I think I will close with this –
Everyone has their moments. Everyone has a time which, if they could, they would go back to, or better yet, I have seen questions on social media which ask, if this were the 90’s, or if you could go back in time, or back before there was social media, Wi-Fi, the internet, and hell, I could go back to the times before cable television, and if you could walk into your childhood home or your childhood bedroom, what would you do?
I love these questions. And I can say that I have given them some thought.
I suppose we all have days or nights that we would love to revisit, or people we miss and wish we could see.
I suppose everyone thinks about their pivotal moments in life—or if they could go back, what would they say or do differently?
I would do everything differently, but then I wouldn’t be me.
I could use a change. I would be okay with this to some degree.
If I could go back, say to 2001, I would stop my choices. I would say “Don’t do it!”
I’d tell me “you’re making a mistake.”
But at the same time, maybe the mistakes I made were less of a mistake than my other choices. Maybe I am far better this way, and fate and destiny were looking out for me.
All that glitters is not gold and all the past and all the regrets are just thoughts and wasted ideas that lead to questions like, “What if?”
I don’t know the answer to the “what if” questions and I never will.
Would I like to revisit my previous life?
Would I like to go back to the days when The Old Man was still alive?
Of course, I would.
What would I do?
I’d hug my Father, of course. I would hug him for as long as I could.
I’d tell my Mother that she did her best, that she needs to take care, that her life needs to change.
I’d tell her that I’m going to be okay.
Would I tell my old friends something?
Of course, I would.
Some of them I would walk away from. Some of them I would sit with and talk with and some, I would be a better friend to them. I would tell some of them to go fuck off.
This is the truth.
Would I go back, if I could and alter the path of my life?
Of course, I would.
But then I wouldn’t be me — I suppose.
However, I like the idea of being able to go through the portholes of time. Not that I can change what took place, but perhaps I can reconstruct myself.
Perhaps I can re-handle how I handled my past — or as for the pieces of my life that were buried and unresolved, perhaps I could deal with them now and lay them to rest, I could rid myself of the old remnants that lingered for way too long.
I think I could do this.
In fact, I think this is a good idea for my next journal.
I think about the poems I used to write and place in a box beneath my bed. And I think about how I never told anyone about them.
I think about the unconfessed love and all the times when I bottled my feelings, or stuffed them away, in fear that if I exposed my truths, I would be too weak or too pitiful for anyone to love.
I think about the judgements from others and how I allowed them to become the judgments I think about myself — like when someone you love or care for hits below the belt or picks at your worst insecurities — and next, you find yourself dwindling in the fears that maybe they’re right.
“Maybe I am a loser.”
Maye I am a bad person — to them.
But this doesn’t mean they’re right about me.
It is fine to be where I am now.
Where else would I be?
It is fine to think back about what I would do differently, but at the same time, it is unhelpful to re-litigate the past or to rethink what happened, or where things went wrong.
Nothing an change what was.
Maybe this is something I can work through in my next journal.
Maybe you’ll be there with me for this.
Then again, of course you’ll be with me —because you are me, and without you, I don’t know who I’d be. Right?
I think this is a good time to start over.
I think this is a good time to get back to the basics, which I say often enough.
I used to keep my poems and written dreams in a box beneath my bed. I used to hide them there.
But I don’t want to hide anything anymore.
I have dreams. I have items that I want to achieve.
I never built a soapbox car or anything like that with my Old Man. I only had the chance to fly a kite a few times. Maybe I can do this. (alone, if I have to).
I always wished that I went to the pond at Eisenhower Park with a remote-controlled sailboat.
And while I never went to my prom and while I never had the chance to fulfill some of my youthful rites of passage, perhaps I can recreate them in my next journal.
I can be a kid again, or I can create my bucket list and start crossing items from the top down.
Time waits for no one
and neither should I . . .
It’s time to go, kid.
You and I have some games to play.
The Written Addiction 