Thursday, June 16, 2011
"Stay a while my inner child, I'd like to learn your tricks..."
When I think of Miami, I think of home. When I look online and see my friends, people I knew, the bar, the neighborhood, I smile. And I keep smiling, and I smile so much that it starts to sting, then it starts to hurt as I slowly realize how happy I was with the things that I left behind.
I miss Miami, and I didn't think I'd say that as quickly as I just did. For the first time in my life, I had created something worth having, it seemed, and unlike college, where everyone left after four years, I was the only one to really walk away from it all. I can see that life went on, that the bars open and close, Cervezas still prospers, family still smiles, and friends still meet up for Happy Hour. It's daunting, seeing that life truly doesn't stop. Not that I ever expected it to. It's not like I expected tears from my family, for my friends to stop hanging out at the usual haunts, for Cervezas to board up the windows and close the shop. And I knew it wasn't going to happen that way. But when you actually see that things have moved on, it's strange. Friends I spoke to every day, saw every night, we don't speak as much any more. I might as well be a million miles away. That's life. It's hard to keep in touch with someone you don't know when you'll see again. My family, my sisters are alright. Maybe because I was never really there for them in the first place. I was always too busy. I love them endlessly. I could have showed it more.
Cervezas, a place that I helped build and create, a place that I tried so hard to have succeed, is still succeeding, to an extent that seems to surpass anything I did for them. I'm happy, I truly am, but it's not something I'm a part of anymore. I miss it. I took a lot of things for granted at times back home, but mainly that place. I spent the better part of a year working hard, helping that place grow, not so I could be promoted, but because I sincerely loved what it was, what they did, and the experience we offered. I defended it fiercely, and fought for it and it's reputation always. It was like a family. 6 of us, running a brand new bar, a tiny little beer bar in the heart of South Miami. We grew our selection to rival anyones in the city, we got the New Times and AOL to award us in our first year. We got some of the biggest microbreweries in the country to notice us, and to want to work with us. I was so proud of the things we did, of what we'd built. Then I changed, and over the course of a few months I managed to let it all go. I walked away, not really realizing what it was that I was walking away from. Yea, there were difficulties and differences, but nothing drastic. I should have done better.
Moving back in to my parents house in Miami and starting from scratch was akin to failure on all counts in my eyes. Going home empty handed and angry, I might as well have been 13 years old again. So I decided not to. What I'd built in Miami, what I had created for myself, it was gone. Things were changing, so I walked away, and as much as I miss Miami, I know that what I go back to when I visit won't be the Miami I miss. Things will never be like they were, ever again. The same as when I left college and everything changed. The only solution is to rebuild. Start anew, a fresh, clean slate. Replace what you miss with new things to love, new things to miss later in life.
But when I get home, you know where I'll be. Happy Hour at Boug's with whatever is left of the Five Guys, catching the game at Cervezas with the crew and the best regulars I've ever had, the ones that became some of my best friends. Barhopping in South Miami, shows at Churchill's. I want to pick up my sister's from school and hang out with them. I want to hang out with my nephew. Pool at Shooter's. Coffee and cigarettes, poetry and friends at Starbucks. I'm going to have lunch at Sports Grill with my uncle, I'm going to sing and play songs with the boys. I'm going to go where they know me, love me, and throw in a free drink and a hell of a discount every now and then.
Home isn't a house, a city. Home is the people you've loved, the places you were, and the things you did. Home is happy, it's what you make of it. Rest assured, I'm not sad.
I just miss home.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
"Five guys, assemble!"
I've been writing a lot more in my physical journal, seeing as my computer is broken and pretty much immobile nowadays.
Poetry is flowing again, which is fantastic, but is flourishing probably because I spend a lot of my time off alone. I need to find friends.
Speaking of which, I miss the boys back south. Always an adventure, always a bad idea, always a lot of fun.
Anywho, I've a few things to get done before work. All is well. I'm alive.
-w
Poetry is flowing again, which is fantastic, but is flourishing probably because I spend a lot of my time off alone. I need to find friends.
Speaking of which, I miss the boys back south. Always an adventure, always a bad idea, always a lot of fun.
Anywho, I've a few things to get done before work. All is well. I'm alive.
-w
"Help, I'm alive..."
I hope one day to be confident enough to say exactly what it was that I ran away from.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
"There's just the right amount of awkward..."
Truth be told, friends, I spent a lot of time thinking yesterday. Thinking about where I'm at, how I got here, and where I want to go. Overanalytical, perhaps, but a necessary series of ideas, I feel.
If the purpose of one's life is to stay alive, be happy, and to seize the day, then by all means am I succeeding. I am happy. I am content, for the most part, and I am excited for the probable growth the next few months will bring me, as I begin to emerge on my own in this blustery town. But if the purpose of one's life is to setup up a profoundly productive and admirable future, then I feel that I may be stuck. There's a stagnancy in what it is that I do. I serve tables, I make ridiculously good money, and then I go home. There's no set schedule, and the hours can be a bit long at times. They are inconsistent, to say the least. There's no significant job security, and there's not much room to grow in the company. Maybe I am looking too hard at things and not necessarily enjoying the fruits of my labor, and maybe this is a quarter-life crisis of sorts, but I've gotten older, and I'm no more closer to adulthood than I was when I was 18. Sure, I'm a bit wiser, a bit more worldly, and a bit more experienced, but I want the security of a real job, something I trained for, something I studied for, something I truly worked hard to attain. I have half a Bachelor's degree in English Literature, and I know, as I've been job hunting for the last month, that with that degree, there is a lot of significant work to be found, to be had. Yet, to finish that degree, I'll have to sit and wait a year here in Illinois so as to get in-state residency, to get in-state tuition. I mean, even if I'm 27 when I graduate, I should be happy to have at least done so successfully, but it does illuminate the fact that I spent a lot of the past few years dicking around and not being as seriously motivated as I know I can be, as I know I was at one time.
I suppose this goes hand in hand with a previous entry in which I spoke about forgiving one's self. I sincerely do feel that what happened happened, and it's in the past now. I must admit to myself that I cannot change it, and all that I can do is grow from here on out. I truly have enjoyed much of the past few years of my life, and I've accumulated quite the little bank of stories of adventures and misadventures alike. And while I haven't achieved the highs that I feel I'm capable of, I have achieved and enjoyed a rich life in which I truly learned who I was and what I was made of.
I know I am over analyzing, and to moan on would be an utter sin, but I simply wanted to put it all down in writing, so as to look back on this entry and smile one day. "Wow, look how much I've done since then..." You know, that sort of thing.
Yesterday at work, a couple sat at one of my tables. They ordered a $150 bottle of wine and spoke of their upcoming vacation to Spain, which began this morning. They were real proper well-to-do's, and while they were pleasant and cordial, I did feel as if I were looked down upon a bit by the two's of 'em. But, as any good server does, I smiled and joked and thoroughly tried to have them enjoy their meal, their experience. When his wife went to the restroom, the gentleman motioned me over and told me this: "I've been watching you with all these people at your tables, and while you're really good at what you do, you're better than this. Whatever it is you end up doing in life, I have a real good feeling that you'll be great at it." He then proceeded to close out his tab, tip me astoundingly, and go about his life and his Spanish adventure with his darling chica.
