Random, Aimless and Unplanned – No Matter What

I have been coming here for years now. Then again, you already know this, at least that’s what I assume.
I come here to sit with you, like this, quietly.
But more than anything, I come here to motivate myself. I do this so I can start my day.
Sometimes, I come here to expose myself, or to free myself from the burdens of thought.
Other times, I come here to spill myself in the black and white version of letters and words, sentences and paragraphs. I do this to build something for myself. I do this to include you more in my life and yes, i do this because I need to.
This is part of me now, just like my heart beat or the blood in my veins or the breath in my lungs, these journals and the contents within them are all part of me.
I share them no matter what, and regardless if this reaches my intention or the destination or if this opens you up to me, more or less, I still have to try.

I see this as my offering. At the same time; i see this like a something I once heard in a television show. The name of the show is unimportant and the words are not “mine” per se. but they might as well be to some degree.
The show is about a young kid who had a crush on a girl who was out of his league.
I’ll try not to paraphrase too much, but basically, the young man said, “I know I’m not worthy of you, but I just can’t help loving you. It’s like wanting to touch a star. You know you’ll never reach it. But you just got to keep trying.”
I can appreciate this.
I can appreciate the assumption of a lower worth or a value that is underserving.
I can relate.
I can relate to the doubt that I’ll ever touch a star, but equally, I know that I just got to keep trying.
I have to.
Understand?

I am not here for the food and friends. I’m not here to come up with a scam or some evil plot, but at the same time, I am here to come up with a plan.
I’m here with the same plan, only the plan changes as I grow older.
My plan is simple which, of course, my plan is to pull off a trick or two.
I want to make my way or look to find where I belong.

I have been coming here, on a daily basis, with hopes to grow and improve. I want to be better as a person, as well as a writer. And yes, there are votes against me. Yes, I have enemies and I know that there are wolves in sheep’s clothing.
I understand that every snarl is not an offense and not every smile is friendly.
But this is not about that nor is this about anyone else, at least not right now.
I come here because I want to evolve as an artist. I want to be a better writer.
At the same time, who knows what it means to be a better writer.
Then again, I’m not sure what a writer is these days.
I know that I write.
I know that the written word is subject to interpretation and that once I hit the publish button, the critics have their fun with chewing on this, as in, like, for free.
I understand that my flow is both subjective and perhaps my subjects are not for everyone’s taste—and again, I know the critics enjoy their meat grinder affairs to churn this into chopped meat.
There is always something to criticize and, at the same time, I am not here for this.

Maybe I’m here to find a sense of forgiveness. Maybe I’m here to offer an apology. Or maybe I come here to see if I can rewrite my life ahead of me as opposed to an assumption that my past will always determine my future.
However, I suppose this is true in either regard because whether I choose to stay and to sit still, or if I remain and lament, or if I bitch and complain or suffer in silence, or if I choose to execute an escape and be rid of my past, or perhaps I can create a plan and a strategy. At a minimum, if my past is too overwhelming, or the wreckage and the consequences of my mistakes are too insurmountable for me to overcome them, then yes, I suppose my past can be a fair prediction of my future.
Or, perhaps I can allow this to inspire my improvement; and in the cases of heartache, or in the case of sadness and depression, or in the case of loneliness or in the case of regret, I can allow myself to learn from my past, and rather than repeat my mistakes, I can learn from them, and never make them again.

I can decide to stay or go. I can choose to settle or succumb to the gestures of “more of the same.”
Or I can adjust my sights and ready myself. I can improve at any given moment.
I can choose to straighten my posture and hold my shoulders back, and put chest back, chin up, eyes straight ahead, readied and focused on the determination of my future. If I can do this, then perhaps I can advance on this crazy conveyor belt we call the world.

I can posture up, or if I find myself fighting for my life, so-to-speak, or if I am fighting while on the flat of my back, I can do one of two things. I can quit or give up and submit—or I can look for the sweep.
I can look for the angles. I can fake right and go left or fake left and go right.
I can do any of these things.
I can sweep my opponent and advance my position. I can work towards victory in stages by improving myself on a daily basis, or incrementally, I can improve myself by accumulating a daily plan of tiny successes.

Here are some good questions that I ask myself:
What are some of your biggest successes?
What are your best victories?
What have you done that put so much pride in your heart?
What have you created that was so great that you felt higher than the clouds and painless, too?
What have you accomplished that made everything seem worth it?
What have you overcome?

There are times when we have to be sure if the risk is worth the reward. And it is . . . if you ask me.
You have to see this and when you cross the threshold, you come to a place where the aches or pains, or any of the struggles you lived through were suddenly appeased because, at last, the reward outweighed the risk; and more, the reward was even more incredible than you expected.
This is what I am shooting for.
This is why I am here, regardless of what comes next.
I don’t care about the rejection anymore.
I don’t have time to care.

