What do I know?
Well, I know this is from the heart.
I know that we are far deeper than the eye can see.
I know that we all have a past. We have memories and experiences. We have traumas and battles and scars that are often visible and equally invisible as well.
We are far more complex and detailed and we are far more valuable and important to be summed up by the equation of a label or some kind of pseudo-identity.
No, I think you are more than that.
And so am I.
I know that everyone is going through something. I know that at some point, everyone is going to fall or find themselves in trouble or scared. We all find ourselves in dire moments or times when we hit the “OH SHIT!” button because life is a little too fucking nuts!
(Pardon my language)
I know that life is bound to happen to everybody.
It’s not just us.
No one gets out of this place alive.
No one!
I know that there is no one above or below me nor better or worse. I know that I am like you or like anyone else here on this planet. I have no special claims or any cures or money to waste or time to lose.
I have faults and flaws and challenges to face. I have obstacles to overcome, and problems that I have to choose to face, or, I can turn this around.
Right?
I can turn “”problems into possibilities” and “obstacles into opportunities.”
Yes, I absolutely can.
I can look at the glass as half-full or half-empty. Yes, I can also realize that life is a situational dilemma sometimes, which means I can either address the line and show every day, or I can submit, quit, surrender and simply allow my hopes and dreams to flush away like a dead leaf on the surface of a fast stream—outgoing and gone, or forgotten or deferred and in its wake is nothing but a memory of desire that faded with age and died too young.
I can do that, or I can pick out my outfit for the world and dress the part, address the line, and win or lose, I can say that while I was down more than once—so long as I never quit or gave up, then I can say that nothing and nobody ever got the best of me.
While I can see the world around me and notice there are some people who look perfect or “pretty” and somehow they fit the role perfectly, I know this is only an interpretation or an illusion because remember this: This is life and nobody gets out of here alive.
There are those who have it easy, or so it seems and, adversely, there are those who struggle and suffer in silence. And yet, they have more heart and more courage and more love to share than the wealth of any sunshine.
There are good people in this world.
I know this to be true.
I know this because I have met them. I have sat with them, spoken with them, and I have had the honor to break bread with them.
I have met some of the best people in this world yet no one would ever know how incredible they are—just by looking at them. No one would ever know how amazing they are because, in fairness, most people walk around with blinders on.
Most people are in their own world and fail to pay attention to simple things, like a tear in the eye of a friend who sits so proudly because they were there for you “back then” and now they are here to see who you’ve become now.
Also—
I have met people who were otherwise dismissed and judged or counted out, and condemned, or written off. Yet, I have found them to be lifesaving to me.
I have met people who society would call monsters and tattooed or pierced or scared and flawed, these very same people who held me at my worst of times—just to say they love me.
I have met with the high-end folks and the rich and wealthy. I have seen how poor they are. I have seen their wealth become squandered because not even their millions could buy them a true friend or keep them from being lonely, or angry and distant from love.
At the same time, I have sat with people in homeless shelters and found their smiles to be worth more than gold. They were smarter than me and you put together.
I have worked with men who lived modest and humbled lives, and who came from tough upbringings and who lived through hard times with thick skin on their hands, calloused from their daily life of manual labor. They worked hard or harder than you could possibly imagine and they did this so that their family would never have to worry, never have to wonder if there’d be food on the table or a roof above their heads.
I have met people who lived and who endured and achieved and succeeded. While theirs was not the typical life or the commercialized version of success, their success was beyond measure—and so was their endurance and equally, so was their love.
My aim is to become half of this and I would be more successful than I could possibly dream of.
I am not a child nor have I been a child for quite some time.
Yet, I am younger now than say, when I was a young man. I am younger because I am braver and now that I have come to this stage of existence, I find myself at a turning point where I am allowed to be young and new and fresh.
I don’t have to have the answers.
I don’t have to know every-fucking-thing!
It’s okay if I don’t know something or if I don’t understand.
It’s okay to ask for help and it’s okay to be myself.
