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.
Dreams change. I know this is true. I know that my dreams from ten years ago are much different from my dreams that I have now. I know that my plans have changed. My intentions have changed too. Or, is that I have become more focused? Maybe I’ve matured. Maybe I’ve learned a trick or two. Perhaps the answer is that life has changed; therefore, my experience has changed and as a result, my visions have changed.
In fairness though, my vision is still to find the ultimate answer. I want to know more about my purpose. I want to understand my reason for living. I want to know more about my “why?”
Yet, I have grown. I have matured. I have learned and I have reached different levels of awareness. I have seen that life changes without warning. I have learned that my expectations are not always met. Plans fall apart. People change their roles in our life. Goodbyes can suck and separations can be painful but sometimes, changes are necessary. It was hard for me to understand this but with the exception of our past, nothing in life is a permanent thing.
What is it?
What is the difference between you or me or anyone else? I understand about DNA. I understand that we are all born with unique and individual talents. Some are born naturally funny. Some are born with athletic ability. Some people are born from the lucky gene pool and for them, simple things like money and financial security will never be a worry.
Yet still, even to them, life comes with difficulties.
Even to some of the wealthiest in the world, their money does not buy what they want, which could be happiness or freedom from depression, freedom from anxiety, or more to the point, freedom from themselves.
I am sure that I am not alone when I say I have needs. I have the need to be wanted and liked. I’m sure that I am not by myself when I say that I look for acceptance. I look to be validated. Sure. I want approval.
I want to be understood. I want to be heard.
The truth is acceptance and validation should really come from within. And if this doesn’t come from within, then where does it come from? Other people?
Is that right?
Two poles and I don’t mean North and South. No, there are two poles in me. There are two sides, and I mean the ups and downs. This is more than anyone can see from a surface level. There is no way to explain this.
All I can say is there are two sides to contend with. To which, I wonder if anyone can actually tell. I wonder if anyone understands or “Gets it.” Does anyone get it?
(about the two poles, I mean)
A summer’s evening and the wind was warm. I was sitting outside of Central Park, not too far from a bookstore that ripped apart my dreams, which was par for the course. Besides, this is part of the path I’ve chosen. This is how things go sometimes. Some days are favorable. Others, well, not so much.
I had my way though. I had one of those dirty water dogs from the hot dog cart with mustard, ketchup and sauerkraut. I could hear the sounds of the City. I could feel the wind in my hair. For some reason, 57th Street looked different to me that day. Maybe the world looked different or perhaps this was only a new chapter and there I was again, back to the beginning of something new.
It’s okay to let go. (You know?)
It’s okay to move on. It’s okay to move forward with life because otherwise, we’re stuck with more of the same. This means we find ourselves stuck with the same old anger. This means we’re stuck with the same goddamned resentments. This means to be stuck in the same past experience that we wish we could change (but we can’t).
So instead, we keep reliving the unforgettable and unforgivable moments that lead us back to the chemical reactions in our body, which is the end result, or otherwise known as emotion.
I can remember the smell in the room. I remember the family. I remember their faces. I can remember the emptiness and the cold silence. The Mother was shaken.
She had a look of disbelief on her face. Shocked, as if she could not believe something like this happened in her house, right under her nose, without even knowing.
I can remember the deployment call, which was not unlike any other deployment call. The information is brief and simple. I am told the client’s name, if there is one. I am told which emergency room the client is in and whatever details are given about the overdose.
When the numbers stop counting and there is nothing else in your mind to add or subtract; when there is only the acceptance that this is life; and whether in battle or peace, we realize that life is life; then we understand that there is no more us or them. There are no more quarrels or reasons to go back and forth. The sum of it all is simple to say the least. I am me. You are you. They are they. We are we and us is us.
We can set aside our pronoun troubles for a moment. We can stop pointing fingers. The pot can call the kettle black or not. Either way, none of this matters.
When the complications of our interpersonal math cease to exist; when the need to please, to interact, or counteract the neighboring bodies around us subsides and all else is clear; when we see clearly then we can understand that everything else is nothing more than a distraction. This is the dilemma.
I think about these late-in-life success stories. I think about people that have been grinding and grinding their entire lives, knocking on doors, and having them slammed shut in their face. I think about the people that lived this way for decades before they found success. I think about writers that put out manuscript after manuscript only to realize that nobody cares. Every idea you have has already been had by someone else. And somewhere is a room with boxes on shelves that contain every thought or idea, from music to scripts, to paintings and sculptures. There are patents in there which will never see sunlight. There is genius in these rooms but they will never be unearthed or read. I think about the artists and the creators. And all they can do is move on. Write another one, build something else, keep pluggin or not, but either way; life is life and this is the way it is. If life was easy, everybody would be a pro, right?