I suppose my biggest success was running different programs, which I assumed that someone (like me) would never be able to pull them off or get them off the ground.
But I did.
Maybe one of my biggest victories was seeing someone who told me “You’ll never make it, kid.” Yet, I did make it.
I remember a man who told a table of people that I would never make it.
I overheard him say that I would be dead at a young age, or in the case of “he and I” or the location at the treatment facility, which is where we were at the time—this person gave his prediction which was, “that kid is going to be dead before he gets to the end of the road!”
He was wrong.
He said that I would never make it out of the parking lot of the treatment facility.
But I did.

I saw that man later in my life. I saw him more than 15 years later, to be exact. He was not well. He was someone who everyone assumed would “make it,” as they say.
I was not the person who anyone would bet on.
At least to my knowledge, no one was betting on me.
However, despite the opinions or the votes against me and despite the predictions of my failure—I cannot say that everything I did was a success, and no, I am no one to claim perfect adherence, nor am I an angel or innocent. But I’m not who I was predicted to be.
I never became the animal I was assumed to be.
I might not be liked by everyone.
But who is?
Anyone?

What is my biggest victory?
What am I most proud of?
What have I done that when I think about my success, I find myself lofty or high, as in naturally euphoric and somehow exonerated; or what have I done so great, or what have I done to allow myself to feel justified, as if to prove that despite my faults or my mistakes, and no matter how bad I’ve fucked up, what have I done that I can look back at and think better about myself?

I know that there are things I have done, to which I have been helpful or without thought or thinking from some grandiose mindset. I know there are things that I have built and created.
What have I done that was selfless, or helpful without thought—and in fairness, what have I done that defied the alternative voices in my head?
What have I done to defy the ideas or assumptions which either put me down or predicted that I am unworthy, or unappealing to the world?

I know that I have love in my heart. I know that I have been helpful to people. I know that I have done my share of wrongs. I have violated trust and broken relationships in unfixable ways.
I have done wrong.
I have, and I know this.
I know that everything will all be paid for in the end.
I know that I will have to face consequences. I will have to answer for things I have said.
I know this.

I know that the creases we leave behind might not come out. However, I can no longer hold myself to the fire or beat myself up for past distractions or old behaviors.
I have no choice but to move on and go forward.
I have learned that no one is ever absolved from their sins, if they fail to have true regret or sorrow for them.

I have true sorrow and regret.
I wish this meant that I will never make the same mistakes again.
But I am human and, thus, imperfect.
I realize, however, that an empty apology is nothing more than an empty apology.
It’s just words that mean nothing.

I can do one of two things . . .
I can think along the lines of my listed failures, or I can switch my thinking and gather my little successes and let them grow.

It is not an easy deal.
Life, I mean.
We all go through moments of doubt.
We all have seasons of joy and, equally, we all have our own bouts with sadness.
I know that I do.
I know that I come here to improve—even if no one else cares, or even if no one else sees my improvement, and especially, even if I am alone or if no one else is around to cheer me on—including you, either way, at least I can say that I showed up.
I can say that I started my day off with at least one success.
I started my morning. This is one victory.
I made my bed, which is another. I showered. I washed myself. I brushed my teeth.
I made my way downstairs, got in my car, and I made sure to make it to work on time.

And this too, me, you, and our little exchange, which is me talking to you, or me talking to myself and imagining that you are here as if to be sitting next to me in this little mental room of mine—this is another victory.

I can say that I have done more than I believed I could.
I can say that there are times when I lost sight of my goals or lost focus, and I wandered off or ventured away from my best version of “self.”

I don’t want to be the next William Burroughs or the next Kerouac, or Carroll or the next Frank O’Hara.
I might not write anything as brilliant as “Having a Coke With You,” but that’s fine.
Then again . . .
I don’t want to be the next anyone. I want to be the first me.
I want to set my own bar and reach the heights, which I never thought would be possible.

I want to improve on a daily basis, but above all things, I want to be happy.
This is the real trick.
This would mean that I will have to leave the past behind me.
This means I can review my memories of justice or the times when I was happy or satisfied. Although there is pain in my past and equally regret, I can adjust from here. I can say goodbye to what was (or what wasn’t) and I can let go of the lies, the faults and the bad presence of people, places and things. If I allow myself, I can review my past as a resource of hope, as in hope to improve, and hope to create the benefit of a new and bright loving future.

I have a new day today.
I’ve already started with a few successes to add to my collection, and this, or should I say “you” and the fact that I’m still here, and still reaching out despite the problems or troubles and no matter what, and regardless of my fears or pain or the worries that someone might see “the real me” and run away or laugh—well?

I call this a success above all successes.
I call this heart because I still show up.
Like my Old Man used to tell me, I call this a special brand of “stick-to-itiveness!”
And yes, this is a success, on its own.

Time to go.
I have a new life to live.
I have a yesterday to say goodbye too.
And I know that I can do this.
I just have to keep from sliding backwards—and the only way to do this is by constantly moving forward.

No matter what.