It is early, of course, and the rain has made plans to stay with us for most of the week.
It is an odd time of year for me. Christmas.
Then again, I’m sure this is an odd time for a lot of people. I’m sure there are those who are alone or have no reasons to decorate or celebrate this time of year.
Either way, the sun only stays with us for a little while during the winter months.
The sky is dark by quitting time, which means that I leave before daybreak and then I’m home after sunset.
Yesterday was gray.
Something new was born. Something old passed away or moved on to a different plane of existence.
Meanwhile, I have been told that there are no certainties in life.
However, and respectfully, I beg to differ.
It is certain that today will become tomorrow and yesterday will grow more distant from today. There is a remedy for relief in this equation, which I firmly believe goes unused or unaddressed.
There is evidence and proof that time can heal, or if not heal, at least time can put distance between us and the useless aggression or arguments that happen between people.
It is good that the world shakes from time to time. I see our little quakes as needed moments that lead us to times of awareness.
I see our mistakes as momentary happenings, or more, I see this as awakenings whereas, at least we can hurt and heal and at least we can wake up, hopefully, and we can remove the pressure and be free to realize one important thing.
Nothing about us is perfect.
Nothing about love is perfect either. No one is sin free or free from mistakes. Above all, we are all guilty of yelling or losing our temper.
Everyone has a limit. Everyone has their own threshold for pain, and it is a safe bet to realize that no one among us can say that they never lost their cool, or misspoke, or said an unkind thing.
We are all human.
We are all living and breathing, and we are all learning and growing. We all have our own path and speed. We see the world from our own perspective, which is neither right or wrong, true or false.
I am not fit to judge nor do I stand here and point my fingers, as if to be justified, or to have the right to be the accuser.
I have no right to accuse anyone.
I have no excuses for those who accuse me.
I am imperfect. I am afraid. and yes, I have been dishonest at times, as a means to survive, or if not to survive the masses; I admit to changing the narrative so that I can at least survive in my mind.
And so?
This is life. Or so I think.
There is no stillness. The world is moving at a constant pace, and we are moving as well. Time is changing, and to prove this, I point to the fact that it will only be a few weeks, but the year is going to change.
And who knows?
Maybe I will change. Or maybe I will wake up and realize that I am far more capable than I believed. Maybe I will see the truth, which is that I have everything I need to be successful.
Maybe I will wake up and realize that life is relative and so are my achievements.
Maybe this year will cause me to see that I am worthy, or in the scattered vision of mistruths and when we think about the misperceptions of “self” and when regarding our trained and biased assumptions; perhaps this can be the year that I turn the corner.
Maybe this year will be the year. Or maybe something is waiting for me, as if today is the first day of the rest of my life.
It is nothing more than our inaccuracies and blurred assumptions of self, which take us to either one or two places. We can either believe in ourselves and believe in our right and our abilities to improve, or we can hold on to the sad assumptions of our labels and limitations that come with our diagnosed problems.
Nothing is perfect. Except for us. And yet, you and I are the furthest things from perfection. However, or at least to me, it is our imperfections that allow our jagged edges to match perfectly.
I am somebody.
There is nothing else to say about this.
I am somebody. I am changing. I am coming to new levels of awareness. I am a child, and I am a brat. I am my ego and thus, in the case of “me against me” or “I against I,” I am the sum of my fears and the calculations of my assumptions. If so, then I agree that “man is as he thinketh.”
And so am I.
I remember wishing that I was somebody.
I want to be wanted. I want to be regarded. I want to be loved and included. At the same time, I want to be invited and considered.
I want to build. I want to achieve and create.
I have always wished that I was more.
Then again, it is hard to be more when your belief system teaches you that you are less.
Thus, we have to adjust and overcome.
I always wanted to tell my Mother that I was going to be someone.
I always wished that my Father, The Old Man, would be able to look down from wherever he is, considering, of course, that there is a place called Heaven and that there is a place of awareness called the afterlife. If there are such things, I have always wished that I was enough to create something life changing, or maybe lifesaving, and that whenever my parents look down upon me, they would shine the sun with pride.
I have always wanted to build something big enough so that on the day of my final breath, I could hang my jacket on the coat hook of life, and as a final recollection of my achievements and my last thoughts from the flesh, I want to be able to be proud of what I have done.
I want to die with the accomplished belief that I left something behind, or even better, I want to pass on with the realization that I left this place a little better than it was before I came here.
Mom,
Someday, I’m going to be somebody.
I promise.
And Pop, I’m telling you right now.
One day, I’m going to make you proud.
“Son, you already are somebody and what you seem to forget is that we see you now with eyes that see clearer than you could possibly imagine.”
I know this. I know that I am of the flesh and they are of the spirit.
I see what I see. You see what you see.
I just want to be seen differently.
Understand?
I know that everybody is somebody and no one can ever be nobody.
I know this is nothing more than a series of unkind, or unhelpful assumptions.
I am east of the concrete playgrounds and east of my work life. However, I am north of my dreams and south of the burdens that weigh me down. Hence, I suppose my search for euphoria is nothing more than a means or an end, or a method to my madness.
I suppose this search of mine is to remove the sorry apologies and sad limitations. I want to loosen the ties and unhinge myself, as a means to disconnect from all of the heavy fiascos and the different categories of bullshit.
Or maybe what I’m looking for is what Jim Carroll meant when he wrote, “I just want to be pure.”
I just want to be pure.
(Thanks Jim.)
It is the thought that counts. And this applies to more than the generosity of giving someone a gift. To be honest, the best gift we could ever give anybody is the gift we give ourselves—
This is when we stop and look around. This is when we take ownership of who we are, from the good to the bad; and more, the best gift is the gift of acceptance, as in, this is us, and this is where we are.
If we don’t like it . . .
Then what can we do to make it better?
I understand that accepting “what is” can come with an understanding that not everything can or will improve. But that doesn’t mean we can’t improve together. Here’s another thing that you can bet your ass on – this doesn’t make you imperfect. In fact, or if anything, I think this makes you the answer to my missing piece. This makes you perfect for me.
We are like a puzzle; in which case, we search to find where we fit.
And where I fit is here.
And even if I don’t fit anywhere else in this world, at least I fit here.
With you.
Nothing is longer than forever and as a realization, I can see how the ideas of “always” and “never” are nothing more than infinite measures of time.
They say nothing lasts forever.
But I disagree because facts can never be broken and as far as I’m concerned, out of the billions of people in this world, and out of all the random or chanced moments that we face in life; you and the sight of you for the first time, and the fact that years can get between two people yet, you.
Yes. You.
You are the reason, the hope, and the justification of my belief that while I may never be perfect, there is someone in this world who is crazy enough to be perfect for me.
Am I crazy.
I am.
But so?
Isn’t everyone a little crazy
(Sometimes).
The Written Addiction 