Before we move on, I think now is a good time to talk about the distortions of self.
Okay?
I want to talk about this and the way this leads to a misunderstanding of who we are.

I look back at pictures from when I was young. I think about the challenges I had back them. I think about the struggles I had with my self-esteem and my misdirection of ideas that somehow put me in a different class or category.

I wish I could push a button for you.
What I mean is, I wish I could push a button and take your problems away. I wish I could make the world a better place.
But this is life. This is where we play for keeps.

I wish I could help more or say something (anything) that could help make sense of all that goes on. But, I can’t.
I wish I could tell you that life gets easier with age. And sure, maybe it does in some regards. Maybe the challenges have only just begun and now’s a good time to tell you, “Hold on tight, kid. The ride gets a little bumpy from here.”

A hero of mine is a writer by the name of Robert Fulghum.
He does not know me at all. I’m only a fan or a reader, at best.
However, in his book, All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten, Fulghum talks about a game called Hide-and-Seek.
He talks about someone being too good at the game.
His suggestion to the child was, “get found, kid!’
What a great idea this is. . .
Get found!

I know that we’ve talked about this before but again, with all the classes we take in school and with all the education we go through to prepare us for life, whether this is during our mandatory years of grade school until high school, or in college, the most important lessons are not taught in classrooms.
But they should be . . .
I have said this to you in different presentations. I have spoken about this in one-on-one conversations and in table-top meetings. And I question this myself – Why?
Why isn’t there a mandatory class called Happiness 101. There is no introduction to achievement classes or classes that teach us how to enjoy life, or how to create more, to laugh more or how to dance more.
Yet—

I’d like to go back to that idea that I told you about earlier in this journal.
I want to go back to that plan I had of what I would like to say to my younger self if I had the chance.
The first thing I would say is, “Don’t listen to them!”
I understand that when I say, “Don’t listen to them,” the term is broad and perhaps vague.
But still—the advice is true and the freedom this could have given me would have changed my childhood, for sure. Hence, this would have changed my life as well.

I know all about pointing fingers.
I’ve had a few of them pointed at me too. I know about being the so-called bad one or what it means to be marked or labeled. And this is more than my fascination with my choice of artwork, which I have on my skin.
This is more than an entry about tattoos or tattoo culture. Yet, there is a definite misconception about this life. But that is not what this is about.
This is not about looks or anything like that, nor is this about our choice of fashion or the culture behind our music or its genre.

I am famous for what I am about to say, which is I am about to share something that is not typical for a man to share. Or to be tough, none of what I am about to expose allows me to stand any taller or be any stronger when it comes to the scales of masculinity.
And no. I am not tough.
Not at all

This is not to say that one needs to be a man for them to be tough, nor is this to involve myself in the argument of gender or whether one gender is tougher than another. Before I digress any further, I want to be clear that this is not to claim a standard nor is this a claim that only a man can corner the market on toughness.
Anyone can be tough.

It was early morning.
I knew that this day was about to be different. And I knew why too.
None of this was good and all of this was bad, but at the same time, at least I knew that an answer was coming my way.
I knew that the combination of my actions and the consequences that come with them were bound to catch up with me, which they did.
I knew that time was running out and like a countdown, I knew it was only a matter of time until the imaginary numbers went from ten, down to zero, and then that would be it.
And it was.

I was sitting in a room which I have described before. However, I think I will describe my surroundings differently for this entry. Rather than detail my location or the reasons for my detainment, I will use this entry as a means to define my emotional content.
Rather than glamorize or dramatize the moment, I would rather explain my reason for reflection which came to me in a place where time stands still, yet, the persecution lurks, like a stalking predator to the heartbeat of the weakest prey.

I wish I could say that any of this is easy. Then again, I wish I could say that life is easy.
But I can’t say that, at least not honestly.
I can say that as people, we are really good at making simple things complicated.
I can say that as a species, we are excellent at complicating things or at overthinking or over analyzing.
I have seen this in others as well as within myself and for the life of me, I can’t always say that I know why we do this to ourselves. Overthink and overanalyze, I mean.

I suppose my reason for this entry today is because I don’t like what I see. I don’t like to hear the news about some kid who went missing or who found themselves alone or misunderstood. I don’t say this as if I am more special or understand anyone at some kind of ultimate level. I am not a guru nor do I claim to or want to be.
No, I’m simply a person who would like to see changes in the way we think. I’d like to see us update the way we treat each other. Moreover, I am a person who would like to see a new dynamic when it comes to the way we approach one another.
I am someone who believes that we need to improve our systems when it comes to the way we deal with our mental health or emotional challenges.