It is morning, of course, and I am here as usual (of course).
I am still looking. I am still searching or hunting and hoping to find something more than just an average thing because I want more than just an average or everyday life.
There is snow on the ground, which is nice to see. It’s been a while since there’s been a white Christmas. Then again Christmas has always been an interesting time of year, at least for me.
Then again, Christmas is interesting for a lot of people.
Or so I assume.
I go through different phases of ups and downs, or peaks and valleys. But I suppose this is life.
I have had good years and bad ones. Some years are more fruitful than others and some years have been tough or fruitless, as if my efforts to live or to be better fell short or my prayers fell upon deaf ears.
I’m sure that I’m not alone when I say this.
Or maybe I am, but who knows?
Speaking of which, I am not someone of prayer. However, I am a man of faith. At the same time, I move from different stations, which is not to compare this to the three stations of the cross, as in The Father, and The Son, and The Holy Spirit. In no way do I intend this to be offensive or blasphemous.
If anything, I am being honest.
This is my challenge. This is my cross to bear and yes, while I am not sick or locked away or dying, I understand that there are different problems. Some are luxury problems. Some are real. Some are imaginary, and some are as threatening as the hands of time.
Perhaps this is a challenge of my faith that ranges from nonexistent and outraged to plentiful and grateful. I am a mixed compilation of good and bad.
Of course, I think it is easy to have faith when life is good. Bills are paid. There’s a comfortable padding in the bank account, and the most pressing issue are simple questions like, “What’s for dinner” or “What’s on television?”
I have never had a real fireplace.
But I hope to.
I have never felt at home or at peace.
But I want to — one day.
This is not to say that I did not have a home or that I was homeless, by any means. This is not to say that I have not seen, shared, or felt glimpses of hope, nor does this discount anything good that took place or put down anyone who shared time with me in my previous life.
However, I am someone who has always sensed as if something was missing, and more namely, that something was always “me.”
I have always sensed as if something was off, at least to some degree. And yes, I want to find my place. I want to walk through the doorway and the entry with a feeling of achievement. Or better, I want to enter into my place, which I call home, which I call my own, or which I can refer to as my private place of worship. More, I want to find where I belong with no questions, no doubts, no worries of some upcoming conspiracy, and with all of my heart, I want to be free from the idea that some kind of tragedy awaits me and free from the thoughts of an ongoing threat of impending doom.
I know this is me.
I understand the damages this has caused other people. i understand how this has ruined chances and shattered windows of opportunity. Some people would refer to this and call this sad. or maybe they might say that I am sad.
I would only say that no, I am being honest. To be clear, I see no reason to deny my thoughts. Instead, I voice them so that they can lose momentum instead of linger in my mind and destroy me from within.
I want to be where the air is sweet and the bed is warm, and I want this in more ways than one. I want to find where I match. As I search for this, and as I detail my dream that is ever-changing on the surface, I am still me. I am still here and whether I am eaten or broken or whether the critics throw me under the bus or if I am betrayed or unwanted — no matter what happened to me, I still showed up today.
Not too many people can say this.
(Can you?)
I walked away from everything to have nothing so that I can rebuild and hopefully, someday, I can have something more than just a taste or a piece of something bigger than the both of us.
I have changed. So has my life.
I am not the same but my core is no different and my purpose has not change, nor have I changed my plan to rescue myself and save my own life, one day at a time.
I am different but not — at least not at my core.
I am here to find my euphoria. I am here to define what life means to me. In the face of new changes and while I am encountering a new life, I am still that kid.
I am still that boy. I am still everything I have told you about and more, I am still hoping, hunting, searching and yes, I am still praying for the chance that maybe someday, I can pull off my trick.
I’m hoping to walk through the doorway to a place where I call my own — be it ever so humble, be it big or small, far away, or in the middle of it all, be whatever it is and come what may, I am only asking, hoping and praying to find my place in the circle.
I have always wanted to be part of something. But nothing has ever seemed to fit well, at least not entirely.
I want to belong. But I don’t belong everywhere.
And that’s fine.
I want to find where my jagged edges compliment my surroundings and nothing is so sharp or cutting. Thus, I want to be high, as in euphoric, as in at peace.
I want to be free.
If I am to compare this feeling to a moment, I want to feel like I did that time on the beach, early morning when the sun was kind, the palm trees were enough to lean over me and say, “Don’t worry, kid. You’re on vacation!”
I want to feel like I do when I walk along the beach at sunrise and the only other people around are similar in the sense that they are like me, awake and alive, searching and seeking something more than just a taste.
And there I am at the beach, right on time, just to see the sun come up and walk along the sands, which are soft enough to allow our footsteps to leave an indentation.
I believe the sands are a cushion for the soul, and the sky above, the colors of dawn, all pink and purple and the different shades of orange that illuminate on the underbellies of the clouds; all of this is uplifting and pure. This is healing and pastoral.
I want this.
I want the feeling I get, or the feeling that washes over me when the waves cleanse the shore and carry the unwanted sediments of bad secrets and heartbreak away, and out to an infinite sea.
I want to feel the way I did when laying on the rooftops or my dreams, feeling the warmth of summer, and enjoying the moment of something carefree.
I want this.
I want this with all of my heart. I want more too. I want to walk beneath the moonlight and be on top of the world. I want to be in the moment and not think about unhelpful things. I want to be present and not worry or carry the weight of doubt, or in the case of my crosses to bear, I want to feel the breeze against my face and find redemption as the wind blows through my hair.
Ahh . . .
Home is where the heart is.
I don’t need a castle. I don’t need a mansion or a yacht.
I need a place to write my thoughts. I need a doorway to walk through, and a place to hang my hat. When the sun goes down or comes up, and when the sky takes on the light of a new day, I need someone like you, someone to love and to hold, and someone to trust.
I understand this is a task and yes, this is my dream.
This is my euphoria.
I have never dared to be so true to anyone. I have never dared to show you, live and in person, things like walks at Point Lookout on New Year’s Day.
But I want to.
It’s not far now.
The New Year . . .
I’m going to find my place in the sands and speak to the sea.
I hear Mother Earth allows for confessions and as for being absolved for my sins, I already have true sorrow for them — and that’s half the battle.
By the way, I understand that I am a grown man and that I am an adult and that adults are not supposed to believe in childlike things, like Santa Claus for example.
There is a phone number which rings to Santa’s workshop.
I call Santa ever year. Just once.
In case you are curious, the number is (605) 313-0691.
I wonder if anyone listens to the messages. I’m sure there are cute ones from little kids asking for a football or maybe a new game.
I don’t ask for gifts like this.
I ask for the health of my friends, which is a limited number, and the list is growing shorter.
I ask for a few of my dreams, and sometimes weeping, I ask for my deepest wishes. I ask this from the heart and with all that I have — and I say please.
I promise to be good this year.
I have to wait for life to settle down. But it will.
I have to breathe and be patient.
I have to believe that there is a purpose and that, somehow, fate is waiting for me to walk through that door and say, “Where ya been, kid?”
“We’ve been waiting a long time!”
Have you?
I swear, it seems that no one is waiting longer than me.
Know what I mean?
The Written Addiction 