This is a funny thing for me to say.
Or when I say funny, I mean odd or strange but least of all comical.
I have seen the most beautiful things in this world. Some of them were Uptown. Some were up in Harlem.
Some of the most beautiful things were Upstate and some were out east on Long Island. Some of these things were on the cobblestone streets or near Tribeca or by where The Twin Towers used to be.
I have seen beautiful things.
At the same time, I have not travelled much or at least not as much as others.

I suppose I have seen everything when compared to someone who has seen nothing at all.
But to those who see nothing, they will always see nothing, until they open their eyes, of course.

I never know what people remember. I don’t know how memories feel or arise to someone else.
These things are beyond me.
I can’t say I know the feelings within someone else’s heart.
And another thing. . .

I don’t know what other people see or if we see the same things.
I think about this sometimes.

I never thought that I would ever consider moments of my past to be a good time. I certainly never thought that I would look back as I do now and regard certain times as the best days of my youth.
I never thought that I would view the end of my teenage life or the way things that happened when I was far from my usual circle of influence and somehow, I see how time changes our perspective.
And more, I can see why I look back and regard my time on a correctional farm as the best days of my youth.

I have my share of complaints and disagreements with the way things were back then. I equally have a different level of understanding for life. I see things differently now. Take the way I live or the value of how I interact with people, places, and things. This is important to me now. Perhaps more important now than ever before.
And beauty?

In all fairness to the question, I can assure that my answers will be honest.
At least here, where it’s safe for me to be me (with you).
Honestly, my answer is I don’t know how I survived my teenage life.

I don’t know how I made it through my early adulthood or how I moved beyond the younger men’s games. As I think about this, I am not sure why or when these games began or why we sign up for such things. Why do we give way?
I don’t know . . .

The truth is, I still have dreams.
As matter of fact, I have remarkable dreams.
Big ones. Great ones.
I have dreams of softness too.
I have dreams so elaborate and detailed that I can recall saying to myself, “I swear, I hope I can remember this when I wake up.”

I will say this.
We are the energy that we consume. Same as we used to say you are what you eat, I will say we are the energy we consume. Think hate, feel hateful.
Feel loved and think lovingly.
I see this now.

I will say this now and for the rest of my life.
We are who we think we are. Therefore, if we believe that we will never rise above our limitations, then we will always be limited.
There will always be a ceiling and no stars to reach for.

If we believe that our past defines us, or if we believe that we will never escape heartbreak or that we will never get over something, then of course, we never will.
And I have to say this, never is a really long time. However, the ideas of never are fitting in some cases.

Ah, summer.
Ah the memories of the 4h of July, Independence Day, and how the sky would light up with fireworks. I remember looking up at the glittery colors. I remember the loud booms from the rockets and the mortars. I remember the feeling I had too.
This was wonderful.
I remember hearing The Star Spangled Banner playing out loud and the feeling I had in my heart, which is the same feeling I still have whenever I hear our National Anthem.

I understand our problems as a nation. I understand that a bird needs both wings to fly straight. I understand that neither the right side or the left side of our government seem to fly straight at all.
But that’s okay.
We all have our troubles and like that saying goes, “America, love it or leave it!”
See, the thing is I do love her . . .
and therefore, I can’t leave.

Ah, the stars.

I remember sitting on the roof of my childhood home. I used to climb out of the window on the side of my house. This led to the top of my garage. Then I would proceed upwards and climb to the top of my childhood home.
I remember this, late at night. My house was on a main road in a small, but typical suburban town. I say typical because we were all equipped with our own secrets and our own private dysfunctions.