dreams, but yet, they still come. I have them. The drug dreams, which haunt me sometimes.
This is why I never tell war stories. This is why I never glorify the old life because first, that person wasn’t really me and second, there is no reason to glamorize or glorify a lifestyle that does nothing except destroy.
Negativity is the enemy of creativity . . .
Ever hear this before? I have. I’ve probably heard this more times than I could imagine. But yet, sometimes we hear things and other times, we hear the meaning.
I heard this comment yesterday as if I had never heard this before. Yet still, the quote stuck with me. Negativity is the enemy of creativity.
I thought about this during a mild bout with anxiety and insomnia. I thought about the various enemies that hold us back, I thought about my thoughts and ideas that can become burdensome or problematic. I thought about the feelings and changes we go through both internally and externally. There is life in front of us all. We all live with this.
Be advised that yes, not everyone plays a fair game. Not everyone shares or is willing to take turns. In fact, there are people that look to take more than just their share. There is a “Me first” mentality in this world, and for the record, I see no reason to deny this. I see no reason to pretend like this does not exist. Instead, I prefer an honest assessment. I prefer a true inventory because as long as I am being honest, this allows me the ability to see the difference between things within my control and things that are not.
There is a true phenomenon that takes place when we live in the conversations in our mind. First, we take on the energy of these conversations. Next, we take on the emotion of these conversations, and finally, we become these conversations. This can go in either one of two ways. Either we think ourselves sick or we encourage ourselves to become strong.
The thought machine is an interesting place to be.
See, all the positive affirmations in the world and all the intellectual thinking does not exclude us from emotional truth, which is thought uses energy. Our thinking can be like a loose thread that unravels and becomes haywire. Thoughts can cause us to have that emotional avalanche; in which case I mean, one thought can lead to another idea, which trickles into another and snowballs into something uncontrollable.
This is life while caught in the thought machine.
When I listen to people talk about punishment or the penalties with regards to crimes, especially crimes of violence or crimes that involve substance abuse or any abuse for that matter, I often wonder if people fail to realize that punishment is not always a deterrent.
Keep in mind, I say this while thinking about some of the people I have met throughout my life. To them, time is just time. And to them, whether their time is spent in places like Rikers or Otisville, Sing Sing, Downstate, Federal or in a State facility and out of state or otherwise, to them, there is no worry or regard for the law.
I swear what I am about to tell you is true. Not only is this true but more than being true now, this has been true for as long as man or woman has been able to create sound.
The truth is sometimes nothing speaks to us (or for us) better than music. Sometimes, the rhythm is the only thing that makes sense. The music, the notes, the flare of emotion, which I can feel when the guitar strings play. When there are no words, to me, music is something that makes sense.
I find myself awake at times and on the couch. I find myself moving in different directions of thought. Take last night, for example. There I was on the couch, listening to the rain as it fell against the skylights on my rooftop. I hear this like a thousand footsteps; as if the raindrops fall in teams of countless soldiers on a mission, which is perfect though, because the rainfall somehow matches the way I feel.
The truth is I don’t mind the rain so much. I don’t mind the storms, which keep the streets empty and vacant from man or woman. I like the quiet sounds and the grayness in the sky. I call this the lullaby of all lullabies. However, last night, there was no rockabye baby from the treetops. The wind blew but no cradle did rock. No, I suppose there weren’t enough sheep to count last night. at least, not for a while.
They sat me in a room with a man I never met before. He had walls that were covered with framed diplomas and certifications. He had books on shelves. I knew why I was there.
Better yet, I knew why I had to be there but at the same time, I had no idea why I was in this office. I had no idea what I was going to talk about or what this man was about to say.
Besides, I was a kid. The word psychiatry is an adult word. And depression, sure. I knew what the word meant. I just didn’t want the word to mean that this was me. Besides, all of these grownup words were like a different language to me. Those words belonged to grownups and not kids like me, but yet, I was in there in that office. I was waiting to be seen by a man that looked more like a grandfather than a doctor. I remember.
He had classical music playing in the background, like Mozart or maybe it was Beethoven. Either way, this wasn’t my scene.
Today is a good day to point out the elephant in the room. We have to address this; otherwise, it’s just more of the same. Otherwise, we stay as we are or as we were. We have to address this; otherwise, the momentum we need to move forward is interrupted by our personal roadblocks. We have to address this or the effort it takes to move ahead will never begin. And then we’re stuck.
We’re caught in the stillness of our thoughts and the blockages of our excuses. But why? Why does this happen? I mean, we know we want to feel good. We want to be healthy. And there are times when we know we want to change. If we find ourselves uncomfortable, of course we want to feel better.
We want to improve. We want to get up and get moving. Maybe we set a date for ourselves. We give us a starting point and say, “That’s it. I’m starting tomorrow!”
I go back to a place in my mind where I keep memories like colored photographs of times when we were all together. God, I miss so many people.
It has been years since we’ve all sat at the table as a family. I miss those times but years have gone by. No wait, it’s been more like decades. Apparently, life happened along the way. A few of the chairs became vacant. Some people moved away. Some tried their luck on the other side of the country. Some passed and left an empty void, which could never be filled.