I suppose now is the best time to say this from the heart. Above anything else, I am a very real person. I have thoughts and ideas. I have dreams and desires. I have aches and pains, both emotionally, and sometimes physically. I have doubts, fears, worries and concerns. I have all the above that would come with living a normal, everyday crazy life.
I am real. I have flesh and bone. I have the vital organs that keep me alive. I have a thought process that has been growing since birth. I learn as I go. I think and I feel. I find myself in both good times and bad.
I am like you.
In fact, I am exactly like you or anyone else in the world.
No one knows what tomorrow brings. And no one knows the hour or the day. Nobody knows what will come and who will go. Nothing is ever guaranteed. And I know what we are supposed to say. I know what people tell us. I know all about the power of positive thinking. I understand visualization and the need to create a picture for ourselves; otherwise, if you can’t see what you want then how can you get it?
I understand the laws of nature. I understand what happens when we step out of line and the unfortunate lessons which follow. I also know how the lessons become increasingly worse when we don’t learn the first time.
There is no reason to brag about where we’ve been. There’s no reason for us to compare scars or place honor where honor doesn’t belong. Sometimes we place honor where honor does not deserve to be placed. And yet, I notice that we still do it. I know people that have been to jail, countless times, and they carry their paperwork as if this validates them. They show their collars and the leash that kept them stuck. I have met with people that swear they’ll never go back to their old lifestyle. And yet, sometimes months, weeks, days and in some cases even hours later, they found themselves right back at it.
I understand this will not be suitable for everyone. Then again, this is not written for everyone. This is not even written for anyone in particular. Perhaps this is just for me or not at all. Either way, there are some that can attest to this. There are some who relate and some who understand. There are some who think or have felt this way too; and to them, this is something that makes sense.
There are different marks of recovery. There are different reasons why people at some point, rise up and walk away from their former self. And, quite honestly, in the beginning is a moment of awareness. In the beginning are the countless thoughts and fears that seem unrelenting.
There is a street that runs up a hill not too far from my house. I like it up there. I like the way the street bends and winds around. I like how it moves through the upstate land and country homes. I like that I can breathe here. I’m out of the City. I’m away from the elements, so to speak. I’m out of the current climate and away from the political arguments and the detrimental rhetoric. I’m here on my own with my chest to the wind and the breeze through my hair, which I have decided to grow out again for just such an occasion.
I love these walks. I love each step I take because each step tells me that I’m moving closer to something. And I might not know what this means. I might not know where I am or where I’m going but at least I know that I’m not standing still.
There is a great phenomenon that takes place when we simplify our life and break down all the complications and intimidations which stand in our way. Suddenly, the elephant in the room isn’t around or so uncomfortable anymore. The big bad wolf isn’t so big or bad. And we see things clearer now.
There is an amazing aftermath that takes place after we deactivate the distractions that grow in our mind, like weeds that suffocate the roots of our dreams, goals, plans and restrict the strategies we’d used to achieve them.
There is this great big world out there. There are places that I have seen in my dreams and places that I keep in my memory. I have these mental pictures which I keep like tiny artifacts that make up my history. I have dreams sometimes. I have old connections that reappear like a visit from the spirits of my past. And I call this love. I call this something. Maybe I call this a visit. Or maybe this is my mind connecting to an old need. Maybe this is me connecting to an old recollection that links me back to a sentiment, which I miss wholeheartedly.
Let me ask you, what do you remember from your childhood?
I know why the youth are wild. I know that everything is all about time. Whether you’re young or old, it’s all about time. No matter how we slice this, we’re all on the clock in one way or another. The only difference is our priorities. The difference is our perspective.
See, as kids we used to look up at our parents. We’d look up at the adults in our circle of influence. We would see them work. We would hear them talk about life and bills, mortgages and insurance. As kids, we saw our parents work and argue. We saw them slave. We heard them yell at the television and argue with the news. We heard them complain about the price of gas. And when you’re a kid, you see this and swear to yourself, “I’ll never be that way.”
Just a quick note before we begin: I would like to start by saying this note is from the heart. I would also like to say that opinions may vary. Perspectives will vary too and so will perception. However, the following paragraphs are mine. This is about me and my relation to the way I was able to understand my life. Therefore, without apology, I offer this porthole into my thinking without celebration or decoration of any kind.
