Before Meeting in The Clouds

This one will run a little deep. So, fair warning, there will be emotion in this entry. What I mean is this one might seem a little too emotional, or too deep, only, not in a bad way.
This is more in a truthful way, which can hurt because after all; it’s like the old saying. “The truth hurts.”
See, if you are anything like me or if you are anything like most of the population, it you find yourself lost but trying to find your way, or if you are anything like me in the case that we feel too much, too often, and that life happens on a regular basis without our concern or consent; and, or, if you are anything like me and all you really want is to find your best road to happiness, or to live successfully without the constant hindrance of underlying fears of disappointment (or rejection,) then you are like me in the sense that we have to find some kind of inspiration to keep moving.

I have this drive to be inspired. One might call this a need to believe and be valid. One could say my need for motivational intent is due to the fact that I believe, deep down, that I am able and capable.
Of course, someone could tell me I am. Someone could tell me I’m the greatest thing since sliced bread, but what would that matter if I don’t believe this myself.

Truth is I need to slice through the intellectual nonsense and the distraction, which is why I break things down to the primal sense.
Rather than dress the world in all of its decoration, I find it simplest to break things down to the least common denominator —to strip away the distractions of posterity and the preconceived notions of what I was trained to believe, and therefore, I see life for what it is in the raw.

Truth is we all have the need to fit and feel and be at peace. Truth is life is not always cooperative in this regard.
Actually, and quite oppositely, life can be unfair and uncooperative.
Often, however, I find I am distracted by this. Sometimes, I am distracted by uncertainty.
I find that I can be distracted by fear. I am distracted by things which I perceive as limitations. And furthermore, I am often distracted by emotion. It hurts to feel sometimes. I admit this freely. It hurts to feel the belief of being invalid or unworthy and more so, it hurts to believe I am mismatched or misshaped, malformed, unequipped, and terminally incapable.

See, I am like you. Yet, I am only me, which is fine. I am like anyone else that feels and thinks and knows what it means to want to live. As well, I am like anyone that knows what it means to have something die inside of us.
I am afraid too.
I’m afraid that I will never finish any of my inventions. And that’s just it; we are all inventing something. We are all creators, unless, we give up, that is. We are all meant to live for something unless we quit, which in this case, we are not really living so much as we are only existing. And trust me, there is a difference.

There is a story that does not belong to me. I do not know this man or own any rights to any of his adventure, —and that’s right; I say adventure, which you will come to understand why I call it this in a short moment.

There are times when I am thinking too much about my so-called limitations. I give in to fear, as if life has especially hit me unfairly and below the belt, which it might have. But even if this is true, then so what?
Does this give me permission to quit? Should I cry and never try again, or do I get back up and dare.

Years back, I learned about a young man named Zach Sobiech. He was a kid just living his life, doing his thing, writing songs and playing his music in a band.
Unfortunately, Zach came across something that he could not overcome by the name of Osteosarcoma. Also known as cancer.

There is a video that I will place here for you to see. And remember there will be no apologies for emotion; however, I must prepare you that the following runs deep with me.
This is raw and real and yes, in a tearful song with only a short while to reveal his creation; Zach wrote a song as a way to say goodbye.

You have often heard me mention this trick of mine, which is something that I hope to pull off someday.
I have this trick I have been trying to perfect for a long time but sometimes, I find myself distracted. And yet, a person like Zach comes along with a real concern, but yet, rather than fold, Zach advanced in a way that I could not describe as anything short of miraculous.

In his lyrics, Zach wrote, “If only I had a little but more time.”

That’s just it. Time was his limitation. Time was literally evaporating in front of him with days behind him, drying up to lifelessness, and with all that weighed against Zach and in the countdown of his farewell to the world, he wrote a song about life.
He wrote a song about the girl and the people he loved as if to say, “I love you too.”
He wrote this as if to say he didn’t want to leave but life has other plans. It was time for him to go. Yet still, with time dwindling away, this young man made it a point to pull of his trick.

I think there is a word for this. Yes, there is. And that word is priority, which is exactly how this young man pulled his trick. He made this a priority.

I weep as I type because in all fairness and in full disclosure, my limitations are certainly not as limiting as death or dying. I watch this video on occasion to remind me of the importance of my purpose.
I watch to remind myself that I am not sick.
I am only scared.

I am scared to come up short. I am scared to feel wanting or lost and scared that I might not find my way. I am scared that I am “Not enough,” which, by the way is literally impossible for me (or you) to “Not” be enough.
This is impossible because of all things; first and foremost, we have this thing  beating in our chest. This is called the heart. We have these things opening and filling in our chest. These are the lungs that we fill with air. We inhale to replenish our system and then we exhale to remove the discharge of all that we do not need.

Our bodies are designed to survive. Our mind is our best asset; however, there are times when we think or feel too much (and too often,) which makes it seem like our mind is our biggest liability.

But wait . . .

Let’s stop here for a second. If you have read this far or if you have followed along with me long enough to know about me, —let’s stop here and just take a second to think about the life. Let’s think about the life we have and the life we want.
Let’s stop here and think about the difference between living and existing. Forget our programmed thinking. Forget our situations that are beyond or even within our control. Let’s think about the things that stand in our way. Let’s think about the things we want to invent or create.

What is our motivation? Where do we find the inspiration to do and continue? What drives us to want to grow, to continue, and be better?

See, the truth is I am not much of a singer. I cannot play the guitar and I’m not in a band. This was Zach’s miracle.
My job is to make this my own miracle. I need to live for this. I need to work for it. Now and even at the hour of my death; I need to make this miracle count with hopes that in my grand finale, when the curtain goes down and the lights go off, the theater empties and the seats are vacant, I need to work for this so that I will be able to look back and be proud of what I left behind.

Zach was a kid about to lose his life and yet he still dared to live. In which case, I literally have no excuse to do anything otherwise.

Years ago, I went to visit a young girl at Sloan Kettering in N.Y.C.
She was there because she was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer. She was receiving treatments to survive.
As a means of support, I went to visit and lend support to her and the family. We laughed a little. I joked and played around some and talked to people in the room. On the day of her final and successful treatment, I went out to the lobby of the treatment floor.
They had a big play room. I watched them, the children, hair all gone to a treatment that was not so kind.
Some of the children were in wheelchairs and appeared too sickly to feel anything else.
Some were ready to play dress up because there were costumes in the room. There were toys and games and anything a kid would need or want to laugh or play with.

On this day, I learned that the most charitable gift I have is time. On this day, my time was best spent in the lobby of that treatment floor. I played my heart out and I laughed and I cheered. I ran around and when the elevator doors closed so I could leave, I wept as hard as I possibly could.

If you are anything like me then you will understand the need for inspiration. Put simply, life is the inspiration. To live, to breathe, to love, and to do is the best inspiration of all.

If time is the most generous thing we can offer then wouldn’t this mean our time is the most valuable asset we have?

See, I think this is true. I believe time is only fleeting. And once it is gone, it’s gone, and we can never retrieve it again.
So therefore in the not so gracious, but yet amazingly poignant words of one the most precious people I have ever met in my life, “It’s time to stop dicking around!”

It’s time we realize that it’s time to live. Otherwise, we might fail to come to the realization that love and life is one in the same.
And should we miss this fact, we might go to our graves without ever having the chance to pull off our trick and say, “Ta-Da!”

It’s time to live, folks.

No, really. It’s time to live . . .

Right now!

Dear Zach, I know you’re not around to say this now. But I am, so I will say it for you. Ta-da!

One thought on “Before Meeting in The Clouds

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.