I like to think about the times when we were all together. I like to think about the family get-togethers that no longer happen. I swear, these were good times. In fact, they were the best times and some of the only memories I have of my family.
I have pictures of these get-togethers somewhere. I keep them all in a crate with boxes of little doodads from my early childhood. There are pictures of me when I was a very young boy. I used to be pretty cute too. However, I keep some of those pictures hidden of course because some of them are certainly blackmail material.
What is a victory? What does it mean to win, to triumph, to overcome or rise above? Or wait, no. I have something better in mind. What does it mean to be at a level of awareness in which we have achieved a sense of both understanding and achievement without the contradictions of a win or lose mentality?
At this point, we can realize there is no opponent. There is nothing against us but our needless contraptions of thought, which are only imaginary. Besides, even if our imagination was real and something or someone was against us: So?
What would it look like to see life without the complications of adversaries? There is no more win or lose. There are no more rejection-based systems that hold us to the fires of judgement. The internal committee adjourns and the internal conflicts come to an end. There are none of the old diatribes or inner-criticisms. There is only internal and personal freedom.
This one comes with a warm sentiment and the kind that comes from the purest station of the heart. I will offer this before moving on, in the toughest times, there is something called comfort food. And there is a lesson here to be learned, which I’ve learned this gratefully. And here’s how.
Everything happens for a reason. Or, so they say. And I’m not sure what I think about this. I know this is a good way to look at things. Maybe this helps us make sense of something that makes no sense at all. Rather than accept the unfortunate cadence of life, we come up with sayings that help us answer for the unanswerable. Or, perhaps, this is better than contemplating the hard facts of life.
Something bad happens or something tragic and there’s nothing else to say except this, “Everything happens for a reason.” Or, there is an adverse way of looking at this. Others have said this to me as well. Instead of saying everything happens for a reason, what if we came to the understanding that there is a reason why everything happens.
I am more than where I come from. I am certainly more than my past and more than my future. I am like you or anyone else in this world. I am a series of different chapters which open and close no differently than the daily sun that rises each morning. I am more than this too and yet, I am simply just me. I understand this.
I tried to attack the ideas and identify the mysteries about myself by writing out my thoughts. I did this to feel better, which at first, I worried too much about the world around me and the interpretation of myself. I worried about my education or the lack thereof. A writer? Me?
Could I ever be? Or more to the point, could I ever be anything more than what I was?
There is nothing like the relationship with a dog. There is never a question whether I’m enough or not. I never smell too bad. I always look perfect.
I swear, my dog knows when something is wrong. He can tell when I’m sad or hurting or if something is not right with the world. And he sides up to me. He sits next to me as if to say, “I’m glad you’re here.”
I have heard people doubt the connection between a person and their dogs. I have heard people say, “It’s not like they’re human,” and no. My dog is not human. Besides, humans aren’t as loyal.
I have a dog. He is an old dog and the last of the original three. He is my special boy and we named him Brody. And again, he is old. Brody is 14 to be exact. His hips are bad and so are his knees.
There is a question that has been asked and pondered upon by countless writers, poets and artists alike.
What have I done?
This question poses an honest look at life. And I mean real life. What have I done?
What did I do and why?
The question is simple enough. What have I done?
But understanding the question is not the answer. However, to answer the question we have to understand the “Why” behind the question itself.
I urge you now, please. This thing we have and these moments we share are only fragments of time. They are small yet valuable. Every minute we have is priceless. Life is invaluable but yet, life is this short little atom of space and time. Nothing more.
And life? All of this is only a version. This is only a vision. Me, you, the trees outside and the mountains behind my home. The city and the landscapes, the views, the birds in the sky, the sea and the valleys; everything is only a vision.
I urge you, please.
Think clearly. Put down all the common distractions we cling to. Let go of the useless arguments. Release the pettiness, and the inaccurate assumptions, which are nothing at all. None of this is anything. All we are is all we have, which is this moment and the here and now.
The name of the town was Deposit. I remember the name well because to me, the name was almost repulsive. Who the hell would ever want to live in a town called Deposit?
I never heard of this place before. Then again, I never heard about most of the towns in this area. There were like tiny little compartments of different places that were left behind in a time warp. I saw them as little mountain towns, like something from a Norman Rockwell painting with farms and barns and fields with cows.
The fashions up there were different to me, which is not to say that I was fashionable by any means. But still, everything about the little towns seemed behind.
Besides, I was used to New York City and the Five Boroughs. I was brought up in a crazy Long Island town but at least there was action. At least I was close to what I thought was the pulse of life. I went from this to institutional life. Then I eventually moved to farm life for a long-term stay.
I am thinking about this time last year. I was in the City, which was empty. The stores were all closed and the streets were like a ghost town. Within my time in this world, I have never seen New York City like this. Shut down. Boarded up, as if World War III dropped the bomb on us all.
