I had one of those all too rare moments today wherein my whole life seemed so tranquiil and uncomplicated, I'll stop short of calling it an epiphany. I've overly complicated my life so much by always questioning where I fit iin, what my purpose is in life. It's possible I might never know. But it's not by being so introspective that I lose sight of the many nuances of life that I noticed earlier in my life but got too preoccupied to notice of late.
I wish I could write as well as I can speak, but my mind races and my fingers are just too slow.
I want what I think we all want, validation, acknowledgement that we're here.
I've measured my life by just few monumental moments. The births of my children, the passing of a loved one. The day I was married, the day I no longer was.
Will Rogers is credited as having said he never met a man he didn't like, I'm not quite as charitable but I feel pretty much the same. I'm very visually oriented and I love speaking with someone when you can feel their presence as strongly as you can share a thought you can't find words for. Communication is so much more complicated than speech. We learn to stifle our thoughts by learning to put them into words. You know how you feel about something before you begin to articulate it.
Given the opportunity to have any wish come true I wouldn't know what to ask for other than being in your company, being able to express myself and hear you without relying solely on words. It's taken me fifteen minutes or so to stumble through a thought so simple I'm embarrased I felt compelled to state the obvious.
When I first heard about chat rooms and such online I was amused that anyone might be so desperate for companionship. Now I see it more as a social experiment, cast your net into the deep and eventually something will surface.
A week ago I was wishing I was younger, better looking, more successful, something better than I viewed myself to be. And sure, those things would be nice. Today, I can't explain why, but I'm suddenly, finally, comfortable in my own skin, wrinkles and all. So after that perfect moment of lucidity I'm hopeful I can maintain it, that I don't fall into the mindset that became habitual. I like to think I write here because someone might find something relevant here. But I think the real reason I ever update this journal is so that I can look back at it, remind myself of how unpredictable things really are in spite of my tendency to predict my future. I miss the idealism and naivete that allowed me a sense of innocence, the belief that all the worlds problems were solveable and just a few of us could inspire everyone.
But it's not even a matter of a few of us. I'm very fortunate to have so few needs that I can donate a lot of my time to volunteer work, that my expenses at this time are so insignificant that I can donate about a third of my income to a few worthwhile charitiies and bank about a third as well. I'm certain my current status will be somewhat fleeting but I genuinely believe I'm creating good karma for myself and I really see it returning to me regularly now.
I used to believe I needed someone else to COMPLETE me. But as damaged as you or I might be we're altogether a whole, unique, sometimes unrecognizable even to ourselves. You spend your life locked inside your mind and none of us have ever even seen ourselves. You get a glimpse of your likeness in a mirror, when you see a picture of yourself it's different because it's not the reversed image you've grown accustomed to in your reflection. We see ouselves as no one else can, and people view us in ways we could never imagine ourselves to be. I used to be afraid of dying, somehow that mutated into a fear of living. My fear now is more tangible. That I'll grow old alone, I'll come to understand that yes, there's a reason I'm here and that I have a genuine purpose, might even achieve it. But it would be hollow, perhaps nothing more than pride without someone to connect with. My failed attempt at marriage taught me something I still don't understand but believe earnestly. You don't neccessarily even have to be friends with someone you hold dear. It's the intimacy of understanding. But it's the need to be understood that drives us. Kids will act up because they understand they'll get your attention. They might not even understand the consequences of their misbehavior but for that brief shiny moment they have your undivided attention. When we were young it was a constant struggle. Mom watch this, look at me do this. But if our parents seem that focused on our lives now we think of them as meddlesome, overbearing. At some point the very people who knew everything, could do anything, the only people cooler even than Santa Clauss strike us as clueless antiquities, even embarassments. I'm very fortunate to still have my parents and to have come to that point that I have a true glimpse of who they are. In their 80s they certainly lack the vitality they once had, but there's something timeless in all of us. The person I see in the mirror is so much older than I am. I believe that at some point in life we define ourselves, we become that person who continues to grow and change but remains somehow constant, unwavering.
