I have told you about my trick. Or at least the tricks I’ve been looking to pull off, at least to some degree. I have nothing up my sleeve and no mirrors or anything like that. And this . . .
my tricks or whatever they may be; these are items of mine, or should I say that these are things that I have been working on in my one special workshop. So, please, be gentle or at least be kind when you look them over.
I am like a child who goes to art class and builds a collage or some kind of colorful contraption with sticks and glue. This may not seem like much to anyone else, but to me, this is more than just my life’s work.
This is more than anything to me.
I’ve taken chances before.
I poked the bear. I’ve taken cheap shots and yes, I’ve been underhanded before.
But not everything is so evil or filled with a sentiment of wrongdoing.
I realize what happens when we start off on the wrong foot or what happens when life is built on lies.
I’ve seen myself crumble and watched the walls around me as they came crashing down.
Do you know what this is called?
Consequences.
This is called lessons.
This is life.
This is what I call the aftermaths of insecure thinking and, more accurately, this is life when we walk without confidence.
I admit that I am afraid to dance because i’m afraid that my steps might be out of rhythm. I used to be afraid to smile. And I mean painfully afraid because I was afraid that the crookedness of my grin or the imperfections of my smile would be far too obvious and, otherwise, I would only be ugly at best.
It’s hard to shoot for your goals when you’re afraid that someone will judge the form and the accuracy of your throw. And I know I’m not perfect.
I know that I miss the jump shots. I’ve fallen short, more than once.
I missed the angles.
I know that I have moved too quickly at times, or perhaps I moved with haste, or maybe this was out of fear, because I was afraid that I would never “make it,” or score.
What does that mean?
What does it mean to make it?
There are times when I paused when I should have advanced.
Fear does this.
There are times when I moved without a plan.
I jumped.
I took blind leaps of faithless abandon, and all the while, I was hoping for an ace to make my hand more unbeatable. For those who never played cards, I was hoping to pull something off, regardless of my winless abilities or the ideas that someone “like me” could never pull of a trick, “like that!”.
I have never sat in the winner’s circle.
Or maybe I have and I took the moments for granted.
This could be the case.
I can say that for sure.
I can say that I have lived through some crazy moments.
I remember wondering if fun like this would eventually come with a price.
Maybe the answer is yes. Maybe the interest was more than I anticipated.
But I think I’ve paid enough now.
I can go and be free.
I can take a walk. I don’t have to look back anymore.
I don’t have to wonder what went wrong.
Instead, I can move on and look to see what I can do to pull a trick, and make things right.
This is a trick, all on its own. I know.
Then again, I don’t think tricks make anyone win or lose. Sometimes, it’s just enough to make a motion or to give something an appeal, as if to be starry like or blinding. Hence, we can forget the realities of something average or mediocre.
I want more than the average.
I want more than mediocre.
I want the world.
Or better yet, I just want my world.
The rest is out of my league.
I understand the need to take something and make it brighter.
Perhaps it would be better to say that I understand what it’s like to assume that I am dull or absence of shine, and hence, I’ve tried to decorate or add some shine to an otherwise dull existence or an otherwise lackluster appeal, which is how I assumed the world would see me.
I say this admittedly because I say this in all fairness to myself—I was always afraid that something about me was either unsightly or imperfect or wrong.
I am alive and well in this suit, which is my body, skin and all. I am decorated. I am colorful. I am tattooed which, of course, I am a storybook, live and in person. I am unfolding, or unraveling, like an ongoing story.
I have tattoos that are due to be removed or covered. I have mistakes on my body. At the same time, perhaps none of them are mistakes. Maybe they are not imperfections at all, but instead, maybe this is all part of my story. This is the salt and pepper that flavors my life.
I am designed. I am colored and tatted.
I am withdrawn in some regards and young or youthful in others. However, I am simply this – I am only a child, grown into a man—and like a child, I am still afraid of the dark. I am timid, yet, I am still eager to play.
I am hopeful.
I want to be the prince of the castle.
Perhaps I am looking for or a better circle of friends. Maybe I played with the wrong people.
I know I did.
I’m trying to find the right person to swing on the swings with or look at the moon and see why love can happen anywhere, at any age, and at any time, with anyone.
There is an inner child.
I know this person. I know that boy or that little kid. I see him all the time and I often tell him, “It’s okay. You can come out now.” Because the rest of the bullies have all gone away.
At least, I hope so.
I tell him not to listen to what people say.
Mean people say mean things.
This is what they do.
People who used to love you will say mean things too.
And this is more hurtful than anything.
But this also shows why the universe set people apart and split the road, so we can go elsewhere.
I just want to laugh. I want to be remarkable.
I think the tricks appeal to me, like say, the time I wanted to build a carnival in my basement.
I made little games and little prizes. I took little sticks and little rubber dart guns and made targets.
I’m sure none of the games were that great.
But, still,
I made them all.
I set everything up in my basement, and then . . . I waited.
But no one showed.
I asked God if he would like to come by. I mean, no one would have to know. It would just be the two of us.
I know this was a big ask, you know?
With God being famous and all—I’m sure this would have caused a little bit of a traffic jam on my street by my house on Merrick Avenue.
I think God must have been busy that day.
