A Day Called Way Back When

I remember talking to a group of young people. This was something that happened after a classroom presentation. I was asked if it is painful to be me?
My answer is simple.
Is it painful to be anybody?

Am I so different?
Are you or is anyone else?

Everyone has their own crosses to bear. Everyone has their own version of what’s real to them or what isn’t.
Life is life.
We go, and we live, and we move around.

I can see how life picks up speed. I can see how pain intercepts our better thinking. I can also see how this leads us to the assumptions that one thing is the same as all things. Therefore, if one thing goes wrong, all things can go wrong too.
But that’s not always the case.
Is it?

I can see how we encounter adversity. I can see how life throws us off and how change takes away our plans.
I can relate to being stuck in the past or stuck in special moments of interest.
I can see how adversity can either cause us to grow or turn inward or run away for as long and as fast as we possibly can. I know people who’ve run.
I’ve bee running for quite some time myself.
But to where?
Or to what avail?

This is not my first journal about the days of way back when. With some regard, I understand that no one can recreate the past. No one can change what happened or what took place.
No one can alleviate the pain or the shame, and often, finding out who is at fault, or living with guilt looking to assign blame is counterproductive. In the end, what happened, happened.
Nothing will change that now.

If the time appeared and I woke to a morning when it was possible to change one thing or say something different, I would do my best.
I would give it my all, to do or say something that would remove any questions about my intention. I would do all that I can to make myself clear.

I know what I would do if I could go back, or if I had the chance to revisit a pivotal moment.
I would go back without the distortions of insecurity. I’d live. I’d leave nothing up to the judges.
I would say what I mean and mean what I say.
But more, I would have my actions match my words because what are words without actions to support them?

I am a simple person. I went through what I went through.
I have friends. I have enemies. I have doubts. I have hopes.
I have what I have, and this might not be much to some, but to me, this is all I have
(for now).

It is morning, early and I am up.
I have altered my usual routine to fit the day because of the holiday weekend.
Today marks the unofficial start of summertime.

I like summertime.

I am sitting quietly now. I am here, of course, and by myself.
I am hoping that this reaches you — wherever you are.

I have set aside my ingredients to make my meals for the week.
I have a few dishes in mind which are new to me.
But new things can be good things.

I have decided to readjust myself and with all that I can muster, I am changing the way I live and changing things around in the rooms of my small apartment.
I do not mind the lonesomeness today.
I do not mind the quietness in my little space which is fine for now.
I can hear the dishwasher doing its thing. I smell the food, which is cooking as I speak.

I can see that life comes with a stream of ongoing alterations. This is how things are and yes, this is how things have always been.
Therefore, if this is life, then let this be life.
Let me act accordingly. Let me enjoy the silence of the here and now.
Let me appreciate the stillness and the peace. Even more, let me enjoy the absence of arguments and the removal of resentments. I say this fairly and not to accuse or to assign blame.
But more, let me realize that in our best times of recovery, we can sit quietly and address “the exact nature” of our wrongs.

I have my own side to clean up.
I have my own inventory to face.
I have my own consequences to handle. Thus, if I am to improve, then I have to move forward, even if moving forward means that I move forward alone.

I cannot look back with envy or regard my past as often as I do, but yet, I still do.
I think that makes me human.
I cannot relive or rethink the old arguments and wish that I stayed quiet.
But I didn’t.
I can’t take back what was said or stop the fight that’s been over, long ago.
There’s no need to get the last word in.

If this were years ago, and I woke up to a day called way back when, I would act accordingly. I would right the wrongs from my past and I would get rid of my regrets.
But who would I be after that?

I have decided to replace thoughts with action.
I am allowing my thoughts to move in a different direction,
For example:

I always wish I had the chance to cook a meal for The Old Man. I often think about some of my soups and wonder if The Old Man would enjoy them.
I am told that I use to much heat and spices. Maybe I do, but I like it this way.
So did The Old Man.
He loved spicy food.

Anyway, and for the record, I have an Iberico, rib-roast, cooking low and slow. I seasoned this with salt and pepper, and rubbed the meat with soft butter, garlic, and some thyme.

The other dish is made with Chinese eggplant, boneless chicken thighs, Bok-choy, pearl onions, baby bello mushrooms, garlic, red pepper flakes, red peppers, brown sauce and garlic.

My last dish is my soup.
I love soup . . .
(but it took me too long to stir the pot, so the bottom burned a little. It’s still a decent soup though.)

Either way, I start my soup the same way all the time.
I sauté some bacon and some pancetta. Then I offer a little white wine and start stirring in corn, some potatoes, and well, the list goes on.
I suppose this is like a kitchen sink version of potato, corn chowder (with some heat).

You’re always welcome to some, if you’d like.
Or you can have as much as you want.
I always make plenty.

I promise.