I might have the good fortune to be here in another 30 years, as clear-headed and enjoying the relatively good health my parents have. I like to believe that though I might no longer recognize my reflection I'll retain that aspect I consider timeless. Maybe when those 30 years have passed we'll have met, grown close, even hold each other dear. I think of the Beatles song "I Will," a declaration of undying love, total commitment to someone not yet met. "Who knows how long I've loved you, you know I love you still. Shall I wait a lonely lifetime, if you want me to I will. For if I ever saw you I didn't catch your name. But it never really mattered, I willl always feel the same. Love you forever and forever, love you with all my heart. Love you whenever we're together, love you when we're apart. And when at last I find you, your song will fill the air. Sing it loud so I can hear you, make it easy to be near you. For the things you do endear you to me, oh you know I will. I will." 40 years later I still haven't convinced myself of it's true intent. Romantic? Delusional? Obsessive? A cockeyed optimist or someone in pursuit of an ideal that's probably unattainable or nonexistent? Maybe it's nothing more than an engaging little melody with no real intent other than a deliberate nonsensical whimsy.
It's a lovely song and a lovely sentiment in all of it's guises. There's still a bit of me that's naive or romantic or delusional enough to believe it's still within the realm of possibility that I'll find someone. I've kind of given up on the concept that someone really understand me. But I'd be beside myself if I just discovered someone willing to make the effort.
Some people can find fault with you whether real or imagined. And some people see the good in you that you never did, and maybe still don't. We've never met and yet oddly I'm comfortable referring to "us" "We." Six billion plus people on earth. Chances are we may never meet, we might pass each other on the street and never recognize each other. It might be years until you read this, you might read it and dismiss it, imagine me the feeble minded old geezer my photo implies. I picture you better looking than you probably are, prettier than you see yourself in all likelihood. My true fantasy is for someone to see the same things in me that I like about myself, and be able to forgive my shortcomings more gracefully than I can. After 53 years I've finally found myself. Now I can imagine finding you.
Yes, I actually talk like this, frighteningly enough I actually think like this. Sometimes I consider myself witty and urbane. Sometimes I can still see myself as young as I picture myself, even better looking than I probably ever was. Other days I wonder where I went, how I drifted so far from the beliefs that make me feel grounded, confident that right or wrong I'll continue to discover who I am by paying less attention to myself. When all is said and done I've discovered almost anyone is more interesting than I am, or maybe I just find myself too predictable.
t find it puzzling that I still don't really bore myself, I can see myself as tedious, overthinking everything but strangely always at a loss to convey in words what I sense while managing to appear senseless.
I've never really gotten into poetry, I suppose I never gave it a fair chance, yet suddenly I'm aware of the precision of language, the genius required to express a mood, an impulse, something so private and heartfelt you can't even summarize it in those introspective moments you find yourself alone with yourself.. I hope someday I can express that essence I think we all know unifies us somehow, that feeling we're somehow all connected, that collectively we're so much more than the solitary selves we tend to believe we are. Twenty three years ago I was finally diagnosed with manic depressive psychosis. The now popular label "bipolar," is so vague, it seems so detached and impersonal. I feel it takes away the intimacy of what I desire most, someone who sees a stability in me that I don't. Things that would normally irritate most people I often ignore, but a word placed out of context or misspelled in a printed article seems almost a personal affront. Even at the moment I recognize it as an inappropriate response, I can almost laugh at myself but every time it just rises up within me. Ironically "misspelled" has been the one word so far that I'm not confident I've spelled properly.
Should you find this, it's likely you quit reading this awhile ago. Even I lost interest in a few places.
Maybe you don't exist. Sometimes I feel I can't live up to, or even down to some peoples expectations of me. I guess I'm too old to have an imaginary friend so hopefully you'll materialize someday.
I just went back and read this. It should probably be unnerving that I found it a cohesive thought, almost a stream of consciousness moment, one of those things you can't seem to grasp until you try to form it into something recognizable to someone else. In what was really a different life, before I congealed, solidified if you will into the person I've come to recognize as me everybody baffled me. People seemed dull and unimaginative, either shortsighted and unfocused or too focused on one tiny aspect of their being. Pay the mortgage. Supply the material things your children want but neglect their greatest need, developing character, integrity. The strength to stand their ground, to defend what they believe in. To actually believe in something.