I felt humbled and appreciative. I don't think he knew how significant of a comment that was to me.
I sure hope he's right, though.
If the purpose of one's life is to stay alive, be happy, and to seize the day, then by all means am I succeeding. I am happy. I am content, for the most part, and I am excited for the probable growth the next few months will bring me, as I begin to emerge on my own in this blustery town. But if the purpose of one's life is to setup up a profoundly productive and admirable future, then I feel that I may be stuck. There's a stagnancy in what it is that I do. I serve tables, I make ridiculously good money, and then I go home. There's no set schedule, and the hours can be a bit long at times. They are inconsistent, to say the least. There's no significant job security, and there's not much room to grow in the company. Maybe I am looking too hard at things and not necessarily enjoying the fruits of my labor, and maybe this is a quarter-life crisis of sorts, but I've gotten older, and I'm no more closer to adulthood than I was when I was 18. Sure, I'm a bit wiser, a bit more worldly, and a bit more experienced, but I want the security of a real job, something I trained for, something I studied for, something I truly worked hard to attain. I have half a Bachelor's degree in English Literature, and I know, as I've been job hunting for the last month, that with that degree, there is a lot of significant work to be found, to be had. Yet, to finish that degree, I'll have to sit and wait a year here in Illinois so as to get in-state residency, to get in-state tuition. I mean, even if I'm 27 when I graduate, I should be happy to have at least done so successfully, but it does illuminate the fact that I spent a lot of the past few years dicking around and not being as seriously motivated as I know I can be, as I know I was at one time.
I suppose this goes hand in hand with a previous entry in which I spoke about forgiving one's self. I sincerely do feel that what happened happened, and it's in the past now. I must admit to myself that I cannot change it, and all that I can do is grow from here on out. I truly have enjoyed much of the past few years of my life, and I've accumulated quite the little bank of stories of adventures and misadventures alike. And while I haven't achieved the highs that I feel I'm capable of, I have achieved and enjoyed a rich life in which I truly learned who I was and what I was made of.
I know I am over analyzing, and to moan on would be an utter sin, but I simply wanted to put it all down in writing, so as to look back on this entry and smile one day. "Wow, look how much I've done since then..." You know, that sort of thing.
Yesterday at work, a couple sat at one of my tables. They ordered a $150 bottle of wine and spoke of their upcoming vacation to Spain, which began this morning. They were real proper well-to-do's, and while they were pleasant and cordial, I did feel as if I were looked down upon a bit by the two's of 'em. But, as any good server does, I smiled and joked and thoroughly tried to have them enjoy their meal, their experience. When his wife went to the restroom, the gentleman motioned me over and told me this: "I've been watching you with all these people at your tables, and while you're really good at what you do, you're better than this. Whatever it is you end up doing in life, I have a real good feeling that you'll be great at it." He then proceeded to close out his tab, tip me astoundingly, and go about his life and his Spanish adventure with his darling chica.
I felt humbled and appreciative. I don't think he knew how significant of a comment that was to me.
I sure hope he's right, though.
"Chicago"
A great poem by Carl Sandburg... you're welcome!
HOG Butcher for the World,
Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat,
Player with Railroads and the Nation's Freight Handler;
Stormy, husky, brawling,
City of the Big Shoulders:
They tell me you are wicked and I believe them, for I
have seen your painted women under the gas lamps
luring the farm boys.
And they tell me you are crooked and I answer: Yes, it
is true I have seen the gunman kill and go free to
kill again.
And they tell me you are brutal and my reply is: On the
faces of women and children I have seen the marks
of wanton hunger.
And having answered so I turn once more to those who
sneer at this my city, and I give them back the sneer
and say to them:
Come and show me another city with lifted head singing
so proud to be alive and coarse and strong and cunning.
Flinging magnetic curses amid the toil of piling job on
job, here is a tall bold slugger set vivid against the
little soft cities;
Fierce as a dog with tongue lapping for action, cunning
as a savage pitted against the wilderness,
Bareheaded,
Shoveling,
Wrecking,
Planning,
Building, breaking, rebuilding,
Under the smoke, dust all over his mouth, laughing with
white teeth,
Under the terrible burden of destiny laughing as a young
man laughs,
Laughing even as an ignorant fighter laughs who has
never lost a battle,
Bragging and laughing that under his wrist is the pulse.
and under his ribs the heart of the people,
Laughing!
Laughing the stormy, husky, brawling laughter of
Youth, half-naked, sweating, proud to be Hog
Butcher, Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat, Player with
Railroads and Freight Handler to the Nation.
HOG Butcher for the World,
Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat,
Player with Railroads and the Nation's Freight Handler;
Stormy, husky, brawling,
City of the Big Shoulders:
They tell me you are wicked and I believe them, for I
have seen your painted women under the gas lamps
luring the farm boys.
And they tell me you are crooked and I answer: Yes, it
is true I have seen the gunman kill and go free to
kill again.
And they tell me you are brutal and my reply is: On the
faces of women and children I have seen the marks
of wanton hunger.
And having answered so I turn once more to those who
sneer at this my city, and I give them back the sneer
and say to them:
Come and show me another city with lifted head singing
so proud to be alive and coarse and strong and cunning.
Flinging magnetic curses amid the toil of piling job on
job, here is a tall bold slugger set vivid against the
little soft cities;
Fierce as a dog with tongue lapping for action, cunning
as a savage pitted against the wilderness,
Bareheaded,
Shoveling,
Wrecking,
Planning,
Building, breaking, rebuilding,
Under the smoke, dust all over his mouth, laughing with
white teeth,
Under the terrible burden of destiny laughing as a young
man laughs,
Laughing even as an ignorant fighter laughs who has
never lost a battle,
Bragging and laughing that under his wrist is the pulse.
and under his ribs the heart of the people,
Laughing!
Laughing the stormy, husky, brawling laughter of
Youth, half-naked, sweating, proud to be Hog
Butcher, Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat, Player with
Railroads and Freight Handler to the Nation.
Monday, May 2, 2011
...and that's how you make it work!
It's been a little while since I updated, yes, but I had valid reason! I've been starting anew here in this gusty city, and I feel that it deserved all of my attention if I was to succeed. Valid?
Anywho, things in Chicago have been up and down. It was much more frightening once I got here. I know two people, I have a limited amount of money, no leads on any jobs, and a really pessimistic mentality. I got homesick, I got angry, I questioned my intentions and my capabilities, or lack thereof, as I thought. Needless to say, while I was freaking the fuck out, I hunted. I trolled the Interwebs and the streets, applying everywhere and hoping for anything. I got absolutely no calls back. Not one. So, six days after I arrived, a week ago today, I decided I was going to start following up and badgering people to give me work. If I annoy them enough, they'll have no choice but to hire me, right? I thought so. Before I was to begin my incessant bugging, I decided to check Craigslist for any new job postings. I came across a new posting from a higher end Italian place a few train stops away. I figured I'd go in and apply, drop of my resume, and then badger, badger, badger the hell out of them. I got hired on the spot and started the next day.