I can just be me now, which is this person who sits across from you. I am envisioning this happening in this little mind-space of a café—situated in some city-like atmosphere with a saucerful of coffee on the table and a special gift for you, which I hope that you accept.
I am this person now, sliding my notes to you across the table.
I offer this to you—giftwrapped, to my most special and valuable friend and keeper of all my secrets.
I am that child who was picked on or scared and yes, I am that boy who was hurt or betrayed and absolutely, I am that boy who was confused and unaware of my own beauty and worth.
I was done wrong, touched and stained and tainted from my purity.
I am that boy who was so eager to smile until someone came along and picked on me, which is where the questions began. This is when I started to wonder about my looks or my worth and my beauty.
I am that socially awkward, scared, uncomfortable little kid, who is eager to laugh and to be loved, and hopeful to be picked first instead of last, and hopeful to be a part of the team (or welcomed).
I am writing this to you (specifically) because if anything, I want this to be real.
I want this to be personal.
I want this to be more than just another journal that was sewn up with a point or a plot and a message to be sent out into the world with hopes that somebody out there “gets me!”
I came up with the title, What Do You know (You’re Just a Kid,) because somewhere in there, and deep in the heart of us is a child who is bright and smart and so amazing and huge. There is a source within us that is so huge that the world is too small of a place to contain our magic.
I am writing this because I was a child who went missing for way too long.
And I was grown like this, afraid and stuck in my thoughts.
So, please, if I can encourage anything — I would like to encourage the following:
Stake your claim.
Say it
This is me!
Tell the world.
This is who I am!
Let the universe hear you and say:
“This is what I want to do, and this is who I want to be!”
I think that you know more than you think.
I believe this too. Wholeheartedly.
I believe that you know more than me.
I’m a traveler like you or anyone else only I have had the fortunate experience to cross your path. I am lucky enough to say that I know you—and as a result, I am the one person in the world who has been inspired by you the most, which is something that I can prove.
No, really, I can prove this easily.
I can prove this because I’m still here.
I’m still writing to you on a daily basis.
I am still searching and working and hoping and dreaming and more, I am still willing to regain my childish hopes. Yes, we can collect fireflies when the sun goes down in the early parts of summer. And yes, we can dream. We can hope.
We can wish and we can pretend.
But more than anything, we can play.
(If you’d like to)
These items above are things that become lost with age—such as the art of playing or having fun or being youthful, or childish even, because for some reason—adulthood comes along and steals the way we laugh or smile.
So, before I close—
I want you to know that I admire you and your willingness to dream.
I admire your beauty and your youth.
I admire your special way of smiling or laughing and yes, I would give anything to sit in the audience of your life, just to see you dance or sing. I’d be there for any of this—even to see you play a silly little instrument, like we did back in the second grade, remember?
I think they called them recorders or something like that.
Remember them?
They were plastic flutes that sounded awful—but even still, if allowed and if invited, it would be an honor to sit in the audience of your life and celebrate you and cheer and applaud because I’ll tell you one thing right now, if allowed, — and kindly forgive the New York accent as I try to convey this with all of my heart and all of my love:
“There ain’t no one in this world who will ever cheer for you louder than me!”
No one!
So, I need you to do me a favor . . .
I need you to find your inspiration.
Find what motivates you.
Find what you love and pick out who you want to be.
Do this without apology.
Pick out the outfit for your life, design this as best as you can and again, do this without apology.
Please, do this for me . . .
Tell the universe, this is who I am
This is what I want to do
and this is who I want to be.
Put it out there and then . . .
I want you to make it so.
No one in this world can hold a candle to who you are — and should you find yourself lost or if you forget your value or your beauty, don’t worry, I’ll be right here if you need me
(just to remind you).
You can always call if you want.
Besides, it’s not like I sleep much.
(You know?)
I’m going to close this for now.
It’s time for a new journal and a new journey.
I hope I can count on you to come with me.
Okay?
The Written Addiction 