Life changes. This happens all the time. And I think back to the things that used to be important to me. I think about the fads and the different fashions. Sometimes, I look back or I’ll see a photograph of either the fads or the fashions from back in the day.
I’ll either shake my head or I’ll laugh or I’ll think to myself, “What the hell was I thinking?”
What the hell was I wearing?
It’s amazing though. It’s amazing how the rebellions of my youth have all faded away like an old handwritten note from middle school.
If I think about it, some of my old rebellions take on appeal of an old page from a newspaper, yellowed with age, and brittle to the touch.
But me? I don’t want to be brittle to the touch.
I don’t want to fade or go yellow with age.
However –
I know that age is inevitable.
Time is the same because time is both eventual and inevitable and yes, I know that for every person is a defining moment.
To each person, place or thing is a beginning, a middle and, of course, there is the eventual end to everything.
I know that the in-between is the meat of our life. I know that this is here and now – and furthermore, I know that what we do with this moment is the answer to our final thoughts at the close of our lives.
This is when we ask the question: Was it worth it?
It has to be.
There is no other choice. All is worthy before it ends and should we forget our worth then we should redefine our worth by placing our value where it belongs. This means we should not give ourselves away so cheaply. This means we need to salt the fruit or create flavor so that we can taste the life we live instead of rolling our eyes because everything else is otherwise bland.
That’s what it means to live a successful life.
To be at the end of the road and to say that yes, I have left no stone unturned.
No one in my life was left unloved.
I lived, I loved, I laughed. And I learned.
This is what I want for myself.
I want to live more and to love more but to do more, I have to understand more about myself because the truth is the majority of my hang-ups are only mattes in my head. These are all a mental concept or a blockage that prevents me from running free.
Free –
I love that word.
What is it?
I have asked this before and I will be asking this throughout this entire journal.
Happiness . . . what is it?
Is that freedom too?
I think it must be.
What does this mean? Is this real or fantasy?
Is happiness simply an idea or the carrot put before the horse and that as smart as we are as the so-called top of the list or the so-called superior of the species; are we simple and idiotic because we believe in a forced or proposed math that dictates what happiness is supposed to mean? Happiness does not come with a specified blueprint. There is no monopoly on this. Happiness is, of course, subjective and a true account that belongs to us. Thus – no one has the right to define, judge or determine what this means to anyone.
To each their own.
I know this now.
I used to think that “being a man” meant that I had to be strong. Am I strong?
Maybe, but I have learned that strength is only relative and in the grand scheme of things, I am small and perhaps weak; but I am as equally mighty as anyone else down here on Project Earth.
And, so are you.
I thought that being a man meant that I had to know the answers.
I had to be able to problem solve at the drop of a hat.
A man works hard. Right?
He knows how to work a barbecue grill, right?
A man eats everything on his plate.
He doesn’t complain and he doesn’t explain. He only endures and maintains his stance, no matter what takes place.
I used to think that all real men drink beer. They drink blackberry brandy when it’s cold outside too, but just to keep warm.
I used to believe this; however, due to my long-lasting recovery and 32 plus years in sobriety, I no longer support this idea.
But still, I can see why I used to think this.
I used to think that I had to be tough or that I couldn’t flinch at the slightest sensation of pain; nor was I allowed to show myself – and I mean my “true” self because whether my thoughts or feelings were common or not, a real man shows no vulnerability –
Am I right?
Keep your cards close to the vest.
Watch your mask.
Hold your ground and if or when the need be, strike first or strike back as hard as you possibly can.
I used to believe this.
Well, clearly, I was wrong about this as well.
By the way, I am not sure if I know how to define the true worth of a real man now. At the same time, I know that I am a man. This is me and not by name only.
I know that to be tough means that we have to be honest – and let’s be clear, being honest to a fault is absolutely the toughest thing one can do.
This means to face the truth; this means to be brave enough to speak honestly about oneself, regardless of the sway of opinion and, absolutely, the toughest thing anyone can do is be themselves in the face of adversity.
We see this all the time; adversity, I mean.
Everything else I said about honesty is actually a rarity – or so it seems.
I have told you about my lessons of what the words modesty and humility mean. I was told that humility means to be honest about yourself.
Then I was told that modesty is simply the absence of pride.
