Let’s be brief . . .
What are you going to do when the moment is at hand?
Are you going to sit and watch? Or will you take the shot or take the risk and run with it?
I’d rather run with it
And go. . .
I’d rather feel the thrill. I’d rather take the bull by the horns than sit and wish or waste another minute and find myself wondering whether something “big” could have happened (or not).
They tell me that procrastination is a symptom for something else.
And do you know what I say?
I say they’re right.
I can say that I procrastinate. I say there’s a reason for this. Whether the reason is the way I value something on my priority scale or whether I delay, or whether I pause out of simple laziness or defiance is always tied to a fear or some tension-based thought or an idea that leads me to overthink or fail to launch.
It is the end of July, which is unthinkable in some respects. I am considering the whereabouts and the wherewithal of what it took to get me from where I was to where I am, which is here. Then again, where else could I be, if not here?
However, I am thinking more about the depth and the concepts and the specific value of time and how time matters in more ways than we think.
I am thinking about how time can either create space or distance between us and our goals, or somehow time can move us closer together as people, or send us further apart.
There are times when nothing prepares you for the moment at hand. And there are moments in life when we have to act. But at the same time, there are times when we stall, or we pause, or we fail to move or take an active step. There are times when we wish that we had said what was in our hearts. Or maybe we thought that somehow, we’d always get another chance.
But life is funny this way.
Isn’t it?
Like I said, sometimes the “when,” moments are not so bad. Some of them pick up the branches of memories that fork into different channels and lead us to tunnels of thought, like the time when I first heard music from one of my favorite bands.
I was so young and unaware of music at that time. I knew that I liked the sound. I knew that I liked the words to the song. And I could tell that there was something about this, or something deeper, but I was too young to really understand the lyrics.
But either way . .
Do you remember the time when you heard one of your first favorite songs?
Time is a strange thing.
What I mean is a second is only a second and a minute is only a minute. Better yet, to take this further, an hour is an hour, and a day is a day, but time is always moving, and the clock is always ticking.
It always amazes me how time is always the same; however, if time flies when you’re having fun, what does this say about time when fun is far away and pain is close to the heart?
It’s amazing to me how a year can pass and somehow, you look back as if time never moved—or maybe time moved so fast and last year seemed like it was another lifetime ago.
How many times have we looked back and shook our head because in fairness to the truth, we have no idea how we survived the worst.
How’d we get through it all?
Sometimes . . .
The “when” moments are not a bad thing. For example, there was a time when I reenacted a chapter from the first book I ever read. And I say this mindfully because I did read before this. However, those books are something which I would call mandatory reading. This book was different.
This was the first book that I ever read from cover to cover. This was a great piece of work. But more, this was a book that was written by a hero of mine.
Although, unknown to him, I am nothing more than a fan—at the same time, the book was a piece of art. This was the first time I ever read the work of Robert Fulghum.
Yes, he is a real hero to me.
So, I heard you want to understand the pains and the frustrations of anxiety.
Okay. Let me give this a shot . . .
Let me see if I can make this clear, at least from a subjective point of view.
I have chosen to address my ideas about my past as well as my future. I have been here before. In fact, I’m sure there will be times when I return and, of course, there will be times when I come back again for the same reasons.
Some people might say this is the benefits of journaling.
I agree.
However, I have come here to speak to you.
That’s all.
This is not going to be an easy read, however, this was not something that was easy to write.
But either way, here it goes.
There was a time when I saw myself differently than how I see myself now. At the same time, I can still see myself in the reflections of glimpses past.
Of course, it is safe to assume that as I grow or as I move along on this great big conveyor belt that I often refer to as Project Earth, and the more rotations I take around the sun, the more I’ll see, and the more I’ll learn (at least I hope so).
And yes, the more I do and the further I extend myself into the atmosphere of life in my post 50’s, and the more I travel and the farther I go—I have to say that I find it laughable when I realize that all of my searches have led me back to my beginning.
This means I have always had what I needed. This also means that I failed to take notice of the truest value of their beauty, which is how we lose things, which is why butterflies fly away or the birth of a white feather turns to gray.
I remember when I landed my first suit and tie job. I swore this was going to make me a different person.
I was moving up. I was a man with a job, at least to me.
However, I was nothing more than a kid in a suit with a briefcase and folders filled with samples of woven labels for garment manufacturers.
I had no idea what I was doing. I had less of an idea how to sell an item that was literally viewed as the least important item on the garment.
But that was fine.
I was alive and working in The Big City. I was on my way, or so I thought.
I was about to embark on a new journey with the potential to live well and earn what I considered to be a grown man’s salary.
The Written Addiction 