Fuck...yes!
The people are great, the money is apparently phenomenal, and I'm good at it. While I don't necessarily want to be serving tables, it's a good gig with good money and it allows me the solace of knowing that there is an income to rival any spending I might do. Bigger things may come, but I'm satisfied.
In regards to the city and my stay thus far, I've been a bit blessed. Erin and her roomies are fantastic, and the fact that they're willing to accommodate me until I can accommodate myself is truly awesome. I try my best to make sure they all know of my appreciation, and I hope I'm doing well.
The city, though, the city is fantastic. Everyone is so damn nice! I still get a kick out of just walking around the city. It's crazy how beautiful and tremendous, how comforting yet overwhelming it can be. When I first arrived, I didn't truly feel as if I belonged. I didn't have a job, so I wasn't sure if I was going to be able to stay. My emotions have done a 180 now. The city is vibrant, and I'm sure there's so much more that I have yet to even experience. Actually, I know it. It's cold here, and i'm adapting, but apparently there's so much more to Chicago once it warms up a bit.
Arctic Monkeys in Milwaukee on May 27th, Lollapalooza 2011, maybe the Dave Matthews Caravan Tour? There's a lot to look forward to. :)
I have a lot more to say, I'm sure, but it's so damn nice outside this window that I need to get out there and experience it. A day off!
Take it easy, but take it!
-w
Anywho, things in Chicago have been up and down. It was much more frightening once I got here. I know two people, I have a limited amount of money, no leads on any jobs, and a really pessimistic mentality. I got homesick, I got angry, I questioned my intentions and my capabilities, or lack thereof, as I thought. Needless to say, while I was freaking the fuck out, I hunted. I trolled the Interwebs and the streets, applying everywhere and hoping for anything. I got absolutely no calls back. Not one. So, six days after I arrived, a week ago today, I decided I was going to start following up and badgering people to give me work. If I annoy them enough, they'll have no choice but to hire me, right? I thought so. Before I was to begin my incessant bugging, I decided to check Craigslist for any new job postings. I came across a new posting from a higher end Italian place a few train stops away. I figured I'd go in and apply, drop of my resume, and then badger, badger, badger the hell out of them. I got hired on the spot and started the next day.
Fuck...yes!
The people are great, the money is apparently phenomenal, and I'm good at it. While I don't necessarily want to be serving tables, it's a good gig with good money and it allows me the solace of knowing that there is an income to rival any spending I might do. Bigger things may come, but I'm satisfied.
In regards to the city and my stay thus far, I've been a bit blessed. Erin and her roomies are fantastic, and the fact that they're willing to accommodate me until I can accommodate myself is truly awesome. I try my best to make sure they all know of my appreciation, and I hope I'm doing well.
The city, though, the city is fantastic. Everyone is so damn nice! I still get a kick out of just walking around the city. It's crazy how beautiful and tremendous, how comforting yet overwhelming it can be. When I first arrived, I didn't truly feel as if I belonged. I didn't have a job, so I wasn't sure if I was going to be able to stay. My emotions have done a 180 now. The city is vibrant, and I'm sure there's so much more that I have yet to even experience. Actually, I know it. It's cold here, and i'm adapting, but apparently there's so much more to Chicago once it warms up a bit.
Arctic Monkeys in Milwaukee on May 27th, Lollapalooza 2011, maybe the Dave Matthews Caravan Tour? There's a lot to look forward to. :)
I have a lot more to say, I'm sure, but it's so damn nice outside this window that I need to get out there and experience it. A day off!
Take it easy, but take it!
-w
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Liars and thieves, you know not what is in store!
I guarantee that I will update soon about all that is going on up here in the Windy City. It's been a whirlwind thus far, and it's consumed damn near all of my time, but I have every intention of updating shortly. Stay tuuuned!
:)
:)
Saturday, April 16, 2011
"Your class, your caste, your country, sect, your name, or your tribe..."
I love this band, this song, and this video entirely.
"This method acting, well, I call that living..."
Main Entry: Method Acting
Part of Speech: noun
Definition: a dramatic technique in which actors identify as closely as possible with the character played by correlating experiences from their personal lives to the character.
I've spent the past week going through the motions, so to speak, seeing as nothing really matters much around here considering I leave in a mere few days. Today hasn't necessarily been a good day. The panic of it all has slowly begun to settle in, and it's seriously freaking me out. It's cold feet, I suppose. I've begun to fear leaving and this risk. Have I made the wrong choice? Would it be best if i simply just decided to stay and work it out somehow down here? I know the answers to those questions, and I know, deep down, that taking off is indeed what is best for me, but that doesn't take away from the fact that there is much self-doubt and fear. Nightmares of failure. In my all too comfortable self-deprecating fashion, I feel as if I've failed too much here in my life, and I need to succeed significantly soon, or this'll all only get worse. Sincere, unabated happiness is what I'm looking for, and while I doubt tremendously that it truly exists, I'm just going to say that that's my natural pessimism attempting to poison hope and it's endless glee.
I honestly feel that I'm not running away from anyone or anything, whether that be myself or others, and if you think that I am, well, you can go suck a dick. I do know that I'm looking for something, though, and it's that unabated happiness, which is indeed why I'm doing this. This is what I want to do, and if, in doing what it is that I want, I can find happiness, than more power to me. Could I possibly be wrong? Absolutely, but that doesn't necessarily mean that I will be wrong. All I know is that I feel it's worth the shot, worth the effort, and if it doesn't work than at least I know that I tried. It's out there, the unabated, and it may be across the street, across town, across the country, or across the world, but I do feel that it's out there, and I'll find it, through living, loving, and trying my best to be as best as I intend.
Part of Speech: noun
Definition: a dramatic technique in which actors identify as closely as possible with the character played by correlating experiences from their personal lives to the character.
I've spent the past week going through the motions, so to speak, seeing as nothing really matters much around here considering I leave in a mere few days. Today hasn't necessarily been a good day. The panic of it all has slowly begun to settle in, and it's seriously freaking me out. It's cold feet, I suppose. I've begun to fear leaving and this risk. Have I made the wrong choice? Would it be best if i simply just decided to stay and work it out somehow down here? I know the answers to those questions, and I know, deep down, that taking off is indeed what is best for me, but that doesn't take away from the fact that there is much self-doubt and fear. Nightmares of failure. In my all too comfortable self-deprecating fashion, I feel as if I've failed too much here in my life, and I need to succeed significantly soon, or this'll all only get worse. Sincere, unabated happiness is what I'm looking for, and while I doubt tremendously that it truly exists, I'm just going to say that that's my natural pessimism attempting to poison hope and it's endless glee.