I decided that if and whenever I decide to come here, as in to come here and speak with you, I have to keep my pride in my pocket and leave my attitude at the door.
I have to be both modest and honest – humble as ever.
At least here, if nowhere else.
I can say that this has helped me throughout the last decade or so.
I say that we all need someplace to go – like here, for example.
I have set this little place up in my mind and that’s why I come here.
I come here to sit with you and to unload the thoughts that go through my head.
I come here to write my way towards a better and happier life. I come here to defy the odds and the adverse opinions which are neither true nor important because to stand on the line and call my name out to be counted is brave – and not everyone has the balls to be so brave. Maybe I don’t either but to hell with it.
Let me try.
Sometimes, I come here to weep. Sometimes, I come here to yell or scream but ah, at least I have this.
At least I have you.
At least I have you here because I know that there are people who have nothing.
They have no one at all – and maybe this is me at times. Maybe there are times when the world seems altogether lonely and uncomfortable – but at least I have this moment here.
(You know?)
At least I have this. At least I have this morning ritual which is enough to bring me back to an upcoming page and keep me going.
Some people have nothing but their own little criticisms and judgments.
But fuck them –
We already know enough about the critics. So –
they get no room on this page.
Happiness –
I have found that while my sources of happiness are different from the 40 year-old version of me and even more so, I see that happiness now is even more different from the 30 or the 20 year-old version of me – and at the moment, or now that I am at a new front and facing a new chapter, my aim is to find what happiness means to me now.
As in right now.
For example, I do believe in happiness. I do see that this is more than just a word or something to chase after.
I see that happiness is a state of mind; it is a presence of self that means in spite of all the unwanted tangles and trips and regardless of life’s little mishaps or the problems that be; happiness means that nothing is so huge or strong that we will drown beneath the weight of our daily life.
So, come what may – or let the chips fall where they may, let time do its trick and let life come for me as it does.
I can take it –
I get it.
Life will come with bouts of turbulence. And I get it.
I am going to fall more times and get back up once more, each and every time, even with my last and triumphant, final breath.
I get it . . .
Happiness is a lifestyle. It is a repetitive series of daily actions which I can use to allow myself to improve where I can and to recover whenever I need to.
Happiness is an afternoon fishing trip at a hidden little spot at a small lake away from the road.
No one knows about this place- but we do.
I say that happiness is a walk on the beach at sunset and then again, the next day at sunrise.
I say that happiness is love and in spite of love or love being unreturned; love and happiness are one and the same.
The two are interconnected and both alive – as in very much alive.
Living and breathing.
Just like us.
That’s what I want for myself.
I want to be alive.
I want to live.
I want to be able to rest or find peace. At the same time, I want the ability to rage when I choose to – to howl at the moon and run as fast as I possibly can to be as wild as humanly possible. Yes, I want this. I want this to build a new chapter and create a new memory that hopefully and eventually becomes one of those photographs that I keep and find one day – and I can look at this and smile or laugh or shake my head and think to myself – I know what I was thinking then.
I was never a person who was comfortable in photographs.
I never liked the expression on my face because, most times, I could tell what was going through my head by the look on my face.
I have a photograph though – it’s only one but I can see by the look on my face and the gleam in my eye that for that moment, I was clear.
I was good. Nothing was so pressing nor was there anything like an insecure thought.
I do not want to age or yellow or fade or become so distant that I become brittle to the touch.
I do not want to turn to ash or dissolve into some kind of anonymous timeline whereas, I then become nothing more than a dwindling memory, blown away by the slightest wind.
I want to be a force.
A strong one . . .
If my final dying sight is the flash before my eyes – then let me get this ready.
Let me start by gearing up for the explosions so that the fireworks from my life explode in banners and sparkles of color.
Let that last moment that flashes before my eyes become so big and explosive that the glimmer is brighter than the sun – and me, I will become like a star, burning brightly in the nightly dreams you have, looking down from the outskirts of the universe to say you know what, “At least I did it well.”
At least I had you
At least I gave it my all.
At least I dared to love.
At least I dared to try.
At least I gave it my all.
I gave it my everything.
And nobody –
Nobody in the world or in the heavens will ever be able to take that away from me.
Not even me . . .
The Written Addiction 