I understand if you turn back here. I am not here to glamorize anything nor do I condone the flashy war stories that most people talk about. In fact, one of the most common feedbacks in my story is (whether the topic is substance abuse, alcohol, depression, or violence and crime) that I never talk about the acts or the substance itself. Instead, I talk about the feelings and the source. I talk about my reasoning and my motivation. I do this because I would rather be honest than be a misrepresented posture of something that is destroying our society. And rest assured, mental illness, disorder and diseases are painfully real.
So, here it goes . . . .
I’m writing this letter with hopes that my thoughts might come in handy. I was hoping some of this might help the world make a little sense one day. Then again, I’m not too sure the world makes sense to anyone anymore. But either way, I figured it’s worth a shot.
I don’t know where you are right now. At least, not exactly. I don’t know what you’re doing or what you’re thinking. I don’t know who you trust or confide in. I know the roads we take are confusing sometimes. This trip we’re on is a wild ride. That’s for sure. So, buckle up but don’t be afraid to ride with the wind in your hair.
There is the ongoing and sometimes unfortunate truth that life keeps moving without worrying about us or what we think, feel or have to say about it. Either way, life moves. Time is always gaining momentum and the pressures to “Be” keep mounting. In which case, words and helpful suggestions can become nothing more than superfluous noise. There is the ongoing and often unfortunate truth that life comes with heartbreak. Life comes with loss. There will be pain. There will be disappointment. There will be downfalls and setbacks, which come with no explanation, other than “It just didn’t fit.”
But goddammit and dammit all, sometimes.
You know, there is a great big world out there.
There are a lot of people on this planet.
We have billions of them.
And me and you, well, I suppose it is suffice to say that we are a small portion of something so much bigger.
We are part of this huge project I call Project Earth.
Did I ever tell you about my friend Clear Shot? For the record, Clear Shot wasn’t his birth name. No, this is his nickname. The reason for his nickname was because Clear Shot would create sprinkler drawings for commercial office buildings.
There are old buildings throughout New York City that were built before current standards as the new buildings we have today. Enter my friend Clear Shot.
His job was to sketch a plan for the Department of Buildings to have on file. The drawings were detailed prints which designed the plan; and the details of this work needed to be done according to the plan upon inspection. However, anyone in the construction business knows to always expect the unexpected.
I have always been a fan of stories about people who come from behind. I am a fan of the underdog. In fact, I am a fan of anyone that is unbeatable because no matter how many beatings they take, they just keep going.
I am a fan of the dreams that come true. In fact, I openly admit to being a fan of high school movies about kids that overcome the odds and the conflicts of popularity. I love this. I admit to enjoying the corny endings where the entire school applauds and gives someone their due.
There is this thing we have, which we all have. It’s called a past. And don’t worry. This happens to everyone. To keep this easy, the past is nothing more than a combination of our yesterdays. That’s all it is. The past itself is emotionless. On the other hand, we are not. In some cases, some of our yesterdays are regrettable. And sometimes, some of our yesterdays are painful and unforgettable. There are people, places and things that come up in our daily lives. There are triggers that link us back to old memories. This pulls us back to old emotions, which lead to the pathways of shame, blame and pain. Or more to the point, these are the links that take us down the rabbit hole of judgement and rejection.
The following story is not necessarily mine to tell and the views in the following paragraphs might not be shared by others. However, these views are mine. These are my thoughts about a night back in the month of what I believe was September in 1987. This is a story about an elderly woman named Mary. She was known as Crazy Mary, which is an unkind thing to say but facts are facts and the truth is history is unconcerned with our feelings or opinion.
Who knows where it all came from or why? Who knows if we were just kids looking to fit in or if our need to belong outweighed our need to be decent to one another. The truth is I believe that regardless of our age and no matter where we are in life, deep down, we are all just kids trying to find our place in the sand box.
Inside of me is that kid that never wanted to be picked on because I didn’t understand. I didn’t want to be pointed at because I stuttered when I read out loud. In fact, I could read a page, a paragraph, and even a sentence and yet, I had no idea what I read.
This is why this little piece of me right here and my writings, my thoughts and my journals are huge victories for me because keep in mind, to be able to write this and let the universe take it wherever it may go is a victory for me. This disproves all the crazy myths about me in my head and only goes to show that no, I was never stupid.
They say springtime is coming in less than one month. This means our half of the northern hemisphere will tilt closer towards the sun. This means more daylight and an earlier sunrise. This means warmer weather too, which means summer will be here before we know it.
As for now, I am writing to you with no agenda in mind. In fact, I am watching the orange hue build from the horizon in the east. There is a white line in the sky, which is the sign of a jet plane, flown over my home at a place I call Wesley Hills. I am on the verge of something here. And so are you, for that matter. We all are.