There is nothing more real than life
It’s as simple as that. Life is very real.
It happens every day.
Every morning, life happens.
I used to think that pain was necessary. I believed this was part of me. In fact, I could not imagine the idea of life without the weight of inner turmoil. And it became so that I depended upon this. It became part of me. It was like a voice, which I acted upon and consulted with.
And then one day—
I felt something undeniable. I felt something unexplored and unique. One day, I felt the sun on my face.
I stepped outside of myself. I stepped outside the front door of my life and I began to walk. I started with one step.
That one step became two and then my pace began to build. I moved faster and faster until I was no longer walking.
I was running.
More importantly, I was not running away from something.
No. I was running towards something.
The difference here is my destination had a definition. Instead of running just to get away or find any port in the storm; I decided to run towards something because any port in the storm would just mean more of the same.
Sometimes we need to run away.
And that’s fine so long as we know where we’re going.
Sometimes we just need that breath of fresh air.
We need a simple distraction.
We need a moment of replacement so that one minute can turn to the next.
Sometimes, we just need a breath of freedom to interrupt the chaos in our minds so we can redirect ourselves and regain our composure.
There are times when we look around and see the hurdles we have to jump.
We see the obstacles we face and we feel overwhelmed.
We give in to that inner monologue, which is trouble, because once we feed this with attention it’s too late because if we feed this it grows.
There are times when our sensitivity to rejection is painful.
Our fears are mind-boggling.
This thing in us cries out and all this thing wants is to be solved. There are days when this thing in us cries out because there are too many questions and too many uncertainties.
There are times when this thing in us nags like a small toddler and all we want to do is stop the baby from crying —but it won’t . . .
I swear, anyone that says anything else is selling something.
The duality of man or woman is a real thing. This means there are two halves. In some cases, there are two sides of us. This is the conflict. This is the doubt and the fear. The duality of us is a line drawn between the side that wants to live out loud and the other side, which is afraid to try.
The trick is to differentiate, which side to listen to.
I sat in an upstate facility with a man I will never forget. He was my counselor. He was kind and fairly young for his position. He discussed the hate within me. He talked about the anger and the fear and the pain and the depression. He told me, “The problem is you just think that’s you.”
“That ain’t you, kid!”
“I know you,” he said.
“I’ve seen you before and that just ain’t you.”
We have to learn to differentiate between the voices.
We have to learn what side speaks most and which speaks loudest. We have to know this because at the hardest times, the loudest thing we hear is the quietest whisper.
The duality of man or more accurately, my duality was the voice of my inner turmoil. The problem was I did not understand how to differentiate between fact or fiction, thought or feeling, or emotion and reality.
The struggle is very real however. The worries of loneliness and the feelings of being unfit or misshaped; as if we were formed somehow in error or by mistake and the worries we wonder and the questions we ask ourselves can run on for days . . . God, this is painful
I remember my counselor. I remember the look of sincerity in his eyes when he told me, “That ain’t you kid . . .”
When times are tough and everything is heavy; when you find yourself one step closer to losing your mind and you swear that you just want to scream but it’s like . . . you just have no place to go. You to think for a second.
Think before you leap because believe it or not, the problem with our duality is that one side is falling short.
But give it a minute . . .
Breathe . . .
Give it a second and allow yourself the distraction because that brief distraction just may be enough to save your fucking life.
I know it did for me.
I believe in life and its sense of purpose. In my case, I needed to find a purpose which would defy the anxieties and the voices of my other half.
When I struggled with my identity or sought to define my identity; I had to find my purpose. I was tired of feeling unremarkable and overwhelmed. I was tired of the inner struggle and tired of the turmoil and the impending doom and the ongoing nagging of that thing inside of me.
I still remember the first line I wrote when I began my journals:
My redemption has nothing to do with your response.
I think of all the things I’ve said or written and no words could free me more than those.
There comes a time when we find ourselves tired of being held captive to the ideas in our mind. Something has to change
As I write to you, my printer is printing out a lesson I plan to provide my empowerment class in a few minutes.
I am sitting here in my loft. The sky is pretty. The sun is rising over the evergreens behind Old Wesley Chapel.
I can see the sunbeams moving through the tree branches. I can see them in shafts of white light that touch down across the snowy patches on the ground. The tree-lined mountains behind my home have taken on an orange hue from the morning sunlight.
As I write to you, I confess myself. I spill my thoughts on a page. I see my words appear on the screen. I hear the sound of my fingers poke the keys while I type and my purpose becomes abundantly clear.
Life is real
So live it
And be it