I am young now.
In fact, I am younger now than before because I choose to be.
I am a man by my own definition; therefore, I do not concern myself with the definition of others or concern myself with the pronouns someone else uses. I do not concern myself with the way someone else chooses to define me because above all things; I am me and no one else can say or sway any of this from ever being true.
And here we are, two days before the beginning of August in the year of all years, 2020. I am wondering though. I am wondering about the ideas and the dreams of like say, 30 years ago. The idea of the year 2020 itself was larger than life back then. But tell me, where are the flying cars?
What happened to the prototypes of what we thought our future would look like? Is this it, because as it stands now, somehow, I thought we would be further advanced than we really are
There is a longstanding idea that we are born several times and yet, we only die but once. I can say that I have been born in several ways. I can say that I have died several times, only to be born again and brought back to life.
I have seen amazing times. I have been to amazing places. I have taken the risk to stand up and be counted and oppositely, I have chosen to hide at times, both sheepishly and regretfully, because I was too afraid to try or risk the chance that I might just fail.
There is an entire world around me that is changing on a daily basis. Life is truly moving at the speed of light, and yet, no one notices the hour or the day or how quickly a moment can evaporate right before our very eyes. This is life, imperfect and sometimes unjust, but nevertheless, this is all we have. or, better yet, this is everything we have.
There is something inside of each and every one of us. This is more than blood and bones. This more than the lungs we breathe with and the muscles that help us move. There is a soul within each of us.
There is a principle of life, thoughts, actions, desires and the freedoms we strive for. There is a separable existence to us all, which is more than our body. This is us. This is our true core.
This is the spirit and the seat of our true self, our sentiments, our inner being, and when disembodied, this is the part of us that lives on after our body is laid to rest.
Help is not always a pretty thing. In our life and along the way are the warning signs we’ve seen and ignored.
We knew something was up, but yet, we were hopeful. We were looking to crack a deal and get something for better than say, face value. We’ve tried to renegotiate the terms but eventually, there is always someone looking to collect.
We are all tasked at the dawn of our day.
No, really. It’s the truth.
From the moment we open our eyes is a list of decisions that go on until we close them again. Some of the decisions are simple.
What should I eat?
What should I drink?
What should I watch?
It is estimated that we make approximately 35,000 conscious decisions throughout each day. It is said that a child only makes 3,000 decisions in the same time frame. I suppose this is why we refer to our childhood as simpler times.
The fact remains that we all process information differently. I go back to that word we use so often and mention the word, “Just,” as in when people say, I don’t understand why you “Just” don’t get it.
The word “Just” is used as if to simplify the action. However, this is a word that “Just” doesn’t fit sometimes.
This is life:
You swing and you try. You fall down and you get back up. Even if you fall down 9 times, you get back up 10 isn’t that what they say?
It’s not easy sometimes, right?
But what other choice do we have?
You take the pain. You take the criticism.
You take the bumps and bruises and the frustration that comes with learning your craft and you make your way up from the apprentice to the professional.
You say to yourself, “Something’s gotta give,” which is true.
Something’s gotta give but nothing ever gives when you quit
(or give up).
There is nothing quite like a moment alone when no one else is around and there’s no one else to answer to. The house or apartment is otherwise empty and the music you play is not open for discussion or interruption.
The weather outside is unobjectionable and fine but more to the point; nothing is imposing, and for the moment, the only thing pressing is the moment we’ve chosen for self-care and personal preservation.
She kept her son’s room exactly as it was. She kept it this way to keep his innocence and preserve his memory because there was nothing else left.
Nothing was ever moved or changed. His baseball hats were hung on the same hooks on the back of the door. Posters still on the wall. Clothes still in his drawers, jacket still hung on the post of his bed, and his baseball magazine was placed exactly as it was and unmoved on the nightstand.
This was his boyhood room with boyhood memories. This was her son. He was the lost one that went to something which no one saw coming.