I am certainly a witness and a watcher and above all else, I admit that I am someone who participates in the oldest sport of all time. This is a little and special game known as people watching.
I cannot say how I look or seem or appear to anyone else.
No, I do not have the right to claim any kind of special or exceptional beauty.
I am just me.
I am only a man, average in many ways, hungry, seeking and searching and at best, I am equally as confused as anyone else here in this place called Project Earth.
I am one who does appreciate the sky at night, and I am someone who has had conversations with the moon, hoping, dreaming, wondering and wishing that somehow, my dreams will come true.
I have prayed and I have confessed and atoned for as many sins as I can add, if not more.
I admit to being amazed by simple things. I also admit to hiding my little secret pleasures in fear that this somehow emasculates me or somehow takes away my manhood because in all fairness; I am not tough.
I am curious.
I am frightened and often frustrated.
I have been misled and misguided and yes, I absolutely admit to my own ignorance and brattish or selfish ideas.
At the same time, I watch.
I look and see and I wonder.
There are all different types of people in this world.
All types, all shapes, and all sizes, which I love and adore.
I do not think anyone has the right to corner the market on beauty.
So, if I am anyone at all, who am I to judge someone else for how they dress or look or seem to me?
That said, I have been a New Yorker my entire life. I have been to different parts of my country. I have not seen the greatest the world has to offer and no, I have never watched the sunset from the Amalfi Coast and it is doubtful that I will ever experience what the sunrise looks like in Monte Carlo. But I can say that I have seen the most beautiful things (and people) in my world.
Either way –
I am a New Yorker, proudly and truly, which means I have seen all sides of my City. I have seen the good and the bad. I have dined at both the best and the worst places that New York City has to offer
I have experiences that have left marks in the mapping of my soul and more than anything, I can say that should I choose; I have amazing things to look back upon at the hour of my death.
I have seen from Uptown to Downtown, or from the Westside to the East.
I have seen the slums and the dope-dens, the crack-houses and the infested neighborhoods. I have seen the wealthy side too, which in other cases, I have found some of the wealthiest are far more infested than the people I knew who dangled and lost to the demons inside dope-dens or the crack-houses.
I have come and gone and ventured to Upstate, New York towns and driven to the tip of Long Island. I am fortunate to say that I was able to see both beautiful and unfortunate things.
I was alive before the skyline changed and I am blessed to say that I was there on September 11, 2001.
I knew people who perished. I knew friends of mine, one in particular, who was considered to be casualty #0001, Father Mychal Judge.
Only, I knew him as Father Mike.
He knew me as one of his flock, lost and damned, and still; Father Mike chose to care.
I have met all kinds of people who I have chosen to cherish.
Although wrong., I can say that I experienced a version of love. I experienced what I assumed was real love and true love.
But I was unsure and afraid and dare I admit it; I never dared to be true to myself and so, it was impossible to be true to anyone else.
I always had an angle and a reservation because at best, I always assumed my pasted rejections and betrayals were going to find me again.
And they did.
Of course, this was more on me than anyone else.
This was more of a fault in my thinking and an error with my belief system.
Hence, I chose my selection of people with a bias that led me back to a problem I call, “More of the same.
And while not every meeting comes with positive or helpful benefits, everyone we meet comes with the benefit of a lesson.
I know this is true.
At least, I know this is true to me.
So. . . .
I learn.
That said, I am a fan of the sport. I admit to participating in the games of people watching and equally, I admit to my curiosities of how or why or what people do with their life.
What are they like?
Why do some people appear so angry?
Why do I look angry?
I ask this, by the way, because I am told that I do not look approachable.
I am told that I look man and angry.
In fact, I wear a shirt that reads, “I am not angry.” with the words, “This is just my face” written beneath it.
I am also equally aware of my own imperfections and physical characteristics.
Therefore, I have no right to call anyone ugly or unsightly, for that matter.
And still . . . I reserve the right to say that I have seen somethings while playing the game called, “People Watching.”
I do not believe that I am anyone to notice or to make mention of.
And while I agree this is not a kind way for one to talk about themselves, (or see themselves) I prefer the honest nature of reporting my truths.
This is a real struggle of mine.
This is also the thing I value most about the real loves and real friends because real people in your life have ways of showing you your own beauty. And they know how to remind you if this without pain or humiliation.