It makes perfect sense that we're all different. But how we can be SO different? Were I an only child I'm certain I'd be someone other than "me" as I recognize myself. The dynamics of being an individual among siblings means making yourself different. I was neither as cute or compassionate as my sisters, I lacked the discipline and will to please that my eldest brother had, and I was still to young to even understand my other brothers sense of humor, his ability to remain calm despite what we might be going through. Like the house catching fire or being burglarized. I'm not certain when I realized I never felt safe anywhere. The cornerstone of my self worth was the belief that for better or worse I could always rely on the unconditional love of my parents, and when I overheard that my older siblings were "planned" whereas my younger sister and I weren't I became stuck in that moment.
I was never treated as an accident of birth. If my parents actually have a favorite child (we never admit it and we love every child we're blessed with, but if you at least two children you know that somehow one touched your heart when you least expected it or when you needed it most. Realistically they're not your "favorite." If I had 20 children, and I'm grateful I don't, I'd still wonder if the struggle to stand out, to be someone other than your sibling mislead them (me, you, us?) from the path intended for each of us.
I misbehaved to get attention, most things being insignificant, almost trivial in hindsight all these years later. I definitely fucked up on the occasion I drugged my homeroom nun in 8th grade. A couple sleeping pills, it's not like I wanted to send her somewhere she didn't belong, it's not like I really disliked her as a person. It was so petty. I was an A student throughout school aside from the French classes I so totally sucked at despite the unprecedented study and effort I put into it. But I digress. Said nun caught me drawing something rather than taking notes. Suddenly I could no longer be entrusted to carry a piece of paper unless I asked her for it and each sheet was accountable for at the end of class. I don't know which of us needed a break most. Long story short her and I never had a moments peace from that day forward, even after approaching her with an apology and the admission that I was the guilty party, allowing that it was wrongful and malicious behavior but I never intended it to be more than a prank. Moments unfurl unprompted, but no matter how simple the situation I somehow manage to complicate it.
I should have stopped writing long ago. And the sensible thing would be to resist posting this.
Given a choice between the two, which would you find strangest:
a). I wrote this
b). You're still reading it.
Sooner or later I'll find you. In the meantime I'll be right here, hoping you're real. God knows I'd be content, even comfortable with surreal. Sometimes it seems crowded within my thoughts but there will always be room enough for you.
I wish I could write as well as I can speak, but my mind races and my fingers are just too slow.
I want what I think we all want, validation, acknowledgement that we're here.
I've measured my life by just few monumental moments. The births of my children, the passing of a loved one. The day I was married, the day I no longer was.
Will Rogers is credited as having said he never met a man he didn't like, I'm not quite as charitable but I feel pretty much the same. I'm very visually oriented and I love speaking with someone when you can feel their presence as strongly as you can share a thought you can't find words for. Communication is so much more complicated than speech. We learn to stifle our thoughts by learning to put them into words. You know how you feel about something before you begin to articulate it.
Given the opportunity to have any wish come true I wouldn't know what to ask for other than being in your company, being able to express myself and hear you without relying solely on words. It's taken me fifteen minutes or so to stumble through a thought so simple I'm embarrased I felt compelled to state the obvious.
When I first heard about chat rooms and such online I was amused that anyone might be so desperate for companionship. Now I see it more as a social experiment, cast your net into the deep and eventually something will surface.
A week ago I was wishing I was younger, better looking, more successful, something better than I viewed myself to be. And sure, those things would be nice. Today, I can't explain why, but I'm suddenly, finally, comfortable in my own skin, wrinkles and all. So after that perfect moment of lucidity I'm hopeful I can maintain it, that I don't fall into the mindset that became habitual. I like to think I write here because someone might find something relevant here. But I think the real reason I ever update this journal is so that I can look back at it, remind myself of how unpredictable things really are in spite of my tendency to predict my future. I miss the idealism and naivete that allowed me a sense of innocence, the belief that all the worlds problems were solveable and just a few of us could inspire everyone.
But it's not even a matter of a few of us. I'm very fortunate to have so few needs that I can donate a lot of my time to volunteer work, that my expenses at this time are so insignificant that I can donate about a third of my income to a few worthwhile charitiies and bank about a third as well. I'm certain my current status will be somewhat fleeting but I genuinely believe I'm creating good karma for myself and I really see it returning to me regularly now.
