Biting off more than I can chew

 I had this amazing idea earlier this year. I suddenly realized that in 1985, I was in the vicinity of my father from January 1st through December 31st. Why not write about the whole year, just like I had done for 1984?

I was excited and rushed in, looking forward to the discoveries I would make on that journey.  I had forgotten that one-third of the way through 1985, an atomic bomb went off on the road that I was traveling. On April 3rd this year, that story came to an unexpected halt. I was innocently writing and then realized there was a river of depth I was unprepared to cross. Ever since then, I have existed on the banks of that story, pacing around like I had something to do before crossing, but the reality is, I have no idea how to cross the water.

Photo by Quasi Misha on Unsplash

I have to turn around and consider how to do it. I conveniently remove my responsibilities by saying it is not my story to tell. Deep down, I know there is plenty I could tell without taking liberties that do not belong to me.

I know it is because the story is fragmented, which I do not understand. Thirty-nine years ago, I skydived into adulthood in a land I did not understand. My scars have stories I have not thought about enough to tell. I know that I should, but I do not know how.

I have not given up. I am just sitting here by the fire, resting and considering how to cross this river. I do not give up. My tenacity might be complicated and indigenous, but it pushes back with equal force. You will see me on the other side of this. I will do it in my own time.

Progressive Compliance

 I was ten, and all I wanted was what everyone else had.

I was twenty, and I fought everything everyone else had.

I was thirty and tried to convince everyone I had what they had.

I was forty and thought I would lose everything I had.

I was fifty and realized I had more than I had ever known.

If I have learned anything, I have known so little for most of my life.

I comply, eventually. Is that ever worth anything?

One thing I am sure of:

The fight has always been within.

Photo by KS KYUNG on Unsplash

I have been my most significant opposing force.

What would it be like if I could turn back the pages of my life and erase those fruitless struggles with my greatest adversary?

The question is, however...

Are those battles the ones that taught me the most and gave me the greatest returns?

It is hard to comprehend.

I have always said it is "no way but the hard way."

Big day coming

 “The years pass by so quickly. One thing I’ve understood. I’m only learning to tell a tree from wood.” -John Lennon.  I know. Mind Games. 1973.

 

The alarm clock is going off every 10 minutes now.  Waking from working dreams of effort and change are now going by like telephone poles on the open road. My twilight struggles overnight are torn away from me and rendered useless as the real struggles become exposed in the light. I land on the ground. Pain check: 18 years - check. In the next 30 minutes, I sweep up the shattered pieces of what makes me a person who can make it to the other side of the day, and with coffee, love, and rage, I put them all together, and the day begins.

Big day coming. When I think of all of the good and bad that can funnel into a single 15 minutes, it is remarkable. Why should I be surprised? I have changed the course of my life in a split second so many times before. The next morning, I awoke in a different life each time. Today, the changes are the result of lessons learned. I am more concise. Looks like indifference, rudeness, and disinterest, but it is only the desire to speak worthwhile words, listen to worthwhile speech, and take fruitful steps.

As I glean the pluses and minuses of the lessons learned, I look for abstract solutions to the journey that is today. Sometimes I create an orchestra of harmonics around the task, other times, I rush in, guns blazing. Yes, there is a big day coming. I hope as I collectively grip all that I am in the midst of the mess that I am made of, I have learned something.