I was thinking about the last few weeks and the things that I have seen. I’ve been thinking about the decisions I’ve had to make or the troubles I’ve had to face.
I have been thinking about the people who I’ve met, or who live with special needs, or those who face daily challenges, which are far more draining. Then I think about my own life.
And I wonder who I am.
Who am I to complain?
Who am I to bitch or live as if I am challenged, which is not to say that I don’t have challenges. However, my challenges are a blessing to others. In my case, their challenges are unthinkable to me.
I have spoken about Doug on occasion. I knew him when I was young. He had challenges. Doug could hardly walk when he was in grade school, and unfortunately, Doug was in a wheelchair by middle school.
At the same time, Doug always smiled and laughed. He lived and as far as I knew, Doug never complained.
There used to be a man who worked on the 10th floor in my building. He had physical challenges as well. This man showed up to work each day before 6:00 am. He prepared the mailroom. He put out what needed to be put out and did whatever his job required. All the while, he never complained. He always smiled and said good morning.
I’d hold the door for him when I’d see him in the lobby. I’d wait for him, no matter how long it took.
And like him, I smiled. I said hello or good morning.
Then I’d go on about my business.
I am fortunate to have ten fingers and ten toes. I might not have a body of steel and perhaps my age has made it so that I am sore and achy. But I can stand on my own two feet. I can see. I can hear. I can get up or sit down. I can navigate and change course throughout my day.
I was thinking about my troubles and the concepts which hold me back or pull me in towards my social intimidations.
I was thinking about my levels of sensitivity and my shortsightedness and, of course, I was thinking about the arrogance it takes to walk around and be resentful or angry. I was also thinking how arrogant it is to walk around and believe that I will escape insults and injuries.
I was thinking about the bits and pieces of personal darkness or the downfalls we face. This is not to downplay what happens to me when hell that breaks loose, or the need to find the strength or to become powerful enough to find the courage to redeem myself or to “walk away” from the places or the things; but more, this is a simple thought to put life into perspective.
I think about the abilities of a young girl, or someone in their teens who face their new life and at the same time, they face the challenges of others and their lack of sensitivity.
I think about the way people stare at someone who lives or walks with a challenge. By the way, it’s not like any of this is fashionable.
It’s not like anyone asks to be challenged or to feel crippled or handicapped.
I think about the common insensitivities and the draws of the crowd or the need to be wanted or included and accepted.
I think about my own struggles with social anxiety or the need to be wanted, included, or accepted. Then I think about the commonplace insecurities that most (if not all) people have. And then I wonder . . .
Who the hell am I?
I don’t know if I am strong. I don’t know if I am tough.
I don’t know if I have the wherewithal to understand or the endurance and the ability to survive or live a day in someone else’s shoes.
I don’t know these things.
And sometimes, I don’t think I know anything.
I know that I can be honest enough to say that yes, I have given up before.
I’ve quit.
I’ve taken my toys and gone home, so-to-speak.
I can say that I have crumpled up sheets of paper and tossed the plans I wrote down in the trash bin or a garbage can. And I’ve said “FUCK IT!” more times than I can count.
I know that being tough isn’t something you can be—it’s something that you are. I know that I have failed. I have failed good people. I have let myself down. I’ve let loved ones down. I have looked for quick fixes and shot for the cheap shots or looked for the angles.
I’ve taken advantage.
Sure, I have.
My Old Man used to tell me that quitting becomes a habit.
I can see that now.
An old friend of mine used to tell me that we are in the effort business.
Not the result business.
This means getting up. No matter what.
Win or lose, pass or fail.
We have to address the line in the sand.
This means that regardless of who is on your side or if you have anyone (or no one at all) and despite who cares or pushes you—nothing happens if nothing happens, which means survival and success must come from within.
There is an opposition in this world. There are people who will cheer if we fall. There will always be adversity. There will be people who look to make you question yourself.
There will be people who tell you about your worth, just so they can degrade your value, and keep you from taking the next step. This way, they won’t have to face the facts that they weren’t brave enough to take the next step themselves.
I have been thinking about the challenges I face or the bouts of anxiety or my arguments with depression.
I have been thinking about the value or the motivation of completing this journal.
And then I came to this:
The difference between being a winner or loser is the answer to the question that inspired this series..
What now?
The way we answer or address this question means everything.
The way I stand, or how I act, or how I respond, how I react to adversity, and the way that I choose to endure and refuse to surrender, or the secret behind how I choose to keep going, and the way that I refuse to face the loss columns—and even if I do lose, or fall; the way that I address my “What now?” questions makes all the difference in the world.
It’s time to address the line in the sand.
It’s time to decide and take the next step.
It’s time to work and earn and get up, right now.
It’s time.
As for the question, what now or how this applies to me . . .
Let me just down the last gulp of my coffee.
And I’ll get up and show you.
Right now.
The Written Addiction 