I have read stories about the starving artists. I read about how they lived most of their lives unheard of or unknown. I have read stories from different poets and writers about their years of rejection and, through it all, I can relate to the aches and pains. I can relate to the frequent bouts with hopeless rants that take place when we are alone or when the world turns in a poor direction.
I can relate to the words, “I quit!” Yet, somehow, I come back around the next day to ante up again, and see where the day takes me.
Do you know what else I think about?
I think about words.  

We are moving towards the end of the year, which means that we are closer to a day where the world changes, at least for the moment. People are kinder.
Families gather and people exchange gifts, and for the while, there is a spirit of hope and goodwill to all.
There is a song that sings, “It’s the most wonderful time of the year.”

I cannot say that I have always appreciated the Christmas season.  I have memoires and moments and times where I experienced loss, or most of all, I remember back in 1989 when The Old Man was in the hospital on Christmas Eve.
I remember this well.

My whole life . . .
I have always wanted to be someone.
Of course, my words may come up short when I say this, but I have always wanted to be someone.
I want to do something more than just live an average life.
I have always wanted to do more than an average or an everyday thing. This is not about pride or ego or needing to be better than anyone else.
No, I can’t say that this is anything more than I have always wanted to “be!”
I’ve always had the drive. I’ve always had passion, but I have also lived a very real life. Sure, I have survived moments that have muted and dulled an otherwise brilliant truth, which is me.

As the saying goes, if you don’t know, then you just don’t know, which is fine by the way.
No one says this out loud but it’s okay to see the world differently. It’s okay to be different and the truth is different does not mean better or worse. No, different just means different.
So?

I suppose I have always seen the world from a different perspective. Then again, there is no proof that two people see things the exact same way.
I often bring up the fact that I will never know what the color blue looks like to you. For all we know, we can see the same thing but blue can be something else to you.
All we know is what we are taught.

They say that something happens. They say that a moment comes, and perhaps this comes in different ways for different people. But a moment comes when your eyes are open. You see things from a deeper perspective. Or perhaps this is what they call a spiritual awakening. For the moment, I can’t say if I have always found this as something holy or if there was some great sense of divinity.
But maybe.

There has to be something.
You know?
There has to be a way, or an exit, or some kind of porthole that leads us to a brief station in time where all is fine and tension disappears.
Maybe there’s a way to extend this. Or maybe we can find out how to recreate life to become something more than what it is (or what it was) and maybe this is the high of all highs.

There has to be something more than just momentary, or something poetic, or something that can take us away, as if to be set adrift in the gentle tides of something weightless or pleasurable to the point where the body is at ease and the mind can find peace. This is what I want.
I want to find that great place or that center, or find balance so that all that was wrong can be nonexistent or at least gone for a while.
There has to be a way.

The truth of the matter is everyone has a breaking point.
We all have a limit or threshold or tolerance, and yes, we can only take so much.
The mind and body are intertwined.
Pain hurts, but pain can be relative.

We all have limits. We all have a line in the sand. We have standards and morals. However, I am here to ensure that rational thinking can be misled by irrational ideas. I have seen this become so, especially when it comes to loss.
Or even with the threat of loss, the mind can panic and sane thinking can easily give way to insane ideas.
No one talks about this.
But it’s easy to be crazy.

I have heard from every kid or streetwise punk who swears “don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.”
Everyone says the same thing.
Don’t worry.
I know what I’m doing.

I said the same thing.
I swore this many times.
Don’t worry.
I know what I’m doing.

For the record, everyone says, “That won’t happen to me.”
Or people say, “I would never let myself get like that.”
Sure, you won’t.
I said the same thing.
And guess what, I got like that.
In more ways than one.

It doesn’t seem real to me anymore. My past or my younger life. I am far removed from those days. I have memories of when I was young. At the same time, I have grown to the point where I question my memories now. I question if memory is real or a liar or, at times, I question if our memory happened at all.
I support the motto that there are usually more than one side to a story. I support the idea that there are often three sides, which is my side, your side, and the truth is somewhere in-between.
I believe this.