A Letter From Self

I have a question for you.
How do you let go?
How do you detach or how do you disconnect when something inside of you refuses to let go?
How?

I still dream.
Then again, I think you know this.

I think about places, like Islamorada or The Keys, which I have never seen or been to. These are just places that I know exist, same as I know that Baja exists. These are some of the places I’ve dreamed about but never been to before. The list is long, which can be both uplifting and sad at times.

It is crazy how people laugh because I have never been to Vegas before. Then again, what’s so special about Vegas?
Or maybe this was part of my youthful self when I was a younger man and trying to expand myself in ways that go far beyond wild.
or maybe this is the same case as like it was because I never had a prom or experienced things that are so common to others.
Maybe this leads me to think that i am undeserving, for some reason.
The truth is, I don’t know.
I don’t know why I cling to or hold things that are otherwise heavy or burdensome.
But why?
Why doe people do this to themselves?
Or why di I do this to myself?
Hence, this is why i ask the question, how you let go?

I am not wild. I’m not too cool either.
And I’m not sure if I have ever been wild or cool, at least, as far as being wild or being cool goes.

I have let myself go a few times. I’ve danced to the music. I’ve raged at concerts and I can say that I have experienced life.
But here’s my question.
Have I ever lived?
Have I ever dared it all?
Have I ever loved to the extent that I exposed my truths and said here I am, and have I ever said, “this is me,” and did I ever offer myself?
Did I ever say. “all that I have is yours, if you want it.” and if I did, did I ever offer this without reservation?

I wonder about this.
Have I ever really allowed myself to “let go?”
Or wait, no . . .
Did I ever hold on tight and let the process unfold and be happy enough to never look bac?
This is a great question.

I need to do this whenever possible.
I need to realize that time can (and will) run out.
So, let me make my time worthwhile.
I think we’ve both wasted enough time

Have I ever let myself be seen and heard and felt without decoration or without an image or my ego looking to protect me?
I wonder because so much has changed and so much has been lost.
So much has been wasted or ruined.
This is why I ask the question, how do you let go?

How do you start over?
And why does it always have to be so Goddamned hard!
Or maybe none of this is hard.
Maybe this is a case of me against me, and all I’m doing is making matters harder than they need to be.
I was told about a simple program for complicated people.
And yes. I can attest to it.
This is me.
complicated and simple.
Both at the same time.

There are very few people in this world who I can say that they make me feel alive. And yet, I am not around them or with them and nor do I have enough of them, which I assume is selfish, of course. I assume that I am selfish because I want more because of how “they” make me feel.
And now, or should I say “last night,” I nearly died from a complication and I thought to myself while too weak to call 911, “Holy shit, this is how I am going to die. Alone! and NO ONE is going to know about me until the smell hits the door.”

I know that life moves. And I know that people come and go.
I know that time is neither fair nor unfair.
It just is.
Or “it is what it is,” is what we always used to say.
(Didn’t we?)

I am sad for now and confused and frustrated that things are they way they are.
And yes –
I am angry that some things will never change and that they will always be unchangeable.
I want to change things.
I really do, more than you know and more than my words can describe.
But change is beyond my control.
So are you.
So are other people, places, and things.

I want control over the uncontrollable.
I want my dreams back, but my dreams are just dreams.
No harm. No foul.
No ill intentions and no wars and no rest for the weary.

I need to take that drive across The Seven Mile Bridge.
I need to smell the ocean.
I need some palm trees
I need to get away or perhaps I need to feel something inside, or maybe I need to feel that undeniable thing, which I call hope.

Maybe. . .
And maybe I need to feel this enough to know that in the end, there is a great big plan and there it is; just awaiting my arrival.
And more than anything else, I want to know that I do not ever have to be afraid again, because in the end, I will never die alone because “you” are always with me.

God, I love you.
I really, really do.
I love the dreams I have.
I love the ideas of say, sitting on a beach in the Southern places that are warm, all year-round, and I love the ideas of how it would feel that all of this happened for a reason.

I know the song, “I’m just waiting for my real life to begin.”
I have said this to myself for a long, long time.
I know the feeling of the lyrics, “Any minute now, my ship is coming in.”

And I am still waiting.
I am.

There are palm trees where I want to be.
There is a sun that warms the skin.
There will be a sunset at the end of the day, which will be like no other in this world.
And if I have my way, there will be two beach chairs, tilted backwards, facing the great blue sea, calm as ever.

Yes.
I am . . .
I’m waiting for my real life to begin.

Islamorada . . .
What a beautiful name for a place to be.
Maybe one day

We’ll see.