I am a firm believer in self-assessment. This is not to say I believe in being overly critical. We beat us up enough; however, I need to understand my personal inventory if I plan to achieve my personal goals.
I started a podcast a few months back with my producer and co-host Jay. Together, Jay and I discuss life changes and recovery. We talk about our involvement with The Recovery Spot on 18th and Irving Plaza.
I am writing this because this has been a topic of conversation over the last few days. This has been brought up by different people for different reasons by all circumstances still relate on one specific way.
And I’m glad for this. Not that I like the topic but I would rather someone reach out and speak out than suffer in silence and carry out their plans to say goodbye.
So, essentially, this is for you.
And you know who you are.
My morning is simple. . .
I wake up, which is always a good thing. I get myself to the kitchen to push the magic blue button on my coffee machine. Then I head back upstairs to my loft. I go through my usual morning routine. I write a little. I think a little. I plan my day, finish my coffee and then clean myself, brush my teeth, get dressed, head downstairs, put on my shoes, and then I head to the bus. I park in the same spot, unless someone beats me to it.
I cross the street to wait on a line with others who stand and wait for the same bus every day, seemingly mindless, lost in thought during the early morning sunrise, and still sleepy, but hey, bills are bills and work is work.
I think of you now and I am young. I am a boy again, like I was on the piers in Shinecock canal in November, cold as ever, and bundled up in a big blue coat with mittens and a pull-over hat that was knitted by my Grandmother. The sky was gray and the docks were quiet. I sat there shivering from the cold but I did not complain. I watched the end of my fishing rod, (just like you told me to) and hoped a fish would swim along and take my bait.
I could have sat that way for hours and not caught a thing and the day would still be perfect. I could have lived there in fact, exactly as it was, cold and gray and quiet, shivering.
I was in the back of a truck with no windows, handcuffed to a man that was drinking the night before. He was handcuffed to another man and him to another and then so on.
I was afraid. I was hungry and my stomach was growling, but yet, how could I even think of food in a time like this?
I hadn’t eaten in a while, but like I said, food was not my top priority.
Sure, everyone has an opinion. . .
Everyone thinks they know better. They get their information in drips and drabs and bits and pieces so that can create their opinions. This way they can act worldly, like they’re an authority. But the truth is no one knows. No one gets it. They just point their fingers and feed into the stigma . . .
Back when we
were kids, someone told us it costs a dime each time you flip a light switch. Of
course, me being me, I ran up to the front of the classroom and flipped the light
switch as fast and as many times as I could before the teacher could run up and
Back then, I had no idea what electricity was or where it came from. I knew what a light switch does. I knew there was this thing called electricity. I knew the story about Benjamin Franklin and a kite with a key (or something like that) but I didn’t know much else.