I suppose that maybe he was too busy because this was on a Sunday—and I know that Sunday is a day of rest, and all, but I also know that people go to church on Sunday — so, I assumed God was probably too busy listening to other people’s prayers — or maybe he was too busy to play with a kid (like me).
No matter how grown I am and no matter what age I reach, I will always regard that boy or that child within.
I will always remember the times I wanted to play but there was something either holding me back—or there was no one else to play with, or I was afraid to play and not be good enough, so why try?
No one ever wants to be the last person to get the joke. Then again, and more than anything, no one wants to be the gullible one or the punchline—and that’s when your eyes open as you come to the light of an unfortunate realization that everyone is laughing, but at you, not with you.
I never thought this would be me. Then again, I’m not sure that I knew who I would be when I was 18, let alone who I would be at 25, let alone 35 and here I am at the age of 52.
What the hell is that?
This was ancient to me at one point. And no, I never thought that life was real enough that I would still be here. Better yet, I never thought that I would see the day when I would be older than my doctors or I would receive literature about my retirement.
I never thought much about my future because, to be honest, I thought the future was only for old people. I can tell you one thing, I swore that I would never grow old.
But I am.
I might not be ancient but I’m not so young anymore. I don’t move the way I did when I was a kid. I don’t look the same. However, I swear, I have these dreams of my younger self—and he is me.
At the same time, he is another person or a separate entity; however, in relation to the Holy Trinity, I am parts of three. I am the mind, body, and the soul.
I am thought, feeling, and emotion.
I am love, and hate, and the fear that one will overshadow, or one will never arise to equal the light of the sun.
And my youth?
My youth is part of my trinity. This is my history. The other parts of this trinity are my present and my future. All of which are wrapped and somehow interconnected—as in, or as if to say, “as it was in the beginning, is now, and will be forever.”
I have always wished that I could pull a trick. I’ve always wanted to make something magical or be something beautiful—that is, of course, if anything is beautiful.
Or if beauty is real or if beauty is more than fleeting and if beauty is alive and actually constant, then what kind of trick do I have to pull to be beautiful?
And so, if I am to be beautiful or if I am beautiful, as I am now, then maybe there is no trick.
Maybe the magic is real, and although I have my own misgivings and misunderstanding, and while I am afraid and while I am still that scared little boy—maybe this is the most beautiful part about me.
I am aware of myself and yet, I am unaware at the same time
I am clear that I know that I have truths and talents, hopes, and dreams. I have gifts. I have accomplishments. I have lists of victories, and yet, I have fears. I have worries that I am going to be exposed or discovered as “less-than” or unworthy.
I am afraid to try and fail
(or be laughed at).
I always think about the innocence of a child who wants to show you their bedroom. They show you their toys. They show you their heart and their dreams.
And this is all true.
No pretense.
No decorations.
No need to please or impress.
No fake arousals or lies that take away their purity.
This is beautiful.
And to maintain this kind of beauty . . .
That’s one hell of a trick too.
I understand the toxic gestures of how an older kid comes over and looks to bully the younger ones.
I have met kids like this. I know people who enjoy the spoilage of happiness I’ve met kids who love to take away the joys or the fascinations of Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy. I know about this because I have been there too.
I hear people who talk about looking to find the fountain of youth. I hear people tell me how youth is wasted on the young. I hear about the changes we face and the obstacles we negotiate and that life is either one of two ways—either we submit and succumb, or we adapt and we overcome.
Now, that’s a trick.
I want to give this a shot.
I want to let the curtains open. I want to face the lights. I want to be rid of my stage fright. I want to be brave enough to face the crowd.
I want to stand tall and stand in the face of my adversities and stand up, no matter what my dilemmas may be, and regardless of what is said about me, regardless of who likes me or who hates me, or despite the opinions or the sad predictions, or in whichever the case may be; I don’t care who tells me to go shit or go blind. I don’t care who tells me to go “do the world a favor,” and leave or end my life.
I don’t care.
I want to be happy, as if to say, “Ta-Da!”
I pulled off my trick.
I want to take a small fishing boat out and be the captain.
I want to feel the sun on my face and go to places where I never thought I would go.
I want to take that drive in an old convertible and be on some long highway, driving through parts of the country that I never knew existed.
That’s a trick. . .
I want to start to pull off my tricks because I waited too long and invested too poorly.
Now it’s time to make a move.
And now it’s time to say goodbye.
There’s a whole new world out there.
And the kid? The one inside of me . . .
I spoke with him this morning.
I let him know that I was sorry for not playing as much as I should have.
I told him that I’m sorry no one showed up to our little carnival that we set up in the basement.
I told him that I don’t know if the fountain of youth is real (or not) but if there is one, then that wouldn’t be a trick.
“Just hold on, kid.”
I want to pull a trick, and be young again.
But I want to be old enough to realize that time is fleeting and moments disappear.
Don’t wait too long to play or have fun because life slips away, right before our eyes, and if you’re not careful, you’ll find that you waited for something that was never intended to happen.
We can’t be afraid anymore, to walk away, to make a change or to go or stay.
Life is happening….
So is time.
I don’t ever want to be old.
Never.
But that’s a trick for another journal.
You know?
The Written Addiction 