A Box Beneath the Bed

In fairness, yes,
there are times when we see or speak to someone or walk away for the last time. There are times I have said, “I’ll see you later,” but later never comes.
So, in keeping with the spirit of this journal and the notes that I kept in a box beneath the bed, I go back to the times when I swore that youth would never die. There would always be another tomorrow.
Why wouldn’t there be?
I swore that I would never grow old or stand in line, and I would never become ordinary or common.
Not me. Never.
No way.

I never thought I would be one of those people heading to make the morning train, coffee in hand, or music wired to my ears. I never thought that I would care about the news or The Middle East or the price of gas. I never thought I would argue at the register about the price of bread or how supermarkets never seem to check the expiration dates.

I never thought that I would ever grow old and shout, “hey you kids, get off of my fucking lawn!” because I used to be one of those kids. But I grew old and now the shoe is on the other foot.

No one ever assumes that their life will fast-forward or become this machine-like process, whereas life moves and the tally grows, and like the days behind us, one by one, life compiles of moments and memories, and then age takes place.
And next, here we are . . .
Better yet, here I am.
I wonder what happened?
Did I blink?
Where did all the time go?
I am here, looking to find accountability for the last 52 years of my life.
Or better, I am seeking amnesty, or looking to find some kind of pardon. If this is not possible, then let me find the best seat in the house for when the second coming takes place, or the rapture—that is, if there is such a thing.

Who’d have thought that this would be me?

Who’d have thought that the unexpected would come? Whether we showed up late to the game or if we came prepared, or not, I find that it blows the mind how quickly life can pass us by —especially now that age set is. Time is of the essence, especially now that the curtain can drop at any minute, unexpectedly, or with an unfair word from a doctor.
Life can vanish. This is true.

I am well, for now, or as well as I can be. I have some items that need attention, no differently from anyone else in the world. My aches and pains are different now.
And like anyone else, I need to take care of myself.

I never assumed that I would have to worry about my health. No, not me.
I always thought that I would be fine.
I never thought that my metabolism would slow down like it has.
And yes, I have to watch what I eat.
I never thought it would take me as long as it does to heal, and no, nothing is like it was.
I am not the same.
No one is.
People change and so will our favorite landscapes or the places where we used to go or have fun.

Everything changes with age . . .
This is not to say that nothing is timeless.

For example, I see my memories as timeless articles that exist in my heart. Or like the days of our youth or the memories of our crazy rebellions or the memories of the kids from the neighborhood, I cherish them all. No one forgets their “first time.”
I have a series of “firsts” which are life altering and beautiful.
They always will be, too, even if my life has changed or my relationship with the people involved is no more, beauty is beautiful even after the relationship fades.

I see the old moments from our crazy youth as treasures that are fossilized in our hearts and minds.
These are treasures which are forever encapsulated, like sap over an insect that existed millenniums before we were born —each of us come with artifacts like this, moments that are encased in time and kept in envelopes, which we call memories. Each artifact tells its own story with its own romance, its own glory, tirade, or tragic justice.

Either way, I go back to the lesson I was taught about the Four L’s.
This is your mental health.
This is the way you live, love, laugh, and learn.
Anything that affects the way you live, love, laugh, and learn affects your mental health.
I say this is the best explanation of all.

We all do this in our own way. We all live differently. We love differently. We laugh the way we do, and we all learn at our own pace.
It took me decades to understand this.

I remember the times when I was young, or much younger than now. I recall the late nights when I was awake, and the rest of the world was asleep.
I remember the crosses I had to bear or the weight of the world, which was on my shoulders, and how unnecessary this was — but no, not to me.
Not at the time.
I had to carry this.
I swore my fights were on too many fronts. I was unsure how to find peace; and more, I was afraid to let myself go or to be free. I was afraid of peace because what would I do if I found peace; only to lose it and resume the previous turmoil —then what?

I was afraid to let my guard down because what if I did?
What if I smiled and found out that my grin was crooked? How would I handle the rejection if I laughed at the wrong time and everyone else turned to persecute me?
What would I do if I tried to share myself and learned that I was too imperfect to be valuable, and hence, love was too evasive? For someone like me, what would I do if I realized that true love was always an impossibility for me?

I do remember the late nights, up for hours, and thinking about the benefits of love, or the concepts of being vulnerable to someone without being afraid.
How beautiful . . .
I remember the bouts in my head or the verbal rehearsals of what I would say, just in case, so that next time I came under fire, I would be ready if someone looked to hurt me or exposed me to shame.

I can remember practicing my speeches and the deliveries of my points, which I never made or said, and I can remember the ideas of internal degradation because this is what happened when I’d find myself regretful for not fighting back or speaking up for myself.

Was there trauma?
Of course there was.
Did this trauma leave a mark?
You can bet your ass on that . . .

Absolutely –

I have unfading marks and scars that are both clear and invisible. I have moments from my past. Similar to the encapsulated memories, fossilized in a forever sap, I have old intrusions, abuse, beatings, humiliations, and memories of betrayal. I have instances of unfairness, loss, and unwanted touches, unwanted pains, and yes, we need to add the irreparable boundaries that were forever altered, and altering me. Therefore, I am my own maze or labyrinth of cognitive distortions, thinking errors, and misunderstandings. This is part of my 4 L’s.

I was never the best at sports. However, I have no interest in becoming an athlete or breaking any records. I’m not looking to take up baseball or hoping to find myself in the hall of fame.
I have no ideas or plans to sing for a crowd or put on a show and being in a band.
Besides, I have no voice for something like this. However, and this is just if you ask me, but I have a really good voice when I sing in the shower.
And so do you, I suppose.
Right?

Either way, I’m not looking to be a singer. I’m not looking for a spot on a football team. I’m not sure if I will ever compete in a senior’s Jiu-Jitsu tournament.
But I might.
I’m not looking to sell out Carnegie Hall, and at this point, I’m not even looking to be the next great American Novelist.

No, that’s not what this is about.
No.
I just want to be better.
I just want to write.
I want to improve my 4 L’s and do better with the way that I live, love, laugh, and learn.
I have to make this happen.
I have to because I have reached a new chapter in my life.

I have seen what was behind me. Looking back, I can see where my old traumas have intercepted my potential moments for greatness.

There are times when we smile at people or say goodbye, not realizing that we are never going to talk or see each other again.

I don’t know if I have enough friends.
I can say that I have enough enemies.
I know this, for sure.
I have enough regrets. I have enough time and memories when I am up, later than ever, awake and thinking about the moments when I put my foot in my mouth or said the wrong thing.

I never knew how to lay back and let the process be what it is.
I never knew how to sit still or be calm.
I never knew how to “just chill!”
But life has changed.
And so will I.

I think I can sleep now . . .
Of course I can go to sleep now, 20 minutes before my alarm goes off.

Live. Love. Laugh. And Learn.
Tired or not.
This is my plan for today.