All the world's a stage,What I've come to realize in the past few days is how I somehow developed a variety of masks, in a sense, depending on where I was, who I was with, and what my intentions were. It was a sad realization, I must admit, but still a necessary realization nonetheless. What seemed most significant in all of it, though, was the admiration I had for but one of my facades. I can be angry, aggressive, damaging both to myself and others, and blatantly disrespectful and kamikaze. But I can be sweet, charming, content, and generally positive, caring, and hopeful. While I can display different aspects of myself, different masks to the same people, there's still a true face beneath it all. It's amazing when one really stands still and acknowledges who they are, or who they have been. Sweet, charming, loving. In love, out of love, content, though. A smile, the smile of mine I love as much as they did, he vanished for a bit, at least the most sincere of smiles I have in my arsenal, disappeared. While I can say that I did indeed try hard to find him and bring him back, I knew as well as the next that I was looking in all the wrong places, whether it was at the back of a little bag of white love, the bottom of a murky bottle, or in the drunken debauchery of a one night stand. I looked so hard, tried my best, but deep down I knew it was a fruitless endeavor, and I was in no way going to find what it was that I was looking for. So this must bear the question, will I find it? I sincerely hope and feel that I will. I must, in my opinion. Am I leaving so as to do so? Perhaps, but not necessarily in the way that one would immediately think.
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts.
I honestly feel that I'm not running away from anyone or anything, whether that be myself or others, and if you think that I am, well, you can go suck a dick. I do know that I'm looking for something, though, and it's that unabated happiness, which is indeed why I'm doing this. This is what I want to do, and if, in doing what it is that I want, I can find happiness, than more power to me. Could I possibly be wrong? Absolutely, but that doesn't necessarily mean that I will be wrong. All I know is that I feel it's worth the shot, worth the effort, and if it doesn't work than at least I know that I tried. It's out there, the unabated, and it may be across the street, across town, across the country, or across the world, but I do feel that it's out there, and I'll find it, through living, loving, and trying my best to be as best as I intend.
We need a record of our failures.With that, I bid you adieu. Be well.
Yes, we must document our love.
I have sat too long in my silence.
I have grown too old in my pain.
To shed this skin, be born again,
it starts with an ending.
So, thank you, friends, for the time we shared.
My love stays with you like sunlight and air.
Oh, how I truly wish I could keep hanging around here
But my joy is covering me. Soon, I will disappear.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Anywhere the wind blows...
Well, there's been another development in this little story of mine, a development that might actually add a little more intrigue to it all. I've decided that it may actually be in my best interest to up and move to Chicago. That being said, I leave in exactly one week.
Considering that I left my job, am single, 24, and would have to begin again and rebuild here in Miami, why not try and do the same in a big new city? When I was a kid, I always thought it would be wonderful if I upped and moved to a big city and lived that big city kind of life. Well, here's my chance to do just that, and this may actually be the last chance I have. While Miami is a unique city all on it's own, it's not necessarily what I'm looking for. I never intended to spend the rest of my life here.
I will say, it's a bit frightening. I literally have a guitar, a few bags of clothes, a place to crash for a bit, and about $700. This is probably the biggest risk I've ever taken in my life, but I sincerely feel that the only way I'll fail is through a lack of effort. If I really want it to work, if I want to be there, to do this, then it's all on me. That doesn't make it any less frightening. I know two people in the entirety of Chicago. What if I don't find a job before I run out of money? What if no one likes me? What if my thin self freezes over like or blows away? What if, what if, what if! A horribly tumultuous series of thoughts that only leads to self-doubt and chain smoking.
I have dreams too, though, and those are kind of exciting. But I think I'll keep those to myself for now. I'd rather not jinx them.
I've been procrastinating a bit lately. This move isn't as fantastical as one might think. It's not simply a pack a bag and go kind of deal. Pack my apartment, sell my things, move everything out, get rid of my car, have a goodbye shindig (gonna be awesome!)Sort out what I feel I might need immediately and what can be shipped to me later, once I'm grounded and settled. Fit all the said things I'll need into the lightest, least amount of bags possible (fingers crossed for two!) What I've slowly begun to realize is that I will indeed miss more people and things, places and circumstances, than I had originally thought. While I knew that there were people I'd miss, it's more than that. Happy Hour at Bougie's with the boys, Cervezas, impromptu gatherings in my convenient little studio apartment. My apartment. There are a tremendous amount of memories in that apartment, more so than in any apartment I have ever lived in. Fights, laughs, tears, smiles, and the usual dichotomy of a life lived alone. The girls, my mates, the late night/early morning binges, the pretzelled legs and long embraces with particulars (and abstractions). The nostalgia will be there, as it always has, and I relish it and it's sometimes comforting, sometimes frightening tendencies. We are what we've done, who we've acquainted, and I will never forget, whether that's a good thing or not.
One week until another place, another bed, another time zone! A new method of being, a clean slate, a fresh start. Anonymity like none which I have encountered thus far in my strange life. Excited and scared, happy and sad, desperate and fulfilled. Let's see what happens.
Here's to hoping for the best.
Considering that I left my job, am single, 24, and would have to begin again and rebuild here in Miami, why not try and do the same in a big new city? When I was a kid, I always thought it would be wonderful if I upped and moved to a big city and lived that big city kind of life. Well, here's my chance to do just that, and this may actually be the last chance I have. While Miami is a unique city all on it's own, it's not necessarily what I'm looking for. I never intended to spend the rest of my life here.
I will say, it's a bit frightening. I literally have a guitar, a few bags of clothes, a place to crash for a bit, and about $700. This is probably the biggest risk I've ever taken in my life, but I sincerely feel that the only way I'll fail is through a lack of effort. If I really want it to work, if I want to be there, to do this, then it's all on me. That doesn't make it any less frightening. I know two people in the entirety of Chicago. What if I don't find a job before I run out of money? What if no one likes me? What if my thin self freezes over like or blows away? What if, what if, what if! A horribly tumultuous series of thoughts that only leads to self-doubt and chain smoking.
I have dreams too, though, and those are kind of exciting. But I think I'll keep those to myself for now. I'd rather not jinx them.
I've been procrastinating a bit lately. This move isn't as fantastical as one might think. It's not simply a pack a bag and go kind of deal. Pack my apartment, sell my things, move everything out, get rid of my car, have a goodbye shindig (gonna be awesome!)Sort out what I feel I might need immediately and what can be shipped to me later, once I'm grounded and settled. Fit all the said things I'll need into the lightest, least amount of bags possible (fingers crossed for two!) What I've slowly begun to realize is that I will indeed miss more people and things, places and circumstances, than I had originally thought. While I knew that there were people I'd miss, it's more than that. Happy Hour at Bougie's with the boys, Cervezas, impromptu gatherings in my convenient little studio apartment. My apartment. There are a tremendous amount of memories in that apartment, more so than in any apartment I have ever lived in. Fights, laughs, tears, smiles, and the usual dichotomy of a life lived alone. The girls, my mates, the late night/early morning binges, the pretzelled legs and long embraces with particulars (and abstractions). The nostalgia will be there, as it always has, and I relish it and it's sometimes comforting, sometimes frightening tendencies. We are what we've done, who we've acquainted, and I will never forget, whether that's a good thing or not.
