There is a word I have heard my entire life. The word is potential. I was always told I have so much potential.
You have so much potential . . .

You can be anything you want to be . . .

You can do anything you want to do . . .

1)

Safe to say, at some point, I had to realize my memories has often lied to me. At some point, I realized my opinions, predictions, and fears that churn my worries and anxiety are based on the inaccuracies of my perception.

There will be times when you don’t know what to do. Welcome to life. Welcome to adulthood. Welcome to parenthood and welcome to the world we live in.
There will be days with no answers and days when it seems like the sky is falling. Or maybe the walls are closing in or floor beneath us is about to give, but either way, there are days when this is very real.

With this being a month of awareness, I wanted to add another entry about a topic which is familiar to us all but seldom spoke open so openly and honestly. This might be helpful to someone that feels lost or hopeless. Maybe they feel that constant sense of impending doom. Or, maybe this will help someone that literally feels like they are drowning, slowly and sinking in, and yet, it seems like there’s nothing they can do to stop themselves from being pulled under.

Every so often, I will see a poker tournament on television. I watch to see the players, all of them with their own style, most of them wearing sunglasses to keep their opponents from seeing their eyes, or catching their “Tells” as they call, which means their eyes might tell a story about the cards their holding.

The stakes are high and the pressure is too. Everything is all dressed up loud and colorful—there’s a crowd and the people cheered on occasion, which glamorizes and glorifies the event even more. This competition attracts all kinds of competitors; all different types of people from different backgrounds and different heritage. and all of them jabber at each other in one form or another. This is to get under the skin of their opponent.

Way back, years ago when I stood in the doorway of a small apartment and looked around, the rooms were emptied again, the furniture had all been moved out. The couches were gone, cable television was disconnected, and all the photographs from the wall had been removed. I stood here in awe of my change. I lived here. More accurately, I transformed here. My world became mine again.

When there is no further left to fall, then there is no reason to worry about the long list of inestimable tragedies that may or may not take place.
This is it, here and now, the bottom. This is where there are only two choices, which is to remain or rebuild.
That’s all . . .

I think about the places I have been to and places I have never seen. I also think of places that I’ve only dreamed of and hope to visit someday. I imagine myself elsewhere, at someplace that I’m not even sure if it truly exists.
Perhaps this place only exists to me. Or maybe I pictured this from a piece of literature, read from one of the great poets, like my favorite, Kerouac, or someone like him.
Either way, I see myself somewhere far from my usual routine and visiting an unknown crevice of the world that has not been been bordered by some man made boundary . Maybe I could be near the border, between reality and my dream. Perhaps I can see is the Gulf of Mexico from where I’d stay and the shoreline to a land of a country I know so little about.

It seemed like I was always in a corner. As I saw it, there was always someone looking to cause me to question, “Why?
 There was always someone causing me to question myself. Meanwhile, none of this was real—at least, not as real as I seemed to believe.
Either way, the main question or should I say the only real question that I had to ask myself was a simple one, which was within me, same as the answer was within me.
I did not understand my personal blindness. I did not understand what it meant to be emotionally colorblind. But how could I? This was just the way I saw things, right?