I hear the questions about our past or the ones that ask, if you woke up and it was back in the 90’s, what would you do?
I love these questions and I love them for different reasons.
I’ve written journals about this before. Since I love the taste of nostalgia, and since I love the warmth and bitter sweetness that comes with remembering the old family gatherings, I figured, why not?
I enjoy looking back at the days when we were young and the kids in the neighborhood were still the kids from the neighborhood.
I think I’d like to go back to some of those times myself.
I know that I cannot rewrite history or change what happened. I know that not all things were so bad and not everything was so tragic.
I cannot say that everything was worth it. I can’t say the post traumatic heartache was worth the price of admission, but at the same time; we live and we learn.
We fall down and we get back up.
I cannot say that all falls were worthwhile, and I cannot say that I don’t have scars, because I do.
I have plenty of scars.
I have scars that act like roadmaps which take me to my youth and range from my young adulthood to my current days, here and now, as a grown man.
Some of my scars are visible. Some are undetectable. Some are known by me, and only me.
Some of my pain comes with a visual or physical way to understand why I hurt. For example, I know why my knees hurt. I know why my back hurts when the weather is damp. However, post traumatic heartbreak doesn’t come with the same physical descriptions.
Then again –
Some of my joys are far better than I realize, and some of my victories are far greater than I have ever recorded.
I am a man.
I am crazy.
I am wild in both good and bad ways or better, I am crazy in every sense of the word.
I am as sane as they come too. I am afraid. I am brave.
I am unsure of what’s going to come and unsure which way this world is about to take me.
I am like anyone else in this crazy place.
I like simple things. I like good food and good music.
I like to dance as much as anyone else, only I don’t dance anymore. I won’t dance with just anyone either. Never again.
No, my next dance partner will be more than someone who can slow dance with me.
There will be no negotiations or compromises when it comes to this.
And I am fine to say this firmly.
This new journal is going to act like a path to my future. At the same time, I will be fine to look back at times before my world changed. I will be fine to ask myself the questions, what would I do or say, if I had the chance.
Maybe I can say the things I needed to say here.
You think?
Maybe I can say what I wished I would have said.
Or maybe I can let the past be in the past, or maybe I can look back at the wealth of emotions which come from the warmth of nostalgia. Maybe I can smile or find peace or say to hell with it, that was then and this is now.
The summer is about to begin in my neck of the woods. As for now, the sun is about to come up, today, this morning, and this is a new day, and this is a new time and, of course, this is a new journal.
A lot has changed for me over the last two years. And more change is on the way.
This is how life works. We live and we grow.
We try and we fail and sometimes we pull off a trick or two, and we manage to score something more than just a game-winning point.
I’m not always sure how to play this game.
I don’t always know the rules.
And I’m not sure if it’s true that he who dies with the most toys wins — because he who dies still dies, and no amount of money or toys can change that fact.
Gravity has laws. So does life.
So does love.
I’m not here to break those laws.
But it would be nice to fly or at least feel like I’m on top of the world again.
I had to take a drive down the turnpike in my old hometown the other day.
I thought about what this was like, say 35 years ago, and back when I was a kid.
Nothing looks the same to me anymore.
But I laughed and thought about the fashions from way back when.
Thankfully, the difference between my generation and the kids today is we don’t have the same photo and video evidence of how bad we dressed.
I remember the girls with their hairspray and teased hairstyles.
I remember guys in two-toned jeans and Capezio shoes. . .
I was never cool in the fashion area. I cleaned up somewhat nicely though, including now, still clean and mainly a better dresser than I was way back when . . .
What would i do if I could go back to a time 35 years ago?
Kids where never home when I was young.
Everyone was out, playing, and living.
This is another difference when it comes to my generation and todays.
But the first place I’d go is home.
I’d hug The Old Man like never before.
I’d hug Mom too and I’d hope to revisit the family room, or the den as we called it.
We could watch some of the old sitcoms . . .
and laugh for hours.
You know?
The Written Addiction 