One week until another place, another bed, another time zone! A new method of being, a clean slate, a fresh start. Anonymity like none which I have encountered thus far in my strange life. Excited and scared, happy and sad, desperate and fulfilled. Let's see what happens.
Here's to hoping for the best.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
"Throw myself into my injuries and close my eyes."
I miss this band, circa Pass The Flask. They were so much better then.
Exhibit A: The Failed.
Right, so, as I stated last night/early this morning (if you want to get all technical and such), I am very unemployed right now. About as unemployed as one can possibly get.
I suppose this calls for an explanation of sorts, an answer to the potential inquiries, but there's really nothing to say. I was unhappy at my last job, unhappy with how things were being run, with the focus on all the things that had yet to get done, rather than the things that had gotten done, and with the maniacal nature of the industry in which I found myself working in. Not to say that I was some sort of gift from God that had never erred, I assure you, I surely did. Hell, the fact that I was even still employed long enough to quit was baffling beyond measure. But, after a bit of a heated exchange with the owner, I decided that I no longer wanted to stand for being unappreciated and underpaid. I left, and while it might not have been the smart decision to make financially, it was indeed a decision I made for my own well-being. I've gone a bit loopy in the past few months, and I feel this is a necessary step in the quest to end this strangely unearned quarter-life crisis. Perhaps I beat myself up a bit (fuck it, I definitely do), but I could have done better with the opportunities that were given to me. I built up something wonderful here in Miami, and in the past 7 months I've slowly but surely let everything go. It wasn't necessarily something I did consciously, rather it was an unconscious mix of bad decisions, ill-spent emotional investments, and an entirely encompassing disregard for myself and my overall well-being and happiness. Thusly, I have found myself a bit bored, a bit broke, a bit downtrodden, but breathing.
I'd like to believe that everything will be okay, that I'll grow from this, and all that strangely repetitive hoopla that is always fed to the lesser fortunate by those who don't really care to hear about what you got going on. Simply put, I decided on this, and I'm really not sure how it's going to end. I put myself in this situation. While it sucks and is tremendously unfortunate, my rash emotions and inability to deal with what might not necessarily be right got me here. It's my burden to bear, and I'll bear it. What other choice do I have? If I've gotten this far alive, I might as well see it through to the end.
So, what is one to do? Everything is changing now, and I will admit that I feel a bit pathetic. I'm 24, not 16. At what point must one grow up and deal with the monotony and dreariness of the adult world, seeing as that's where the money is and, let's be honest, we all need a bit of cash in our pockets so as to have a bigger grin? What happened to all those dreams, to become something better, doing something that would indeed make us overwhelmingly happy? Did they vanish? Absolutely not. I'm sure they're there somewhere, but they're hard to see, buried beneath responsibility and the fear of not achieving that which people felt you were meant to achieve. There's still a bit of Pan in these bones, I can assure you of that, but at what point must one sacrifice all that they were in order to grow, adapt, and evolve into that which we seemingly must be?
It's a bit lonely, I'll tell you that. Seeing as I have no money to waste on booze and bits with the mates (and the usual birds), I consistently find myself alone with bootlegged films, Expedition Week on NGC, and Russell Brand's autobiography. I've still some grub left, which is fantastic, but that'll go away too. I'm alright, though.
I do fear the day where I'll once again have to make that monumental decision, the one that every broke man fears... food or cigarettes? Can't afford both, can you, ol' boy?!
I miss that naturally happy self I once was, where I'd wake up happy not because I had a reason to be, but just because I was. I'm sure I'm forgetting a lot of what was going on, though, and I'm sure I wasn't as happy as I remember feeling, but fuck it, I remember smiling often, and I miss that. I was happier once, and I sure as Hell want to get back there.
Boo-hoo, eh? Fucking pity parties. They're always so damn depressing.
Well, seeing as I'm not properly intrigued enough to proceed in any endearing fashion with this bit of writing, I'll end it here.
'Til next time,
W
I suppose this calls for an explanation of sorts, an answer to the potential inquiries, but there's really nothing to say. I was unhappy at my last job, unhappy with how things were being run, with the focus on all the things that had yet to get done, rather than the things that had gotten done, and with the maniacal nature of the industry in which I found myself working in. Not to say that I was some sort of gift from God that had never erred, I assure you, I surely did. Hell, the fact that I was even still employed long enough to quit was baffling beyond measure. But, after a bit of a heated exchange with the owner, I decided that I no longer wanted to stand for being unappreciated and underpaid. I left, and while it might not have been the smart decision to make financially, it was indeed a decision I made for my own well-being. I've gone a bit loopy in the past few months, and I feel this is a necessary step in the quest to end this strangely unearned quarter-life crisis. Perhaps I beat myself up a bit (fuck it, I definitely do), but I could have done better with the opportunities that were given to me. I built up something wonderful here in Miami, and in the past 7 months I've slowly but surely let everything go. It wasn't necessarily something I did consciously, rather it was an unconscious mix of bad decisions, ill-spent emotional investments, and an entirely encompassing disregard for myself and my overall well-being and happiness. Thusly, I have found myself a bit bored, a bit broke, a bit downtrodden, but breathing.
I'd like to believe that everything will be okay, that I'll grow from this, and all that strangely repetitive hoopla that is always fed to the lesser fortunate by those who don't really care to hear about what you got going on. Simply put, I decided on this, and I'm really not sure how it's going to end. I put myself in this situation. While it sucks and is tremendously unfortunate, my rash emotions and inability to deal with what might not necessarily be right got me here. It's my burden to bear, and I'll bear it. What other choice do I have? If I've gotten this far alive, I might as well see it through to the end.
So, what is one to do? Everything is changing now, and I will admit that I feel a bit pathetic. I'm 24, not 16. At what point must one grow up and deal with the monotony and dreariness of the adult world, seeing as that's where the money is and, let's be honest, we all need a bit of cash in our pockets so as to have a bigger grin? What happened to all those dreams, to become something better, doing something that would indeed make us overwhelmingly happy? Did they vanish? Absolutely not. I'm sure they're there somewhere, but they're hard to see, buried beneath responsibility and the fear of not achieving that which people felt you were meant to achieve. There's still a bit of Pan in these bones, I can assure you of that, but at what point must one sacrifice all that they were in order to grow, adapt, and evolve into that which we seemingly must be?
It's a bit lonely, I'll tell you that. Seeing as I have no money to waste on booze and bits with the mates (and the usual birds), I consistently find myself alone with bootlegged films, Expedition Week on NGC, and Russell Brand's autobiography. I've still some grub left, which is fantastic, but that'll go away too. I'm alright, though.
I do fear the day where I'll once again have to make that monumental decision, the one that every broke man fears... food or cigarettes? Can't afford both, can you, ol' boy?!
I miss that naturally happy self I once was, where I'd wake up happy not because I had a reason to be, but just because I was. I'm sure I'm forgetting a lot of what was going on, though, and I'm sure I wasn't as happy as I remember feeling, but fuck it, I remember smiling often, and I miss that. I was happier once, and I sure as Hell want to get back there.
