To be honest, I do not believe that I am so different from anybody else. I have my differences too, but I am not so different. At least, not at my core, or at the root, which I find to be the platform or the base of who I am. We all have this. We have wants and needs.
I understand that flavors and taste may vary, but the core is the core, and so I ask the question – what do we want?
What does anybody want?

I often wonder if I really know the answer to this question.
However, I do know some things.

I am a watcher. I see the world at times, like now, and I see things, almost randomly. More importantly, I find that I take notice of the signs around me.
I find that the timing is perfect.
It is easy to notice the typical things on the New York City trains or to see the usual suspects on the subways. I see this all the time, and I’ve been seeing this for years.
However, there is often something to be found. There is often an unexpected flower in unexpected places. And yes, there is often something to see, which is enough to be moved or enough to signify that the world is a good place.

There are beautiful things to see and while love can come under fire, and while love might not always conquer all, even still, there is proof that love exists. There are signs all over which offer at least a touch of inspiration that yes, here is hope. Despite the way things may seem at times, no matter what, love is real.
I know it is.

We are not the young soldiers retreating from a war that never existed. No, that part of us is over. However, there are times when the mercury rises and the pulse moves too quickly.
I can see how this changes us or causes concern.
There are times when the weight moves in, and the chest is too heavy to breathe.
I knew you. But then again, I have always known you, young and confused, wild and eager to prove that fear is not real, and that outrage can be interchangeable with intimidation. And so, we did what we could to get by and survive the social tactics of the world around us.

I do not regard the old days as much as I used to. Then again, I do this because I have grown to understand the difference between the way I was and the disguises we wore.
I have been asked if it gets easier as we grow up.
I answered, life you mean?
And I hit the nail on the head.

We all have a side or two, which no one sees, and no one knows about. We have thoughts and ideas, and dreams, and, of course, we all have our own rituals and routines. We all have our own way of doing things, which become automatic or natural to us.
We don’t have to think about these things, like our morning rituals or the way we get ready after we wake up.
We find ourselves moving without notice or without thinking. We just go because we all have our daily patterns. We have our usual directions, or the ways we go, or the streets that we walk down.
Meanwhile, this is life, and life is filled with limitless combinations of what to do or which way to go.
Who is to say that my way is the right way or the best way.
I can only say that my way is the only way that I know.

I am later than usual today, but then again, I am not wearing a watch and there is no reason for me to be on a schedule, which means late or not, I am right on time and exactly where I need to be.
It is Sunday, just after 10:00am and the morning sky has been beautiful so far. The moon chose to stay around and watch the sun come up, which is my favorite thing to see—a full moon at the hours of daybreak.
I get it.
If I was the moon, I’d hang around after quitting time, just to see the sun come up.

You have something of mine. Then again, it might be safe to say that perhaps I have something of yours as well. But don’t worry.
I’m keeping my promise and yes, I promise to keep this between the two of us; but more, I promise to keep this safe.
I give you my word.

When there is nothing, no sound or distraction, and when the quiet is so loud that all you can hear is the emptiness, or when you hear the ringing in your ears to fill the absence of noise, and when there is no one around, and when there is no one to speak to, and when there is nothing left to hide the evidence of your aftermath, and in the wake of your crazy sabotage, or when there is nowhere to go and when there’s nothing else to do but acknowledges that yes, this is it, I find myself wondering how people can survive their own destruction.

What does it mean to win? Or what does it mean to achieve?
Or what is victory? What is the secret?
Or is there one?
What does it take to keep going, win or lose?
Or what does it mean to wake up and show up, even when the odds are against us?

Or what about this?
What about when the score is stacked the other way?
What does is mean to show up, regardless of the outcome, or regardless of the critics or the comments we get from people who never dared to play?
And of course, what does it take to compete at your best level, no matter what the scoreboards tell you?