I used to believe I needed someone else to COMPLETE me. But as damaged as you or I might be we're altogether a whole, unique, sometimes unrecognizable even to ourselves. You spend your life locked inside your mind and none of us have ever even seen ourselves. You get a glimpse of your likeness in a mirror, when you see a picture of yourself it's different because it's not the reversed image you've grown accustomed to in your reflection. We see ouselves as no one else can, and people view us in ways we could never imagine ourselves to be. I used to be afraid of dying, somehow that mutated into a fear of living. My fear now is more tangible. That I'll grow old alone, I'll come to understand that yes, there's a reason I'm here and that I have a genuine purpose, might even achieve it. But it would be hollow, perhaps nothing more than pride without someone to connect with. My failed attempt at marriage taught me something I still don't understand but believe earnestly. You don't neccessarily even have to be friends with someone you hold dear. It's the intimacy of understanding. But it's the need to be understood that drives us. Kids will act up because they understand they'll get your attention. They might not even understand the consequences of their misbehavior but for that brief shiny moment they have your undivided attention. When we were young it was a constant struggle. Mom watch this, look at me do this. But if our parents seem that focused on our lives now we think of them as meddlesome, overbearing. At some point the very people who knew everything, could do anything, the only people cooler even than Santa Clauss strike us as clueless antiquities, even embarassments. I'm very fortunate to still have my parents and to have come to that point that I have a true glimpse of who they are. In their 80s they certainly lack the vitality they once had, but there's something timeless in all of us. The person I see in the mirror is so much older than I am. I believe that at some point in life we define ourselves, we become that person who continues to grow and change but remains somehow constant, unwavering.
I might have the good fortune to be here in another 30 years, as clear-headed and enjoying the relatively good health my parents have. I like to believe that though I might no longer recognize my reflection I'll retain that aspect I consider timeless. Maybe when those 30 years have passed we'll have met, grown close, even hold each other dear. I think of the Beatles song "I Will," a declaration of undying love, total commitment to someone not yet met. "Who knows how long I've loved you, you know I love you still. Shall I wait a lonely lifetime, if you want me to I will. For if I ever saw you I didn't catch your name. But it never really mattered, I willl always feel the same. Love you forever and forever, love you with all my heart. Love you whenever we're together, love you when we're apart. And when at last I find you, your song will fill the air. Sing it loud so I can hear you, make it easy to be near you. For the things you do endear you to me, oh you know I will. I will." 40 years later I still haven't convinced myself of it's true intent. Romantic? Delusional? Obsessive? A cockeyed optimist or someone in pursuit of an ideal that's probably unattainable or nonexistent? Maybe it's nothing more than an engaging little melody with no real intent other than a deliberate nonsensical whimsy.
It's a lovely song and a lovely sentiment in all of it's guises. There's still a bit of me that's naive or romantic or delusional enough to believe it's still within the realm of possibility that I'll find someone. I've kind of given up on the concept that someone really understand me. But I'd be beside myself if I just discovered someone willing to make the effort.
Some people can find fault with you whether real or imagined. And some people see the good in you that you never did, and maybe still don't. We've never met and yet oddly I'm comfortable referring to "us" "We." Six billion plus people on earth. Chances are we may never meet, we might pass each other on the street and never recognize each other. It might be years until you read this, you might read it and dismiss it, imagine me the feeble minded old geezer my photo implies. I picture you better looking than you probably are, prettier than you see yourself in all likelihood. My true fantasy is for someone to see the same things in me that I like about myself, and be able to forgive my shortcomings more gracefully than I can. After 53 years I've finally found myself. Now I can imagine finding you.
Yes, I actually talk like this, frighteningly enough I actually think like this. Sometimes I consider myself witty and urbane. Sometimes I can still see myself as young as I picture myself, even better looking than I probably ever was. Other days I wonder where I went, how I drifted so far from the beliefs that make me feel grounded, confident that right or wrong I'll continue to discover who I am by paying less attention to myself. When all is said and done I've discovered almost anyone is more interesting than I am, or maybe I just find myself too predictable.
t find it puzzling that I still don't really bore myself, I can see myself as tedious, overthinking everything but strangely always at a loss to convey in words what I sense while managing to appear senseless.
