Age steps in.
I suppose I always believed that my life would be different. Or maybe I never thought that life would be this way, or this serious, or intense.
I suppose I assumed that my life would be different from what it is now. Then again, I suppose that my youth never predicted that age would be possible or essentially, I suppose, I never considered that I would reach this age or grow this old. And I have.
(Somehow)
Perhaps, I swore or I made a promise to myself that I would never grow old.
In fact, I’m sure I did.
I swore that I would never become “one of them.”
I swore that I would defy the process of life and that I would never be “like them.”
However, I understand the terms “they” or “them” are accusatory and that yes, the terms are somewhat broad; however, when I say, “like them,” I mean “them” or “they”. In my case, I mean anyone who became an objection or anyone to whom I held such contempt.
In fairness –
I never thought that I would reach this age. I never thought I would be an adult, per se, and then again, I swore all of these things at a young age.
I swore that I wound never follow the leader nor allow myself to surrender the fight or give in and submit. I swore that I would face the gamut and let the pendulum swing before renouncing my throne in some otherwise crazy and infected kingdom.
I swore that I would never allow anyone “to get in,” on me. I would never let anyone through; that I would maintain the top or the dominant position and that I would never take a submissive stance or be open or vulnerable.
I swore upon this, as if I held my hand up and swore like a man on a witness stand (or perhaps I should say a convict) and thus, I swore to this with my right hand on the bible and the other held up, as if to be asked, “Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”
And not that God has or hasn’t helped me; and not to enter my plea as of yet, of whether God exists or whether God is listening to confessions today, or if his proponents are stacking bibles in my favor or against me as I write this to you; but instead I swore upon this, back when my youth blurred the vision of my future because, in fairness, the future is for old people.
Remember?
(or so I thought)
Thus, I swore that I would never grow old.
Or hence, if I did grow old or if I failed to find my trick, and if I couldn’t pull of a sense of perpetual youth, and if I failed to defy the hands of Father Time; then maybe I thought that I would go out in some dramatic blaze of glory.
Then again, I swore upon this when I was young.
Maybe I assumed that I would be the same or that I would always think or believe the same way — as in forever. Thus, I assume this meant that I did not consider the facts.
That fact is: life changes and so does the world. So would I and so would you.
Not all my changes were beneficial. I realize this and call this out too.
Some of my changes were counterproductive or simply self-destructive.
Perhaps this is like it says in Corinthians 13:11, which is “when I was a child, I spoke as a child.”
Therefore, I believed in what children believed and I was too young to realize that time is always moving and inevitably, time is running out.
I was too naive and unaware (or uneducated) to understand that changes will happen, and life will take place. I will be the fool. I will be the bad guy and the villain. There will be time when I get to play the hero or the good guy. And there will be times when I am loved and otherwise hated.
I will be jaded at times, and hopefully, I will open up to a new or better way of thinking, which means that I have a shot. Even if it’s only one, at least I still have a shot.
Maybe this is as I have said to you before, I was too young to realize that my so-called plethora of tomorrows would dwindle down to a finite and limited number.
I was too unaware to realize that time would be ticking, or the hours would become late, and like it is with my biggest fear, I might learn my lesson too late. Therefore, I’ll miss my window to find my place in the circle and never experience the feeling of having “my spot” or the place which I’ve always wanted.
My biggest fear is that I’ll wake up too late and that’s it.
It’s over. It’s all gone.
And I lost.
As far as I am concerned, I am very simple. I am no saint, by any means nor am I a sinner above all else. No, I come complete with my own baggage and my own problems, my own sins, mistakes, and like anyone else I have my own regrets and misgivings.
I am no better or worse than anyone else.
I am very simple.
I have people who like me and people who don’t. I have people who root for me and yes, there are those who would rather see me fall, or worse, there are those who would love to watch me go down in flames, or as they say in the old gangster world—there are those who would prefer to see me go down for “the dirt-nap.” But I’m sorry, I can’t fulfill that prophecy right now.
I have to say this for transparency:
The last year of my life has swung me around in a full circle. I went crazy. I walked away, as if gone, or left, and then came home and then I quit and started over. I have changed my routine and switched my plans and changed my tactics.
I have been convicted of crimes against myself (as well as others) and while I mean this more from a figurative standpoint, there is a literal sense to this as well.
I have never lived alone for as long as I have now, which perhaps I will live alone for a whole longer. Maybe this is a good thing. Therefore, I can say that I have changed.
I can say that I see things differently from this time last year.
I am no longer a subscriber to the same beliefs or the same visions that I had. I do not think the same or feel the same as I did then. My relation to the past or my relationship with myself has been forced to render to an eye-opening change, which is inspiring and defeating and truthfully, I am standing in the clear view of my reflection. Sometimes, I like it. Other times, I am not comfortable with what I see.
Do you know what this makes me?
Human . . .
I cannot fathom the same thoughts or think the same way or feel as I did.
At least, not anymore.
I do not understand why life happens the way it does. I don’t know why we fight or why I turn inward or why I act like a child or allow my insecurity to get the better of me which, again, I ask, do you know what this makes me?
This makes me human.
However, I do understand that sometimes life is teaching us something—and if we learn, perhaps we can escape another scar or avoid another fall. However, if we fail to look or if we forget to notice or pay attention, we can trip and fall and suffer the damages worse than if we listened the first time.
And me?
Well . . .
I admit that I am a repeat offender.
I am a sinner.
I am all of what is said and yes,
I am not perfect by any means.
But I am not pointing my fingers at anyone (anymore).
Age . . .
It’s a trip, no?
Age is a funny thing. And so is hindsight. So is the reflection we see in our emotional mirrors. So are the details we realize when our eyes open wide enough to recognize who we are and what we’ve done to others and who we’ve been to them and ourselves.
I am no better now than the person I was yesterday. However, I can say that I have improved and that no, I am not the same person I was, this time last year.
But I suppose, this is not enough
(at least, not for me).
I’ll be clear and for now, I will close with this.
There is a special level of humility and modesty which comes when we train in martial arts. In my case, I have been training in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu for a short while now. I come home in pain. I am sore and achy — and each time I arrive at class, I prepare myself for a new version of humility, which can be brutal at times.
To put this in the simplest context—I get beat up, is what happens to me.
Everyone seems to tell me that this is the good part.
I tell people how my body aches and that I am sore.
And I’m told this is a good thing.
I’m told this is a good pain and that the pain is addicting.
I don’t know about that.
In fact, I beg to differ.
I have been addicted to things before.
I don’t think I’d need rehab to quit this particular challenge.
I don’t want to think as I thought or be as I was.
I want to be someone else now.
Better yet, I just want to be better.
I want to keep from the pistols of my past and stay away from the persecutions and keep myself far, far away from the “dirt-nap.”
There’s a whole new world ahead of me.
And I admit it—I’m frightened to say the least.
So, what now?
My answer is the same.
I don’t know . . .
Maybe a few bites of food and a good movie.
Maybe I could watch an old black and white film.
Or maybe I could cut the shit and realize that I have grown folk’s business to take care of.
So, I might as well get started and be prepared
(or act accordingly).
The Written Addiction 