I have never felt comfortable in my skin, so-to-speak.
I have never believed in my looks or saw myself as good looking, let alone beautiful.
At the same time, this is just an honest view from the life behind my eyes.
I often look at people and wonder if they see the same things when they look in the mirror.
What does the color red look like to them?
Or what about the color blue?
How does the ocean feel to their ankles when the waves roll in?
I wonder about their heart and if it beats quite the same.
I wonder if they experience real love.
Love. You know?
And I mean the unquestionable kind of love that comes without the need to look back or without the fear that perhaps their love is too flawed and thus, the fear of their ground giving way causes a hectic chaos from within.
I have lost my footing to the ground of insecurities.
I have lost my steps and my foothold when the ground gave way.
I wonder if people understand the depths of their own imposter syndrome; whereas, do they question everything about themselves too?
Do they fear their curtains will be pulled back and just like me, are they afraid the world will expose them as a fraud and are they petrified that they will be shunned and forever rejected? Does anyone else fear the ultimate hell of being forced to live the ever-painful and burdensome existence of being vacantly and terminally alone?
I suppose this is why so many people settle for “someone” rather than living alone and being with “no one.”
I suppose I did this because I was afraid that if I was alone that I would be a non one or a nobody.
I have done this disservice because in the same respects; I settled more than once and yes, this compromise and negotiation created more pain than the pain of loneliness itself.
Hence, my biggest lesson learned is never settle.
Never settle when you want more.
Never compromise or negotiate your terms.
If you want real love, then know that real love comes in one form and one form only.
This is a perfect connection with someone’s trinity of mind, body, and soul.
This is chemical. This is emotional and physical.
This is far more than simple attractions because attractions and attractiveness fade when all parts are not met.
I want the whole thing.
I want it all
And of course, I want it now.
I used to see other people and note them down with envy. I used to wonder and ask what is it about me that made me less than?
What was it about me that made me lose in comparison to someone else?
Am I too flawed? To ugly?
Has my past or my trauma or my rage restricted me like an invisible warning that hints to the suspicion of say, the girl of my dreams, and is the result of this why I am alone?
Am I like what Shakespeare scripted?
Am I “fortune’s fool?”
Yesterday was long. My thoughts were not my friend and I say this with the full awareness that our thinking can lead us to feel the way we think.
I was not feeling well, in this case.
I began to think about my losses and how I failed myself with my own special brand of contributory negligence.
I was walking through Pennsylvania Station after work. My body was tired and all I could think about was how great it would be to sit in an air-conditioned room and take a shower.
My skin itched from an interaction at work, which is par for the course, but annoying nevertheless.
Sometimes the grime of my everyday life is enough to weigh me down. Sometimes my thinking is my worst enemy.
I saw a large woman with deep black skin. She was as heavy as they come.
She wore an extra-large red, tee-shirt that covered her enormous and braless chest.
And this was obvious.
And when I say obvious, I mean this was as obvious as they come.
Her breasts were moving and shaking with each step as she walked away from the A train subway behind her.
Her shirt was interesting to say the least. I say her shirt was interesting, not just because how her shirt was covering her large and bulging grape-sized nipples. And the shirt was not interesting because I was able to see her bulgy nipples, which were pronounced, and sort of hung under the bottom of her full, melon-like chest.
No.
The writing on her shirt read, “I can explain it to you but I can’t promise that you are going to understand.”
I have been told this before.
There was a special genius to a saying, which I have probably heard a thousand times before.
I read the woman’s shirt and it was as though I heard the words for the first time ever.
I have been told this before.
“You will never understand!”
And being told that I will never understand did not help or alleviate the pain of not understanding.
Sometimes, two people move on.
Sometimes the best things come to an end
Sometimes, we realize the lies we told and the lies we chose to believed were just ways to hope that maybe this time will be better than the last.
Never settle.
Never give your love away at a discount and never love just to be loved by someone in return.
If it doesn’t fit
Don’t force it!
I am sitting down now, reporting my findings after playing a game of people watching.
I know what I want.
And no
I will never accept a substitute.
I know you are out there
And I know where you are
And for now
I’ll be here
Waiting
(always)
And this?
This isn’t me being honest with fiction
Not at all
This is me
just being honest with you
my love
The Written Addiction 