Just to live. Just to breathe. Just to go outside and feel the sun on my face. Just to feel the wind in my hair. Just to be somewhere. You know?
Just to step away for a minute; to detach and disconnect. To put the world on hold and regroup; to find my balance and restore myself so that I can come back and get back in the game.
What an idea. To be away. To find a place where I can rest or put my arms down. And ah, the beach. The warm sand. The sound of the waves and the calls from the seagulls.
This is one of my spots by the way. This is one of my go to places. Then again, there’s the rooftop. This is another place of mine. Both of which are places that I’ve been connected with since my childhood. 

Life happens in phases and episodes. This is like chapters in a book and at the end, hopefully, we can leave something behind that is worth telling. Again, I say to each their own. To each are the chances and opportunities. To each are the moments in the fast lane. To each are the wild nights of summer and too all are the memories of our youth. To all are the memories to comfort us after we age beyond our prime. 

There are people we meet in this life. Some are certainly more memorable than others. There are the basic family models, which we are taught about from a young age. We are taught about our mothers and fathers, sisters, brothers, aunts and uncles. We are taught about the routine closeness of our cousins and the family lineage, the cultures and traditions. This is where we come from. This is where our earliest story began.

No one questions whether any of this was good or bad. At least not at first. No, we go along to get along. We live in our family and social dynamic until perhaps one day, we grow or reach a different level of awareness. We find ourselves at a turning point and question ourselves. For example, both moms or dads are not seen as usual people. No, they are the first initial teachers; however, not all lessons are meant to be taught because not all people are fit to be parents. And then we wake up. Then we realize that parents are people too. They have pasts too. They’ve lived. They’ve felt and hurt and like us, they have flaws and defects too.

I admit it. I had no idea. Besides, no one ever talked about sexual preferences when I was growing up. As kids, we poked at each other. At first, the idea was to lose your virginity. There was an entire posture that went with this. There was a level of popularity that coincided with who you are and what you look like. Meanwhile, there were kids that struggled with who they were. They struggled to talk about their true selves because they were afraid. They had fears of judgment or worse, there were the fears of banishment or to be ostracized and demonized. So therefore, don’t ask, don’t tell. Right?

There is a hilltop away from the world in a place from my past. I dream about this place sometimes. There is a tree on top of the hill. The tree is not tall per se. The tree is more wide than anything else with its limbs spreading out in such a way. I view this as a safe place. Life was different for me then. Summer mornings were a different type of quiet. The breeze that swept through the tall grass was calm and peaceful.

In winter, the grass turned the color of light tan. Snow covered the ground and the special tree gave up its leaves. The limbs were empty and gnarled like old fingers pointing in sideways directions. In spring color returned and whether the season was winter, spring, summer or fall, there was a distinct look to each season. I view this in my memory as a place of peace. I dream of this place. 

I was never much of a golfer. Mainly because I was never able to hit the ball straight. I never hit the ball very far or played very well. I played when I was much younger. This was during early mornings on the weekends when The Old Man would take me. The idea was to play a quick nine holes, which was never quick.

The game we played was called long-ball, short-ball. We played this because my golf swing was poor and my shots never landed very close to the green. On the other hand The Old Man played well. His shots were always closer to the green. So, in an effort to speed the game up and not jam up the people who played behind us, I would play the ball that was closest to the green. The Old Man would play the ball furthest from the hole. This allowed me to move quicker and gave The Old Man a chance to play the ball from the fairway.

This is our life. See how we live? Do we live fast and die young or do we move slowly and take our time? Which one would you choose?
This is our life. We go and we do. We think and we live. These are the things that take up our day. We eat. We live some and talk some. We think. We walk and we run.
If we are lucky, we smile too. If we are lucky, we can interact and both touch and feel the different fibers that make up the fabric of our life.
If we are lucky, we can understand the riddles of beauty and the blessings of our destiny. If we are lucky, we can exercise our mind and expand our abilities to reach farther than our typical education. This is not to say that our education is inadequate by any means. This is not to judge whether we are smart or otherwise. No, not at all. However, if we are lucky, we will learn the real meaning of the word necessity.

There are things we see, which do not make sense all the time. I suppose we can call this life. I suppose we can chalk this up to experience. And life is filled with this; experience, I mean. This is what makes us the people we are. Where we come from and where we lived, how we speak, our accent, or our common terminologies, this is us.
And me, well, I am a New Yorker.
In fact, I am proud to be a New Yorker. I love my city. I’m grateful for all the experiences I’ve shared here. I’m grateful for the late nights and downtown scenarios, which were crazy and wild.
I was young once. I was hopeful and yet often tameless. Still though, the city accepted me as I was (even if I didn’t).
I recall my late night strolls. I remember walking by myself and wondering if I was anywhere near the places that some of my favorite poets lived. I wondered if I could ever be like them. Could I be inspired like them or wild like them? Could I inspire people the way they inspired me? Good or bad, crazy or not, somehow; I always wanted to paint a picture with words. 

This quick recording of my thoughts are nothing more than a record of my thoughts. Today, I am faced with my own thoughts on the rebuild of what we call our society. And here we are, facing a new morning sun. The weather is improving and the northern hemisphere is leaning in, closer to the sun. I like these months ahead of us. However, I admit there are challenges ahead.

There is, of course, the new rebirth of our country, let alone, my City. I am watching this rebirth grow on a daily basis. I‘m not sure what this means or how long this will take, but still, slowly but surely, I’m seeing more life in the City.
I’m seeing more people in the streets. I’m seeing a resurgence of life, so-to-speak, which I hope to see improve more and more on a daily basis. 

Maybe this has something to do with the time of year. Perhaps the approaching month of June is a trigger that inundates me with a flood of memories. They stream to me, live and in-color, the days from way back when. There was a time that was not so long ago, but yet, everything seems long ago now. Yesterday seems like last week. In fact, last week can seem like last month and last year, well. to be honest; last year was here a minute ago. I swear. Now it’s gone. Amazing, right? Time pulls off a trick like this. Age comes whether we bargained for this or not. Maybe this is why I find myself embracing these tiny segments of my life. I find myself triggered and then instantly, I think of where I was or where I might have been, like say, precisely at this time and on this day, thirty-some-odd years ago.