Finding My Euphoria – A Friendly Introduction

 I don’t suppose you remember me, or maybe you do. After all, I am the same as I have always been. I might have changed as far as my height is concerned.
I’ve grown some. I’ve gained weight and lost weight.
I have moved from town to town, and I’ve had a few different jobs.
I’ve lived a few different lives and worn different hats and perhaps I’ve worn a different face from time to time. But trust me when I tell you, I will always be me.

I am the same person you knew all those years ago. I have the same laugh. I have the same smile. I am older but my face has not changed that much.

I am no different now from when I was younger. My heart still beats the same. I can still breathe in and out like the rest of the world.
I have aged, which means that my bones are not what they used to be, and perhaps as much as I would like to believe that I am the same as I was, maybe I am not what I used to be.
Then again, this is life.
Life happens, all day and every day.
We go through different phases. We experience different setbacks and endure losses, pains, and if we are lucky, we learn from where we’ve come from.
Maybe we find a way to gain a step or two, even if we get knocked back, or knocked down, the aim is to get back up and keep moving.

I admit that life has a way of casting shadows across the light of our hope — or what I mean to say is it can be hard to remain hopeful, as far as life is concerned.
I have experienced moments of awareness. I have felt the sting of humiliation. I have endured my bouts of shame and, of course, I have lived with regret for a long time as well.

I am not sure what you see when you look at me. I am unsure what anyone sees because in the inaccuracies of the mind, we tend to believe that people see what we assume.
I say this as someone who lives with my own personal awkwardness. I live with bouts of social and general anxiety and yes, I live with depressive ideas which have accumulated throughout the years. Sometimes, they can be unbearable. But still, I get by.

Either way, I am still me.
I am still that boy.
I am still the little kid who wants to explore and who wants to take walks along an empty beach.
Or take today, for example.
The temperature has dropped below freezing.
I assume the beaches are empty and beautiful, yet I picture the beach at Point Lookout with a sad, yet pastoral reflection. The sky is kind this morning. There is no warmth from the sun, at least not to be expected, and the winds are gentle, but cold to the touch.

I assume the beach would be empty with the exception, of course, of people like me, or people like us who go to seek or to find an answer. Or maybe I go to send my prayers in packages of salt air and as an offering, I confess my sins to the outgoing waves, to have them vanish in the infinite sea, which is far bigger than I realize.

Then again, so are we.

I am still that boy who walked the beach on New Year’s Day, small as ever, and bundled in sweaters and coats, and with mittens on my hands and my ears tucked beneath a hat that was knitted by my Grandmother.
I am that little boy who walked quickly behind my Father.
I am him. I am that scared child. I am that youthful example of hope and dreams. I am that child who was hurt and confused. However, I am that boy who made sure to place at least one footstep in one of my Father’s footprints so that one day, I can be like him—my very first hero.

I am that boy who grew into a teenager. I am that kid in the class. I am the scared one who acted as if I were brave and yes, this is me.
I am the one who never had a real sweetheart or never knew that anyone liked me, and I am him, the small one, or the smaller one in the classroom who was laughed at and picked on.

I was never the one that the girls picked to be with. At least, if I were, then I was never the one who was picked for long.

I am a list of insecurities and uncomfortable memories. At the same time, I am still him, that boy inside who wanted to live or to laugh or to play and take turns.

I am the one who believes in the healing power of holding hands. I am the one who believes in the power of attention and affection. And yes, I am the one who understands sadness or the lack thereof, and I am the one who understands what it means to yearn to be wanted, or who yearns to be valued, or to be enough, or to be invited and included. Above all else, I am that person who wished and wondered, hoped and dreamed that maybe someday, I would find the place where I belong.

I don’t suppose you remember me. It’s been a while since I was brave enough to show this face to anyone, except for you.

I thought I’d come by to let you know that I’m going to be around for a while.
I am going to come here, to this place, each day and every morning.

I was told that this is a good way to heal.
I was told that this was a good place for me to come and sit and maybe we can talk for a while, you and me. Maybe, if you’re not too opposed to the idea—maybe you and I can find a way to make this place our own little spot called Heaven on Earth.

I’m looking to undo what was done, so-to-speak.
I’m looking to rewire my thinking and to recalibrate my compass so that I can navigate away from the troubled waters of yesterday and the day before.

I want more.
At the same time, I don’t want much.
I just want you and me and a few moments in the sun.

Aside from that,
I want to be happy.
I want to find my place in the circle, or who knows, maybe there’s a trip in the near future, maybe down south near Carlsbad, New Mexico, and maybe there’s a long, long drive through the dessert.
Either way, this is me.
This has always been me.
And I can be yours,
if you’ll still have me.