I walked across 3rd Avenue in the middle of the business day. There were no cars. There were hardly any pedestrians in sight. Again, this was like wartime. We were quarantined. People were running out of toilet paper and there were restrictions at the supermarket.
No one expected this would last as long as it has. No one thought the virus would kill so many or keep growing. There were second waves, third waves and supposedly a fourth wave too. Only, it was strange to me because it seemed like none of us have recovered from the first wave yet.
It is morning in purgatory. . .
It’s strange to realize where we are sometimes. The way things are and the way things have been have certainly changed throughout the years. Life is different now. Then again, this is not to say life won’t be different in say, two years or maybe less. All I know is the world I believed in is less than what I had hoped it would be. We’ve gone crazy down here. All of us.
There is always someone coming around to claim some new cure. And we listen too. We hope. We think and we wonder. We talk to one another about things like, “Say? What would it be like if we could just push a button and have all of this craziness just go away?”
Just the push of a button and everything that hurt would be healed. No pain. No procedure. No process or recovery. Just relief. Could you imagine?
Nothing is ever going to wait.
You know this, right? The saying “Time waits for no one,” is true.
Time doesn’t wait for anyone. At least, not in this lifetime.
Time moves and someday, the sapling we see will someday become a tree, tall enough to shade the grounds that you and I used to walk on. Eventually, all of this will be a memory. Even if we are stuck, like say, stuck in the past for example; or say, if we ourselves are caught in the snags of something either said or unsaid, either way, the morning will still change to become noon. Before we know it, noon becomes sunset. Then twilight becomes nighttime until morning comes again.
I don’t know where people go when they leave. For one, I don’t know where I’ll be when the future changes. I don’t know what happens with people after they lose touch or have a falling out. I only know about what happens to us, or should I say me. I know that the rest of your life is right there. Everything is in front of you. The choice is yours, who stays, who goes and all the options in-between are right there and yours for the taking.
I am four days and a wake-up away from something I call my anniversary. And as for this or to those who don’t know, I am four days away from acknowledging a specific date. I am 30 years away from a night that nearly killed me as well as possibly someone else. I am 30 years away from my last binge and 30 years away from a night of breaking in through the windows of a few suburban homes.
I say four days and a wake-up for a reason. I say it this way because of the roll call I had to answer for. I had to answer for this, each morning at a facility in a place up at a town called Kerhonkson, New York.
Little kids . . .
Bless them. Bless their little lives and their little smiles. Let them run. Let them play. Bless their thoughtful little lives and bless their lessons to take turns and share. Learn from them. Don’t scold them. Don’t change them either. Let them be this way, young and innocent. Beautiful as ever.
Let them laugh. Let them pretend. Let them dream because a day will come when pretending and playing is frowned upon. Playtime will be over before they know it. And yet, they don’t even know it. Time moves very quickly. So, let them be as they are because a time will come and their childhood will be over. And that’s it. It’s adult time. So again, I say bless them. Bless them for exactly what they are, just kids.
There was a dull orange glow on a rocky ledge in the darkness of the surrounding woods. My elevation was high enough that I could look down at the world. I was high enough to see things from a different point of view. The sky was covered in stars that night. The moon was full and all else was quiet. I swear, it is amazing what we hear when there is no noise. It is amazing what we hear when there is nothing in the background, except for the voice of our thoughts.
The world is such a big place. And we are small. Really small. We are less than a glimpse. Our connection with time is lengthy, yet, our time in the grand scheme of time is quicker than a flashing light. There are so many things that happen at once. There are too many ideas that come at one time and more often than not, there’s a lot more riding on each and every moment.
It’s been a while. Life has changed as we know it, which means our in-person dialogues are all done from a remote location.
I had a chance to see them last night. I saw their eyes and the looks on their faces. They are the students. They are the future hopefuls. They are the up and coming generation of new professionals, just waiting to knock on the door of a new horizon. I see them and I want to show them one simple truth. I want them to understand.
In fairness, I am more a fan of in-person lectures. I am more interested in seeing people on a face-to-face basis than doing so from a remote location. However, due to circumstances beyond our control, life has changed the way we interact. Therefore, this has changed the way I interact with a classroom. I need to see them think and feel. I want to watch their faces change with emotion. I want them to know one thing, which is that it’s absolutely perfect to be real, to be true, to be yourself. I want them all to know that regardless of whatever quirks or insecurities that come to mind, we are all equipped and capable.
Please note that this is written with a heavy heart. I am sad to say the least. I am frustrated and frightened about what I see. However, I am a firm believer that our surroundings are contagious. The climate we share and the landscapes, the mood and the arguments we hear are absolutely infectious. What I mean is it is really easy to catch crazy. It’s easy to catch the madness and become swept away by public opinion.
The world really is an impactful place. And we hear the news on a daily basis.
We hear it all. We hear about the arguments over hate crimes. We hear the reports, like the ones from yesterday.
So sad . . .
A gunman openly fired and killed ten people in Boulder, Colorado. And next will be the analysis over what happened and why. Next will be the connection to a shooting that happened a week ago in Georgia. Next will be the blame and the finger pointing to find responsibility.