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 remember the unofficial start of summer. I remember the trips out east and to the Hamptons and the nights when I slept in cars because I couldn’t get a place to stay or I didn’t have enough money to pay for a room.
I remember the beaches which were always beautiful. However, and in all fairness to the awkward stages in young adult life, I remember fears.
I remember the discomforts I had and the insecurities behind taking my shirt off because I was way too thin and way too small in comparison to the other friends in my group.
Everyone I knew went to the gym, not me though.
All of my friends were in shape. They all flexed and compared muscles. They talked about their reps or how much weight they put up. I remember the ones on steroids too, and they were huge. I mean absolutely huge.
I tried to fit in for way too long. I tried to stand right or lean right. I tried my best to look the way I thought I was supposed to look.
If I were to be able to redo or go back and start over, I would look to make my own way.
It’s crazy to think that I have been at this for a while.
My commitment, that is. If I opened my eyes and woke up this morning and found myself at a day from way back when, I know exactly what I would say.
Find your own style. Like what you like, love what you love. Make no excuses for this.
Enjoy your life. Enjoy your fetishes.
Enjoy yourself because there’s only one reflection you see in the mirror at the end of the day.
And that’s you (or me, in this case)
With all my heart, do not be apologetic for being different.
It seems to me that we live in a world of gadgets and gizmos. Everything seems to be about technology, applications, smart phones, smart watches, face-times, and video evidence of literally everything we see around us. We have street cameras that detect our speeds—and trust me, I know all about this because I have speeding tickets that come in the mail and fines that need to be paid now.
We have moved far away from the days of beepers or pagers, and pay phones on the corners or at the stores down the block.
Hell, I had a rotary phone in my house . . .
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.
Continue readingI think I will close with this –
Everyone has their moments. Everyone has a time which, if they could, they would go back to, or better yet, I have seen questions on social media which ask, if this were the 90’s, or if you could go back in time, or back before there was social media, Wi-Fi, the internet, and hell, I could go back to the times before cable television, and if you could walk into your childhood home or your childhood bedroom, what would you do?
I love these questions. And I can say that I have given them some thought.
I suppose we all have days or nights that we would love to revisit, or people we miss and wish we could see.
I suppose everyone thinks about their pivotal moments in life—or if they could go back, what would they say or do differently?
I often go back to the famous quote by Anne Frank, which is something that I had heard about when I was younger. However, I was too caught up in the angst of my youth and my resentments to realize that I might not forget what happened, and I might not forget who or what hurt me; but the ideas of forgiveness can be as freeing as the liberation of hate.
The quote is far bigger than these few words, however, Anne Frank wrote, “In spite of everything, I still believe that people are good at heart.”
She goes on to call the world a wilderness and talks about how the thunder is approaching — and despite what was around her, she says how somehow, she still believes “that all will be right, the suffering will end, and peace and tranquility will return.”
What is this?
What are we working for? A house? A car?
Are we working to have a special life?
But more, are we happy with what we have?
What does it mean to have a good quality of life?
I wonder about these things.
When is enough, enough?
When can we sit back, or when do we get to say, ah, yes –
This is what we came for . . .
I am going to treat this entry like it’s not a journal entry; but more, I’m going to treat this like a conversation between two people.
Better yet, I’m going to treat this like it was when we were kids, just a boy and a girl, on the phone, late at night, and capable of talking about anything for hours.
I want this to be simple and pure, the same as life should be simple and no additives, no preservatives, and no unneeded complications, and no worries about what’s going on outside or in other parts of the world.
There’s no one else here, except for us two kids.
Continue readingI get in and start the car.
I love it like this.
No one is on the road. The sun is just about to come up and the sky is about to change. I love the way my mind shuts down for the moment, which is not to say that I am not paying attention,
of course I am.
However, early morning drives like this are perfect for me.
I somehow slip away into this semi-aware state of mind.
I know where I’m going, and I know how to speed up or slow down. I know how to signal when I change lanes, and I know when to stop or go.
I know when to exit or when to turn left or right.
At the same time, my body takes over these tasks and my thinking slips into a different gear.