Boo-hoo, eh? Fucking pity parties. They're always so damn depressing.
Well, seeing as I'm not properly intrigued enough to proceed in any endearing fashion with this bit of writing, I'll end it here.
'Til next time,
W
This'll be quick!
So, as I'll further examine tomorrow, I've found myself in a bit of an unemployed pickle. Not literally. Though all pickles are surely unemployed. I can't imagine what work one of them might do... Veggie Tales? Or was that a cucumber? Are pickles even vegetables..?
Anywho!
Whilst lying on my floor, dreadfully unemployed, and watching a bootleg copy of Paul on a 42" flat screen TV for which I do not know how I will continue to pay for, I rolled over, and to my delight I found a rolled up dollar bill tucked neatly under the desk! Thusly, I decided that there are indeed perks to being a former drug abuser.
Unfortunately, though, there were no more rolled up bills hiding about. Yes, I looked.
Until the morn,
W
Anywho!
Whilst lying on my floor, dreadfully unemployed, and watching a bootleg copy of Paul on a 42" flat screen TV for which I do not know how I will continue to pay for, I rolled over, and to my delight I found a rolled up dollar bill tucked neatly under the desk! Thusly, I decided that there are indeed perks to being a former drug abuser.
Unfortunately, though, there were no more rolled up bills hiding about. Yes, I looked.
Until the morn,
W
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Friday, April 1, 2011
"Temptation greets you like your naughty mates..."
Pardon me for such an unwelcome absence. Responsibility beckoned and it's a siren who's call I can rarely avoid.
"I wouldn't recommend sex, drugs or insanity for everyone, but they've always worked for me."
Hunter S. Thompson, one of the great writers of our age, or any age for that matter, probably muttered said quote amidst a drug-induced insomnia to a quivering reporter in a seedy motel off of a barren side street. How endearing.
Drugs. Some of us have done them, some of us in copious amounts, some of us not at all. What a sensitive subject to most! Why the fear, though? Chances are, some of the very people that you look up to have found themselves in a Narcotic Narnia, frolicking about in complete and utter bliss. Your parents probably dabbled, just to see what it was like. Our American President even partook, maybe in a simple matter ("Indulged in marijuana, alcohol, and sometimes cocaine..."), but in a matter nonetheless. Regardless of the drug of choice, though, the fact of the matter is that this Junkie Underworld we read about is no underworld at all, and it surely isn't cluttered with the prototypical "junkies". Despite how oblivious most are, this "underworld" is prevalent nearly every where you go. You know them, work with them, take classes with them, run into them in the street. These are simply facts, nothing else.
I'm not here to fool anyone. I've always taken pride in the fact that I bear little shame for anything that I've done. Hell, who I am, how I think, and the way I carry myself is indeed a product of nothing else but where I've been, what I've done, and the methods in which I experienced said circumstances. I firmly believe that if we all dropped the facade and spoke only shamelessly and freely, things would be clearer, and inevitably a bit better. Honesty is quite a lonely word, though. So lonely.
I've done a fair share of these dire and devilish things. Marijuana, alcohol, cocaine, mushrooms, ecstasy, a variety of little pills. Thoreau once said that,
In regards to debilitating my body, cocaine was always my weapon of choice. Whiskey too, as of late, but that's another matter. Cocaine is quick, clean, and readily available if you know what you're doing and where to look. As opposed to popular opinion, it doesn't render you a useless idiot, but rather a talkative, witty, personable chap, readily prepared for anything and everything. It's never cheap, but that really doesn't matter once you find yourself amidst the moment (one good reason not to immediately load your bank statement after a binge, as one needs to prepare themselves for what could potentially be tear-inducing). I loved cocaine, I will honestly say I truly did, and it doesn't bother me. Liquid courage has nothing on the courage I'd inhaled through a dollar bill( 20's are classier, FYI.). I will say this, though. That Junkie Underworld I spoke of before, it does kind of exist, at least when it comes to the exchanging of illegal and taboo materials, especially in plain sight. The ingenuity of the drug dealer, and at times even the dealt, is intriguing enough all on it's own. I've obtained it in busy, popular, quasi-classy bars, in restaurants, past jobs, yet also in seedy apartments strewn with souls lost in deeper highs (lows) than can ever be properly conveyed verbally. I've found it from strangers (never the best idea, as you might get more than you could've bargained for), on dark, drafty corners, in cars, and from the armed and dangerous. While once viewed as the drug of choice for the rich and deserving, it's become much more readily available to anyone with a few loose bills. And, believe me, it's all happening around you, right before your eyes.
Ask any addict, and they'll agree with me here, that one can never really quit these things. One can't simply say that "I'm done, I'll never do that again". Most of them intend to never touch it, and they very well might not but, as with everything in life, the future is a beguiling mistress and we're all lured forwards by the sweet sound of her siren. I'm in that boat. While I have no intention of dabbling dangerously in that debauchery, the future holds things I know not of, and I'll never pretend to know so. For the record, I feel fine, in case you were concerned. ;)
While the intriguingly interesting highs I do miss, there's much I don't. For instance, regardless how suitable and proper one might feel about themselves, it's near impossible to feel so when you find yourself waiting on a corner behind a supermarket for the scratch that'll cure that near insatiable itch. It's dark, you're paranoid, and you really just want to get your shit and go back to the solace of personal safety, of which there is none where you're standing. You're voluntarily mixing in with what can be a bit of a rough crowd, but it's the only way to get what it is you're pining for. And while you might find trustworthy suppliers, you can never really know what it is exactly that you're paying for. It can truly be a bit frightening.
Now, it all starts as a bit of fun, and it really is. You're laughing, listening to music, drinking, and messing about with your mates. You make new friends with your new found ability to swallow any doubt and approach everyone. It's a blast, and it tends to blow (pun intended) other experiences out of the water. Therein lies the problem, though. That first hit will indeed be the greatest you'll feel that night, and you'll spend the rest of the time hitting and hitting, desperately attempting to reach the highs you know deep down that you won't reach again. This vague desperation leads to quite a sad scene, the sucking of one's soul through their nose in the early morning hours after a late night. It's a smoky boneyard, usually strewn with sneezes, dirty tissues, moist bills, empty bags, drops of blood, and a looming, inevitable despair over what you've done, where you think you'll be, and the overwhelming fear of never getting there again. It's a sad sight, my friends, watching the sun rise through bloodshot eyes, and deep breaths through dry, chafed nostrils. Yet, the sun does rise, and you vow to never find yourself partaking in such reckless debauchery ever again. But everything does indeed change once the sun goes down again. It's just a matter of allure and demise, a dark, dreadfully warped yin and yang.
I'm in no way trying to condone anything. Be safe, as safe as safe can be, if you find yourself amidst these things.
"White tees and trees all day, holla for price". Coded texts or blatant phone calls, the suppliers are still there, and they very well might always be. At the end of the day, though, it's a story to tell. Getting through is the real fight.
