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 I say this with full recognition that this is an old, outdated saying, which means two things are too different to coexist, relate or understand each other.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.