Make no mistake about this. . .
No one will ever see your goals the way you see them. No one will ever have your dreams and no one will ever have the same drive. No one can ever duplicate anything you’ve created. Believe me on this one.
Even if something is built similarly, no matter what level the creation might be, still, no one can ever build anything that you have created. No one can do this because of one simple fact. You built this!
This is yours. You created this. No matter what you’ve built, it was built by you and as such, no one can ever recreate this.
I have this idea sometimes. Or maybe this is a vision. Maybe this is just the need to close my eyes and see something different.
Maybe I need this because there is enough craziness in the world. There is enough ugliness and hate. We don’t need more. We don’t need more reasons to argue. We don’t need more reasons to complain. We already have plenty
I was told to let today be sufficient for itself. Tomorrow will come with its own list of things to do, places to go and things to see. Today is only here once. So, make it count.
And I get that.
I took a drive by the old house last night. I drove through town and saw some of the old places. I drove by the park and saw the opened gate on East Meadow Avenue. This reminded me of the times when my friends and I would run around and be nothing else, except for young and crazy. It has been a long time since then. It’s been too long but still, I remember this all very well.
It’s been awhile. It’s been 31 years to be exact. In fact it was 31 years ago today when you left us. I’m sorry it’s been a little while since my last letter. Not sure if you can see the news where you are but the world is in a little bit of a tailspin. In spite of this, I’m doing well. Or, perhaps I should say that I’m doing as well as I can be, I am still growing and still learning.
I often think about the lessons you would try to teach me when I was young. I was thinking about the different clouds. I remember you told me if we read the clouds then we can somewhat tell which kind of weather is on the way. I’m not sure what the difference is between nimbus or stratus clouds or cumulus or cirrus clouds. I don’t know much about the weather that’s on the way. I don’t know if it will rain or snow or if the sun will share its warmth but I admit it. It would be nice to know what’s coming my way.
There are times when I am given the opportunity to share my experience with others. And there are times when I have the chance to allow my past experiences to help someone undergoing the current moments in their life. More importantly, there are times when I am able to pay for the destruction of my past or better yet, there are times when I am given the chance to resolve my old tensions and pay back for some of the pieces of my life, in which I owe or feel as if I need to amend.
Jesus, I say. Where did the time go?
There was a little sleepaway camp somewhere up in the mountains of a little upstate town with a lake and docks and a little beach area with screaming kids, running around and lo and behold, I was one of them.
There are pictures of this somewhere. There are pictures of me, little and small, innocent and pure.
I see him now, older of course, and gray-haired but not weak. No, I see him now as knowingly different and aged by experience but not robbed by this in any way. No, not at all.
I imagine him the way he might have looked if he were around today. I imagine the things he might have said if we were together or fishing from the side of an Upstate pond.
There is a song I listen to sometimes. I watch a video that comes with it, which is not the artist’s video but still, the video fits the feeling. This is not a music video at all. Instead, this is someone that put their home video to the song by Jerry Garcia, which is absolutely perfect.
I use this combination of music and video to detach for a while. I let the music set in so I can unwind. I watch the old video because it reminds me of a time, like when we were young and the world was more of a technicolor place to me. the 70’s were the times. The Old Man had sideburns and people wore shirts with wide collars. We were approaching the 80’s and me, I was this little hopeful kid, just trying to find my way.
For now, the streets are wet. Everything is quiet this morning, as if there is something going on or as if something bigger than all of us is taking place. This is all happening, right here and right now. And I know what this is.
I know this is life, or at least this is a version of it. I know there are questions I have and things I’d like to know about.
And that’s fine.
For now the leaves are starting to change. Some have already fallen, which I can see from the window in my loft. The town recently repaved my road, which makes the wet blacktop glisten in front of my house. The yellow lines that split the road in half and the orange leaves that press flat on the ground are perfect in contrast against the blackness of the street. The colors of the trees are somehow comforting beneath the grayish morning in my small town. My road is country-like and peaceful, which this too is also fitting for now
Early morning, September 20 and the winds are becoming cool. The leaves have yet to change but the hints of an upcoming season are proof that autumn is in the mail.
There is no real sentiment about now or at least for the moment, as it or was or as it should be. I am awake (of course) and sifting through the million thoughts that keep me awake at night.