As Thoreau said, we are all sculptors and painters, and our material is our own flesh and blood and bones. Build as you see fit, as long as you're prepared to bear the full burden of that which you've done.
Tread cautiously, my dears.
"I wouldn't recommend sex, drugs or insanity for everyone, but they've always worked for me."
Hunter S. Thompson, one of the great writers of our age, or any age for that matter, probably muttered said quote amidst a drug-induced insomnia to a quivering reporter in a seedy motel off of a barren side street. How endearing.
Drugs. Some of us have done them, some of us in copious amounts, some of us not at all. What a sensitive subject to most! Why the fear, though? Chances are, some of the very people that you look up to have found themselves in a Narcotic Narnia, frolicking about in complete and utter bliss. Your parents probably dabbled, just to see what it was like. Our American President even partook, maybe in a simple matter ("Indulged in marijuana, alcohol, and sometimes cocaine..."), but in a matter nonetheless. Regardless of the drug of choice, though, the fact of the matter is that this Junkie Underworld we read about is no underworld at all, and it surely isn't cluttered with the prototypical "junkies". Despite how oblivious most are, this "underworld" is prevalent nearly every where you go. You know them, work with them, take classes with them, run into them in the street. These are simply facts, nothing else.
I'm not here to fool anyone. I've always taken pride in the fact that I bear little shame for anything that I've done. Hell, who I am, how I think, and the way I carry myself is indeed a product of nothing else but where I've been, what I've done, and the methods in which I experienced said circumstances. I firmly believe that if we all dropped the facade and spoke only shamelessly and freely, things would be clearer, and inevitably a bit better. Honesty is quite a lonely word, though. So lonely.
I've done a fair share of these dire and devilish things. Marijuana, alcohol, cocaine, mushrooms, ecstasy, a variety of little pills. Thoreau once said that,
“Every man is the builder of a temple, called his body, to the god he worships, after a style purely his own, nor can he get off by hammering marble instead. We are all sculptors and painters, and our material is our own flesh and blood and bones.”At various points in my life, the "God" I chose to worship was none other than a Keith Richards-esque squabbler, bumbling around in a thoroughly successful, drug-induced euphoria. Not some of my proudest experiences, but experiences nonetheless. Relish them regardless, I say.
In regards to debilitating my body, cocaine was always my weapon of choice. Whiskey too, as of late, but that's another matter. Cocaine is quick, clean, and readily available if you know what you're doing and where to look. As opposed to popular opinion, it doesn't render you a useless idiot, but rather a talkative, witty, personable chap, readily prepared for anything and everything. It's never cheap, but that really doesn't matter once you find yourself amidst the moment (one good reason not to immediately load your bank statement after a binge, as one needs to prepare themselves for what could potentially be tear-inducing). I loved cocaine, I will honestly say I truly did, and it doesn't bother me. Liquid courage has nothing on the courage I'd inhaled through a dollar bill( 20's are classier, FYI.). I will say this, though. That Junkie Underworld I spoke of before, it does kind of exist, at least when it comes to the exchanging of illegal and taboo materials, especially in plain sight. The ingenuity of the drug dealer, and at times even the dealt, is intriguing enough all on it's own. I've obtained it in busy, popular, quasi-classy bars, in restaurants, past jobs, yet also in seedy apartments strewn with souls lost in deeper highs (lows) than can ever be properly conveyed verbally. I've found it from strangers (never the best idea, as you might get more than you could've bargained for), on dark, drafty corners, in cars, and from the armed and dangerous. While once viewed as the drug of choice for the rich and deserving, it's become much more readily available to anyone with a few loose bills. And, believe me, it's all happening around you, right before your eyes.
Ask any addict, and they'll agree with me here, that one can never really quit these things. One can't simply say that "I'm done, I'll never do that again". Most of them intend to never touch it, and they very well might not but, as with everything in life, the future is a beguiling mistress and we're all lured forwards by the sweet sound of her siren. I'm in that boat. While I have no intention of dabbling dangerously in that debauchery, the future holds things I know not of, and I'll never pretend to know so. For the record, I feel fine, in case you were concerned. ;)
While the intriguingly interesting highs I do miss, there's much I don't. For instance, regardless how suitable and proper one might feel about themselves, it's near impossible to feel so when you find yourself waiting on a corner behind a supermarket for the scratch that'll cure that near insatiable itch. It's dark, you're paranoid, and you really just want to get your shit and go back to the solace of personal safety, of which there is none where you're standing. You're voluntarily mixing in with what can be a bit of a rough crowd, but it's the only way to get what it is you're pining for. And while you might find trustworthy suppliers, you can never really know what it is exactly that you're paying for. It can truly be a bit frightening.
Now, it all starts as a bit of fun, and it really is. You're laughing, listening to music, drinking, and messing about with your mates. You make new friends with your new found ability to swallow any doubt and approach everyone. It's a blast, and it tends to blow (pun intended) other experiences out of the water. Therein lies the problem, though. That first hit will indeed be the greatest you'll feel that night, and you'll spend the rest of the time hitting and hitting, desperately attempting to reach the highs you know deep down that you won't reach again. This vague desperation leads to quite a sad scene, the sucking of one's soul through their nose in the early morning hours after a late night. It's a smoky boneyard, usually strewn with sneezes, dirty tissues, moist bills, empty bags, drops of blood, and a looming, inevitable despair over what you've done, where you think you'll be, and the overwhelming fear of never getting there again. It's a sad sight, my friends, watching the sun rise through bloodshot eyes, and deep breaths through dry, chafed nostrils. Yet, the sun does rise, and you vow to never find yourself partaking in such reckless debauchery ever again. But everything does indeed change once the sun goes down again. It's just a matter of allure and demise, a dark, dreadfully warped yin and yang.
I'm in no way trying to condone anything. Be safe, as safe as safe can be, if you find yourself amidst these things.
"White tees and trees all day, holla for price". Coded texts or blatant phone calls, the suppliers are still there, and they very well might always be. At the end of the day, though, it's a story to tell. Getting through is the real fight.
As Thoreau said, we are all sculptors and painters, and our material is our own flesh and blood and bones. Build as you see fit, as long as you're prepared to bear the full burden of that which you've done.
Tread cautiously, my dears.
Monday, March 28, 2011
"It is the confession, not the priest, that gives us absolution."
Oscar Wilde was a hell of an author. The quote above was his. Meaningful, deep, yet simple. Honest and truthful. I like reading quotes, and that one resonated and led me to thinking.
What is guilt?
We have all felt it, guilt. We've all done things that we weren't necessarily proud of. We'd like to think that we're good people, and I believe that many of us are indeed good. But even the good do bad, as it's human nature to err. So we've all, at times, found ourselves bearing the burdens of the things we've done. Some, though, find it easier to let go of the guilt, to forgive themselves for these things.
I don't necessarily find myself subscribing to that method, though, and it's a tedious burden indeed.
