There is nothing better than an early sunrise. I see this as a valuable moment in time, awake, and away from everyone else in the world, and to sit here, like this, and be a witness to the start of a brand-new day. I love it when the sky changes in the morning.
I love coming here too.
I don’t have to listen to the insults anymore. I don’t have to be mindful of the disapproving scowls or pay attention to the accusations or the misdirected blame.
No, not now.
Not here.
The sunrise is nothing more than an overlooked detail, which goes mostly unnoticed or unattended because of its house of operation.
But I don’t mind.
I don’t mind the earliness of the sun or the time of day. I don’t mind the hours of operation or the fact that the rest of the world is sleeping, and me?
I am here, trying to decipher between my own good and evil. I am learning to let go, or how to differentiate between life, or death, and the other confusing details that come with normal, everyday living.
I am aware of my differences. I am aware that I see things in my own way. I am not entirely alone, however, I am alone enough. At the moment, I am alone in the best sense because I am here to meet the sun. I am here, despite my faults and and all of my own bullshit.
I am here to confess with my mouth and with my heart and soul that I am searching, thinking, wondering, and hoping that today will be a day that makes all the difference in the world.
No one knows what can happen. No one can see the future. Then again, one can only assume. One can surmise, and predict. Based on our current conditions, or based on experience, same as the sky shows clouds, one can assume that a little rain will fall.
Or not.
I understand this.
For example, I will leave my house shortly. I will head to a place where I exchange my sweat and efforts for time served and a weekly paycheck, which never seems to be enough to cover my appetite.
I know that I will not be on an airplane and leaving the country today. I know that the cold temperatures are gone. I know that the wind blows differently now, and as my portion of the hemisphere moves closer to the sun, I know that the days will be longer, and the sun will be stronger.
I know these things, the same as I know my name or address, or where I live, where I parked my car, and what I had for breakfast, and all the other basic “givens” that come in my usual routine.
I know which direction I will have to go to make it to work on time. I know that I will enter through the doorways of a main lobby of a tall glass building in Downtown, Manhattan, ah, New York City.
Unless something tragic takes place, I know where I will be for a few hours, until my shift ends, and I can wash my hands and return home.
And, yes, life can happen at any given moment, which means that people, places, and things can change without notice.
Decisions can reverse. My station in life can change.
Life can be like the moving reels of a no-limit slot machine, and as I gamble and venture, the world of mystery is true.
I can go broke, or worse, I can be faced with a heartbreak that divides my earth, deeper than the craters of an emotional earthquake. Thus, I can find myself in the depths of personal bankruptcy, that leaves me broken. Or I can hit big and strike it rich.
Anything can happen.
And thus—
I come here at sunrise for a reason. I come here, earlier than the world because I come here to make my plea, or to leash the slander from my tongue and crucify the sin from my flesh.
I come here because I know who I am — explicitly.
In fact, I know exactly who I am.
However, my name is nothing more than a title. I am not who others say I am. However, everyone has their rights and reasons to think or accuse or believe and feel in whichever way they choose about me.
But what does this do for me?
I can think or worry or be broken about who loves or hates me.
But to what avail?
I have friends. I have enemies.
I have people who were in my life, but estranged or distant, or close in proximity, or whether someone is with me physically, literally, or only figuratively, I come here to make peace with who I am — and equally, I come to make peace with who I am not.
I am aware of my abilities. I am aware of what I can or cannot do. Or like the weather; I am aware that this too is subject to change.
Life can end at any given moment.
Remember?
No one knows the hour or the day.
But dig this—
My sentiments amaze me, still, even after all the years I have spent, trying to find myself, or trying to retrain the circuits of my thinking. Even after all the times when I swore, “this is it, this time,” and found myself back in the hole, degraded and alone, or rejected and unmatchable, my resilience or my aim to still believe in hope is amazing to me.
Worse than a death is to lose someone who is still alive, yet the worst about this is they live, only you are dead to them.
I get this. I get it down to my core.
And still . . .
I’m here and I’m still making my plea.
And that’s amazing.
I say this to put ownness on my heart and more, I say this because there is something to be said about the drive of a man who drove himself into the ground, yet I’m still here.
I have fallen. I’ve been beaten and sad — but I am still here, nevertheless, like a man who took a punch, went down, and stood back up to say, “is that all you got?
I stopped for a second. Just now.
I closed my eyes and took in a deep breath. Then I followed this up with a strong exhale.
“Breathe”
My plan did not come to fruition and so, I find myself, back at square one (again) and facing the rebuild and the rebirth of my newest life.
Time is always moving, and the clock is always ticking.
I don’t know how many sunrises I have left. I don’t know how many sunsets are left in the bank for me either.
I don’t know where I will be this time tomorrow. However, I can assume that I will be here, writing my thoughts, alone, and asking the universe to hear my plea.
I can assume that I will go on with my day tomorrow, the same as I will do on any other given Sunday.
I don’t have love from another hand,
at least not right now.
I don’t have peace with my recent past (yet).
All I have is the “here and now” and the last gulp of coffee, which I am about to swallow, before I head out and make my way.
Sometimes, life gets messy.
Sometimes, nothing can go back to the way it was.
Words can unravel the tightest weave.
I see that now.
But maybe this is not a bad thing.
Maybe this is nothing more than a hint that something else is on its way, and somehow, these current changes, which may seem tragic, are nothing more than a change in direction or a switch in the wind.
Maybe this is just to fill my sails, and send my mental ship to the ports where I belong.
The Written Addiction 