Monday, July 17, 2017


I'm immersed in this massive transitional phase, and I can barely step back far enough to capture the full scope of it all in a single lens.  A flood rushing through me.  Honestly, this entire entry may be a lost cause because I don't know how to describe so many feelings and thoughts.  But since I am literally bursting at the seams, I'll wade in and give it a shot.

I've learned more about who I am in the last month than in the previous three decades combined.  More than any other period.  More than times when I thought I had myself figured out.  In fact, coming to terms with the reality that so much I had imagined, never was, has nearly killed me.  But that was only the first half.  Cliche as it may be, I do believe that it's only after you've lost everything that you're free to do anything.  And the second half of this process is deeper and heavier and more all-consuming than what I knew I could feel.  I'm being born again.  And it's both intimidating and exhilarating.

Mentally, I'm flying through time and space now, like I've been shot out of a cannon.  And at the same time, I feel like for the first time in a very long time, I've got both hands on the wheel.  Both feet on the floor.

Kind of like this.

I think that I've never been able to remove myself from the present enough, to gain an objective view of my own life.  I was far too heavily invested in my end game to see any signs that the destination may not be as it appeared in my mind.  At the slightest obstacle, I only pushed harder.  In fact, the longer I pushed, the more my end goal became an idea, rather than a realistic projection.  I blurred the lines between fiction and non.  I am someone who, when committed to a cause, will gladly endure a great deal of discomfort to see through to the finish.

That's it.  That's a major component of how I fucked up my life so badly.  The part that I am responsible for.  The part I change in order to live a better live than the one I've just emerged from.  I didn't simply find all the right pieces of the puzzle, that assembled the picture I'd always dreamed of.  Somewhere along the way, several pieces were no longer included in the kit.  But still, I only focused on the completed picture.  Destination addiction.  A preoccupation with the idea that happiness is the next place.  Further down the road.  I didn't care how much I struggled today.  It was for something greater tomorrow.  I've literally said I'd gladly be punched right in the fucking face every day to capture five minutes of what I'd work my life for.  I took a noble concept and fit it for an extremely unhealthy purpose.  Saw nothing wrong with that.  I wrote it off as the greatest things in life, taking the most amount of effort.  It was a bastardized and misinterpreted take, at best.  I turned it upside down and ruined myself with it.  It broke me further and further and further until I realized I was no where near a place of happiness, and my destination didn't even exist.  I have veered a thousand miles from the principles that define me.  Bent, in lieu of breaking.  For so long that I forgot my original form.  That is, until I remembered.

Now my eyelids are peeled back and the light is rushing in.  The past few weeks have been a sobering and all encompassing review of my original form.  Not the bent one.

I will never force the wrong pieces of a puzzle into place just to fit MY own projected image, ever again.  I lost myself in the process.  For a guy who constantly writes about stopping to smell the roses, I sure have done a shit job of practicing what I preach.  It is doing exactly this, that has spurred this review of so many events in my life, that has left me flattened into the ground.  My head is spinning in circles, capturing so much I have turned a blind eye to, for so long.

I pushed so many people away.  Friends and family and passers by alike.  So many people have offered me the kindest of words with the truest of intent but I never gave a shit.  I see everything so differently now.  God, this entire entry is likely to be the least organized piece of writing I've assembled.  It is raw brain matter spilling out of my fingertips and onto the screen.

I'll stop for a minute, and try to make sense of things.

Moving forward.

I won't force, what isn't meant to be forced.

I won't be afraid to step out on a ledge because I fell off it the last time.

I won't rely on a vision of the future to propel me through the present.  For all I know, today could be the end of my story and I will not abandon the chance to be happy today for the prospect of seeing it tomorrow.

Time is on my side.  I mean, I think this IS what it means to stop and smell the roses.  There is time for that.

I don't depend on anything outside myself, for happiness I can find within.  One thing I have repeatedly failed to do is account for my own basic mental health in the pursuit of something else.  It never occurred to me that I couldn't hold all the pieces together if I was broken upon arrival.  Further, it never occurred to me that there's a fucking lot more to life than simply existing to hold pieces together.

Despite it all, I am still unafraid to work tirelessly for what I believe in.  That IS my fulfilling journey.  Maybe a little rest and recovery to keep myself whole along the way wouldn't hurt.

I promise the next thing I write will at least contain some measure of structure.  This is like abstract thought.  The result of the kettle on the stove beginning to whistle, and it has to vent off somewhere.  I chose to vent it here.