A friend of mine, a yogi, found herself talking to a shaman from New Mexico. When the conversation wound it's way to the topic of guilt, the shaman reminded my friend that humans are the only creatures on Earth that feel guilt or regret. It's a strange thought, when we think of how different the human animal can be from those that surround him. Does the shark pity the seal? Does the mantis pity the mate that she decapitated? While we can never surely know, we can be pretty sure that they don't.
Guilt weighs heavy on me, personally. I find it hard to forgive myself for the bad that I've done in my past. While I've never truly believed in any real religion, I've always found myself weary of karma, weary of the repercussions for my actions, whether I was caught or not. It's become a heavy load, this guilt, and I've found myself questioning whether or not I deserve to be happy, to be content and satisfied. After what I've done, why would I ever deserve good? Like a zealot, I sometimes find myself punishing myself for deeds I feel that I deserve punishment for. It's a warped, tragic existence, this I know, but it's an existence I know nonetheless. Should I be happy to exist woefully, or woeful for existing in such a capacity? Like so many times before, my questions seem to only lead to further questions, and a sick little cycle begins a-spinning.
I don't feel that people deserve to hurt. Does that make me hypocritical? Probably. Regardless of whatever bad someone might partake in, that doesn't necessarily mean that they have to forever pay for what it is that they did. People deserve forgiveness. Yet, why don't I feel that I deserve the same? Surely, that which I've done isn't the worst, and if they deserve it, why don't I feel like I deserve it too?
I find myself pensive once more. Letting go isn't in my nature, but it should be. It should be something we can all do, to let go of the burdens that plague us and frolic in the freedom that is forgiveness and the acknowledgement of one's self-worth. I'm not there yet, but I have absolute faith that I will be, in time.
That which we've done isn't who we are, it's how we react and adapt. Learning, growing, evolving, changing, adapting. That's life, isn't it?
Consider this my confession, consider me absolved. Thanks, Oscar, you dandy.
What is guilt?
We have all felt it, guilt. We've all done things that we weren't necessarily proud of. We'd like to think that we're good people, and I believe that many of us are indeed good. But even the good do bad, as it's human nature to err. So we've all, at times, found ourselves bearing the burdens of the things we've done. Some, though, find it easier to let go of the guilt, to forgive themselves for these things.
I don't necessarily find myself subscribing to that method, though, and it's a tedious burden indeed.
A friend of mine, a yogi, found herself talking to a shaman from New Mexico. When the conversation wound it's way to the topic of guilt, the shaman reminded my friend that humans are the only creatures on Earth that feel guilt or regret. It's a strange thought, when we think of how different the human animal can be from those that surround him. Does the shark pity the seal? Does the mantis pity the mate that she decapitated? While we can never surely know, we can be pretty sure that they don't.
Guilt weighs heavy on me, personally. I find it hard to forgive myself for the bad that I've done in my past. While I've never truly believed in any real religion, I've always found myself weary of karma, weary of the repercussions for my actions, whether I was caught or not. It's become a heavy load, this guilt, and I've found myself questioning whether or not I deserve to be happy, to be content and satisfied. After what I've done, why would I ever deserve good? Like a zealot, I sometimes find myself punishing myself for deeds I feel that I deserve punishment for. It's a warped, tragic existence, this I know, but it's an existence I know nonetheless. Should I be happy to exist woefully, or woeful for existing in such a capacity? Like so many times before, my questions seem to only lead to further questions, and a sick little cycle begins a-spinning.
I don't feel that people deserve to hurt. Does that make me hypocritical? Probably. Regardless of whatever bad someone might partake in, that doesn't necessarily mean that they have to forever pay for what it is that they did. People deserve forgiveness. Yet, why don't I feel that I deserve the same? Surely, that which I've done isn't the worst, and if they deserve it, why don't I feel like I deserve it too?
I find myself pensive once more. Letting go isn't in my nature, but it should be. It should be something we can all do, to let go of the burdens that plague us and frolic in the freedom that is forgiveness and the acknowledgement of one's self-worth. I'm not there yet, but I have absolute faith that I will be, in time.
That which we've done isn't who we are, it's how we react and adapt. Learning, growing, evolving, changing, adapting. That's life, isn't it?
Consider this my confession, consider me absolved. Thanks, Oscar, you dandy.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Just a thought...
They say that the older you get, the more things stay the same. Slowly, over time, you learn how to "get things done". Things are supposedly getting easier, easier to manage, easier to overcome, easier to see.
Well, frankly, they lied.
In my experience, I've found that everything truly boils down to perception, in one way or another. Nothing truly gets any easier, we're just capable of seeing it in different ways. One event, situation, hell, even one glance can be perceived in drastically different ways, and how you perceive any said circumstance alters your state of mind.
Buddha once said,
Who says that we can't change? I mean, sure, the way we thought and reacted got us this far, but does that necessarily mean that we are content with how far we've come? No, it doesn't, and if we're not content then why not change?
We all sometimes think that we need something in order to be happy. Some money in the bank, a nicer car, a bigger place, a significant other. If you're not content, that crap isn't going to help you one bit. If we can't be happy alone, with ourselves and nothing else, than we're never going to be as happy as we can be. Now, I assure you that I'm no martyr, and I actually, in no way, follow this train of thought. Yet, realization is the first step towards evolution, isn't it? Regardless, more about me another day.
We're all capable of changing, adapting, and evolving, and if we don't do so, if we continue to remain stagnant and immobile, we'll lose. Some view rainy days as gloomily dreary, days lost to boredom inside, while others view them as perfectly wonderful days to stay in and relish in good books and movie marathons. Why can't we all be part of the latter group?
It surely sounds like it'd be much more fun.
Well, frankly, they lied.
In my experience, I've found that everything truly boils down to perception, in one way or another. Nothing truly gets any easier, we're just capable of seeing it in different ways. One event, situation, hell, even one glance can be perceived in drastically different ways, and how you perceive any said circumstance alters your state of mind.
Buddha once said,
All that we are is the result of what we have thought. If a man speaks or acts with an evil thought, pain follows him. If a man speaks or acts with a pure thought, happiness follows him, like a shadow that never leaves him.So maybe I'm on the right track here, 'cause I got Buddha on my side.
Who says that we can't change? I mean, sure, the way we thought and reacted got us this far, but does that necessarily mean that we are content with how far we've come? No, it doesn't, and if we're not content then why not change?
We all sometimes think that we need something in order to be happy. Some money in the bank, a nicer car, a bigger place, a significant other. If you're not content, that crap isn't going to help you one bit. If we can't be happy alone, with ourselves and nothing else, than we're never going to be as happy as we can be. Now, I assure you that I'm no martyr, and I actually, in no way, follow this train of thought. Yet, realization is the first step towards evolution, isn't it? Regardless, more about me another day.
We're all capable of changing, adapting, and evolving, and if we don't do so, if we continue to remain stagnant and immobile, we'll lose. Some view rainy days as gloomily dreary, days lost to boredom inside, while others view them as perfectly wonderful days to stay in and relish in good books and movie marathons. Why can't we all be part of the latter group?
It surely sounds like it'd be much more fun.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)