I've never really gotten into poetry, I suppose I never gave it a fair chance, yet suddenly I'm aware of the precision of language, the genius required to express a mood, an impulse, something so private and heartfelt you can't even summarize it in those introspective moments you find yourself alone with yourself.. I hope someday I can express that essence I think we all know unifies us somehow, that feeling we're somehow all connected, that collectively we're so much more than the solitary selves we tend to believe we are. Twenty three years ago I was finally diagnosed with manic depressive psychosis. The now popular label "bipolar," is so vague, it seems so detached and impersonal. I feel it takes away the intimacy of what I desire most, someone who sees a stability in me that I don't. Things that would normally irritate most people I often ignore, but a word placed out of context or misspelled in a printed article seems almost a personal affront. Even at the moment I recognize it as an inappropriate response, I can almost laugh at myself but every time it just rises up within me. Ironically "misspelled" has been the one word so far that I'm not confident I've spelled properly.
Should you find this, it's likely you quit reading this awhile ago. Even I lost interest in a few places.
Maybe you don't exist. Sometimes I feel I can't live up to, or even down to some peoples expectations of me. I guess I'm too old to have an imaginary friend so hopefully you'll materialize someday.
I just went back and read this. It should probably be unnerving that I found it a cohesive thought, almost a stream of consciousness moment, one of those things you can't seem to grasp until you try to form it into something recognizable to someone else. In what was really a different life, before I congealed, solidified if you will into the person I've come to recognize as me everybody baffled me. People seemed dull and unimaginative, either shortsighted and unfocused or too focused on one tiny aspect of their being. Pay the mortgage. Supply the material things your children want but neglect their greatest need, developing character, integrity. The strength to stand their ground, to defend what they believe in. To actually believe in something.
It makes perfect sense that we're all different. But how we can be SO different? Were I an only child I'm certain I'd be someone other than "me" as I recognize myself. The dynamics of being an individual among siblings means making yourself different. I was neither as cute or compassionate as my sisters, I lacked the discipline and will to please that my eldest brother had, and I was still to young to even understand my other brothers sense of humor, his ability to remain calm despite what we might be going through. Like the house catching fire or being burglarized. I'm not certain when I realized I never felt safe anywhere. The cornerstone of my self worth was the belief that for better or worse I could always rely on the unconditional love of my parents, and when I overheard that my older siblings were "planned" whereas my younger sister and I weren't I became stuck in that moment.
I was never treated as an accident of birth. If my parents actually have a favorite child (we never admit it and we love every child we're blessed with, but if you at least two children you know that somehow one touched your heart when you least expected it or when you needed it most. Realistically they're not your "favorite." If I had 20 children, and I'm grateful I don't, I'd still wonder if the struggle to stand out, to be someone other than your sibling mislead them (me, you, us?) from the path intended for each of us.
I misbehaved to get attention, most things being insignificant, almost trivial in hindsight all these years later. I definitely fucked up on the occasion I drugged my homeroom nun in 8th grade. A couple sleeping pills, it's not like I wanted to send her somewhere she didn't belong, it's not like I really disliked her as a person. It was so petty. I was an A student throughout school aside from the French classes I so totally sucked at despite the unprecedented study and effort I put into it. But I digress. Said nun caught me drawing something rather than taking notes. Suddenly I could no longer be entrusted to carry a piece of paper unless I asked her for it and each sheet was accountable for at the end of class. I don't know which of us needed a break most. Long story short her and I never had a moments peace from that day forward, even after approaching her with an apology and the admission that I was the guilty party, allowing that it was wrongful and malicious behavior but I never intended it to be more than a prank. Moments unfurl unprompted, but no matter how simple the situation I somehow manage to complicate it.
I should have stopped writing long ago. And the sensible thing would be to resist posting this.
Given a choice between the two, which would you find strangest:
a). I wrote this
b). You're still reading it.
Sooner or later I'll find you. In the meantime I'll be right here, hoping you're real. God knows I'd be content, even comfortable with surreal. Sometimes it seems crowded within my thoughts but there will always be room enough for you.