I am here, between two poles, mid-gravity, and I am neither up or down or even mid-range but instead, I am somewhere in an atmosphere, which is either unexplained or misunderstood.
I am between two poles.
It is morning somewhere in a city where the pavement takes the sun between the buildings. There is shade and moments where the sun peeks through. My hands are tied in some regard. Tall buildings block the views but on occasion, we can find ourselves somewhere by water or someplace unobstructed and feel the breeze move through our hair.
I am not here to regard the downfalls or the sad submissions or the state of affairs. I am not here to preach or find a pulpit or a platform. I am not here to discuss this thing we call acceptance. At least, not right now.
But for the moment, right here, right now, and since we have this time between us without any interruptions, I would rather make use of this moment than waste it.
This is April, which means our distance around the sun is causing the days to start earlier. Nighttime is shorter. And maybe the quiet time is as well. Or, maybe this year’s turn around the sun will change the way we view each other.
Or maybe not.
But who knows?
It is a beautiful thing to feel. I know that sounds strange to say but as I see it, we take our feelings for granted. If you don’t believe me, then go ask someone who is so medicated that they cannot feel. All they are is between the poles, neither good or bad, and muted from their range of emotion.
It is a warm sensation to watch you, to see you grow, or to look at how the scene reflects in your eyes like, wow, seriously.
You could be a kid again at any moment.
I find this so intriguing.
I do not understand much about the rules of purgatory nor do I always know the laws of our transactions. I am not sure if for every action there is a reaction or a consequence, or, maybe –
maybe there is an end to the cycle.
Maybe there is a resurgence of gravity or the lack thereof, and the mid-range station caught between two poles can ease for the moment. Maybe the threats of our polarity can find a sense of balance. Or otherwise, ease.
The beauty of my imperfections is that they are frequently complimented by the fact that neither of us are alone. And I say this with the understanding that perhaps there are times when we might seem alone. Perhaps there are times when we are alone in the crowds or, perhaps there’s a time when we are actually alone yet, by ourselves, we might find that we are in the best company.
Maybe this is so because life is much easier when you don’t have to explain. Maybe this is because life is more comfortable when there’s no need for a mask, a wall, a choice of weapon for either mass or self-destruction.
But dig –
I am a firm believer of understanding through common comparison. For example, do you remember the time I told you about a chance meeting with a young man in an airport. I was on a job out of North Carolina. I flew down to a mental health facility to speak with a young girl about the dangers of young life on the street and prostitution.
The man who I spoke with was highly functional yet he was Autistic. We found ourselves in a discussion in which he explained that he is uncomfortable when people touch him. He asked if I remembered what the old televisions looked like when the screen turned to snow and the sound of static came from the speakers.
He told me that the sound and the screen and the staticy feeling matched the way he felt when he experienced an unwanted touch.
I get that.
I get that when my poles have switched and my polarity is off and life’s electricity it too much to deal with. I get the feeling of discomfort or the idea that it can be hard to breathe. It can be hard to settle down and stop the thoughts or the interaction with catastrophes that visit our ideas like unwanted guests who show up at our door at 1:36 a.m.
“Don’t you know what time it is? I’m trying to sleep!”
Sure. I know what time it is.
Let’s talks . . .
Let’s stay awake until about 20 minutes before the alarm goes off.
It can be hard to deal with the ideas of criticisms and the critics. This is hard even before the doors open or the morning starts. I swear, sometimes anticipation causes more anxiousness than the actions or the moments themselves.
It’s the fear. You know?
Back when I chose to start this journey, I recall being warmed about being so open or forthright. I was told to keep my cards close to the vest. Never let people see what you’re holding. Don’t let them know or as my old friend Moncello once told me, “Don’t tell them nothin!”
I used to hold my tongue in fear of the predatory world. I was afraid of the opportunists and in fear of the carnivores or the social cannibals, – or after spending hours, days and nights, worrying about the leeches or local parasites and the social lepers or the pariahs, – and after decades of intimidation and fearing the professionals and their social snobbery or hearing the bullshit from the street-cred romancers who believe their own lies, I decided to hell with holding my tongue.
I decided to hell with being average or the sameness of commonality. Why is it that two or more worlds cannot exist? Why is there always a difference between our poles or polarities, my purgatory, heaven (or hell) and my way or your way?
Why can’t both exist?
Why is it so detrimental for someone to wave their hand and say, “Um, excuse me but I’m having a hard time here. Can you help me?”
Why is it that our mental health is such a draining subject?
Why is it that we hide our poles, the ups or the downs, and we put on our brave face to join the crowd? Why is it that no one dares to be open (or at least, human) and honest?
You know, come to think of it –
I know a little about stigma. I know a little bit about life inside and outside of the boardroom experience. I have seen what institutionalized living can do to a person. And, I have met people who work for a living as well as those who steal.
The funny thing is in the game of survival, the politics are not all too different. Everyone is looking to win their own game and survive.
I go back to the things I was told when I was entering the working world. I think back to a man who told me, “Benny, it’s grownup time now. You have to get honest and make an honest living.”
He said, “Especially if you want to make it in Corporate America.”
I’ve seen more honesty at drug spots, in housing projects, slums, homeless shelters, jails and rehabs than I’ve seen in the so-called boardrooms in Corporate America.
So, I am here, between two poles, mid-gravity, and daring to be honest because whether my aim is to reach the top of the ladder or simply be happy with what I choose to do, I know one thing without any question.
I know there are people who struggle and suffer. And there are more of us than the so-called elite. So, therefore, I refuse intimidation. I refuse silence. I refuse the labels or the stigmas or even the term “advocate.” Instead, I’ll just be me.
All are welcome. And anyone who chooses otherwise, well, no one is forcing them to be here. If they stay, then that’s on them. If they judge, it’s on them. But me, I want more than mid-gravity. I want more than mediocrity. I want more than the sameness or the commonness or the average life that goes unlived.
Monticello told me, “”Don’t tell them nothing.” because he was afraid.
I heard about a centi-millionaire who left his position in a fortune 50 company to help people who struggle with mental illness.
Know what? I want to be like him.