I think I will end this here yet I am not ending anything. At least, not really. I’m not ending anything except for another journal. I am certainly not ending my dreams or my hopes or my plans to reach the next level of my journey. Not at all.
If anything, I am ending another chapter or phase so that I can prepare for my next project.
My idea to imagine the action was part of a stage or as it states in the stages of change, this marks the end of my contemplation and preparation. Next comes action. Then comes maintenance.
For the record, I have a plan. I have a goal. I have methods and tactics and the ability to achieve. I also have the hunger and the desire to see my hopes come to life. However, it is clear that nothing worthwhile will simply appear. Our dreams take work to build them and effort to keep them going.
Imagine having something so valuable and then all of a sudden, it’s gone. Imagine this is something that money cannot buy.
Say, this is more of an accomplishment. Or, say this is something internal like an achievement that no one in the world thought you could manage yet you did.
Imagine the thoughts and the feelings that come when this is gone. Or more accurately, imagine this is something you gave away in a moment of haste.
I have chosen this as my method. And by this, I mean my journals and my time with you. This is my way to settle the tiny disputes that whisper in my head, in which I need something more than a quick fix or a temporary system of relief. After a while, you grow tired of the brief or interim remedies. You grow tired of the plans which only placate the troubles we see. Nothing is ever solved this way, only paused or momentarily tolerable. At best, we grow tired of the short-term ideas that lose their ability to desensitize us from the sharp edges of uncomfortable surroundings.
I chose this because this has become a voice for me. These words on my screen and the thoughts in my head have agreed to come together and allow me a moment of peace. This way, the worn soldiers in my mind can rest for a while and retreat from the enemies that never existed.
I see us all as a gathering of people or possibly spirits and souls. We are a massed gathering of both coherent and incoherent minds who are caught in the inevitable path of things that will eventually come true.
We will age, live and we will see a child who grows into adulthood. We will note people who we saw for the first time. We will note people who find a partner or a lover or a friend to discover the universe together.
There will be friends and acquaintances, lovers, family and, of course, there will be the inevitable enemies, adversaries and moments of adversity.
Part of what drives my ideas is that I see the need for change. I see the need for a new dynamic in the way we treat mental illness. When I say this, I am not speaking as someone with a degree or as a healthcare professional.
No, I am speaking as a person with boots on the ground. I am saying this as someone who is working my way up from the bottom and as a means to improve my life, I am writing this to you as someone with my own scars and challenges.
I am writing this as a person with my own stressors and disorders. As well, I am writing this on a person to person level. As such, I say there’s a need to switch our focus from symptom-based programs to solution-based plans and strategies.
Here it is again. Monday morning has come and the alarm goes off again. My body is in a routine or a usual mode, so-to-speak. I can be mostly asleep and my body knows what to do, where to go, where the coffee is and how to push the magic blue button on the coffee machine. I can do nearly all of these things without much input from my surface mind.
I know where everything is. I know where I put my phone. I know where my sneakers are and where I placed my car keys so that come morning, I can start my car, to warm it up, and make my drive to work a little more comfortable.
My idea to write to you is something that comes from the heart. My aim is somewhat selfish too because I admit that this is my only voice. I admit that this is the only place where I can go and be welcomed without any struggles or doubt.
This is the place where I can be heard and not judged or worry about what comes next. Essentially, I come here to find peace; but more, I come here to make sense of the ideas that interrupt my thinking.
Then again, I suppose you already know this about me.
(Or at least I hope you do.)
Therefore, I suppose you already know that these journals of mine are necessary to me. This is more than my voice and more than a moment of sanity. This is my fix or my special dose that defends from the unpleasantness that goes on around us.
I have been writing to you about this thing I call Project Earth. This is life. Or, perhaps I should say that this is us; billions of tiny creatures in a universal experiment. There are billions of people here with us and billions of people who were here before us. And life? Well, I suppose life is relative. I suppose our structures vary. Our relation to each other varies, depending upon culture, background and geography.
For example, I used to wonder what I would have been like or dressed like had I been born one town over. Or better yet, I wonder what my life would have been like if I was born someplace other than New York or born in the generation before my own.
I wonder if I would be a totally different person if I had blonde hair or blue eyes but everything else about me was the same.
Ah, the thought machine and all of its work. . .
The idea is to find the right connection and let this click. Find the right life. Find something. Find anything. Find whatever you can but be sure to find the things that build passion. Find something to start the fire in your belly. Find it and find it now.
Find something that feeds your desire to get up and get out of bed in the morning. Find a reason to keep your flame going. Find what you love to do and be loyal to this. Find your dreams and make them happen. This is your job.
Today will be a little more personal than usual. I say this with a smile and a slight return of endearment because after all, isn’t everything personal.
Well, this one is.
I have lived a life with questions and wonders and hopes and dreams. I have lived with the fantasies of crossing over into this success that at last, I made it. Mom would be proud. The Old Man would be proud. They could see me and I could be good. I could be more than good.
Do you even know what I am talking about?