Re-Discovery

Last post, I wrote about being homeward bound and the re-entry process. The natural progression at this point in time seems to be about re-discovery. That means, I guess, that as I re-enter the atmosphere and head for Earth, I realize I've been here before. I recognize people, places and things. Oh, and relax, this is all a metaphor. Apparently, not everyone speaks that language.

The language of survival is clear and concise. You have to get to the point when you need help.

Van Wilder Write That Down GIF from Vanwilder GIFs

Rediscovery will lead to rebuilding. Can you tell I'm in therapy? For three months and counting, I have been coming out of this tunnel of doom and climbing out...shit, metaphors again. Um, uh....

Let's try again. I spent my birthday in the hospital. I was released on Christmas. Someone passed away while I was in that hospital. He was a 911 survivor and a hero. The last thing he said to me was that he was glad I was with him because he knew I would catch him if he fell.

Cops rubbed shoulders with individuals they were accustomed to seeing on the other side of a set of bars. A war hero was interested in what I knew about comic books. After a year of film school and a string of failed attempts to seek opportunities in New York City, a big, fat juicy "connection" was dropped into my life, a literal captive audience, and I learned that the value of a friend is worth more than any ambition I may have. OK, I admit, this sounds more like discovery than re-discovery. What have I re-discovered?

Did you know that your're supposed to....

...make things easier on yourself?
...take your time?
...go easy on yourself?
...find the one who will go through hell for you and never let her go?
...face all life has to offer on Earth, with your fellow human beings, rather than from a safe distance?
...live life one day at a time? Before it ceases to be a choice?
...be here now?

Did you know that...

...you can write about this stuff until you're blue in the face, still not know what you're talking about and have to learn it all over again once you've been forced out of your head in order to survive? (The above link leads to a post I wrote five years ago)
...you can do what you want to do? In living color?
...we're one but not the same?
...we get to carry each other?
...love is a temple?
...love's a higher law?
...what you don't have, you don't need it now?
...what you don't know, you can feel it somehow?
...it's a beautiful day?

HOME

I'm no longer living in a house I already moved out of. Listen to my song Stand On My Own for the lyric reference. Yes, I am referring to my own lyrics. It just happens to be my best mode of communication, even better than this. Sorry, not sorry, as the kids say. 

I was born in December of 1978. My parents were living in Queens when they adopted me. They brought me home in February of 1978. We moved to North Brunswick, New Jersey, in December of 1983. That house became my home of 36 years. The year or two I spent in total living single anywhere else? They don't count, trust me. This past year, I moved in with Maggie, the girl who saved my life. She is home when I am homeward bound. As for the residence itself, it is an apartment she had already made a home of her own. The beautiful thing I am realizing is that the longer we spend in this place, the more I am learning how to create a home. From here, we will learn how to do it again in some other place. She has the jump on me when it comes to that.

Part of the challenge i face is getting anyone other than Maggie to understand just how far I've come. When I created the logo for Outside Looking Out, little did I know that the kid orbiting the earth was really me.

Re-reading an earlier post entitled Re-Entry, it sounds as if I had it all figured out. Perhaps I did. But as I have recently come to realize, the process I am describing does not happen overnight. It certainly doesn't happen in the span of time it takes to write one of these. I stand by my choice of metaphor, though. Do you know what happens to an object in re-entry? This is what happens to a spacecraft, according to HowStuffWorks.com:

"Spacecraft re-entry is tricky business for several reasons. When an object enters the Earth's atmosphere, it experiences a few forces, including gravity and drag. Gravity will naturally pull an object back to earth. But gravity alone would cause the object to fall dangerously fast. Luckily, the Earth's atmosphere contains particles of air. As the object falls, it hits and rubs against these particles, creating friction. This friction causes the object to experience drag, or air resistance, which slows the object down to a safer entry speed. 

This friction is a mixed blessing, however. Although it causes drag, it also causes intense heat. Specifically, shuttles face intense temperatures of about 3000 degrees Fahrenheit (about 1649 degrees Celsius) [source: Hammond]. Blunt-body design helps alleviate the heat problem. When an object -- with blunt-shaped surface facing down -- comes back to Earth, the blunt shape creates a shock wave in front of the vehicle. That shock wave keeps the heat at a distance from the object. At the same time, the blunt shape also slows the object's fall [source: NASA]. The Apollo program, which moved several manned ships back and forth from space during the 1960s and 1970s, coated the command module with special ablative material that burned up upon re-entry, absorbing heat."

Imagine how a human would fare, metaphorically of course. What would make it worth going through that? HOME.

Too Smart For My Own Good

You are your own worst enemy. Know thyself. Rinse, repeat. Seriously, it's a vicious cycle. I was able to build one hell of a defense using that cycle. I was able to build a suit of armor and orbit the planet. Yes, like Iron Man, sort of. Remember the first movie, where the suit shut down because it began to accumulate ice? Didn't see the movie? Don't follow the metaphor? That's perfectly OK. Movies and metaphors were key to my armor. Anything but real life. ANYTHING but real life. Do you know how terrifying real life is? Apparently everyone did but me. Because I was so busy tinkering with my armor. Protecting myself. ISOLATING myself.

They say it is helpful to keep a journal. That is what this is, I guess. Of course, it can be a little notebook folded and kept in your back pocket. It can also be some paper folded to look like a journal. Whatever works. Being too smart for my own good meant thinking until nothing happened. No writing at all. This blog was always meant to be "a catalyst for consistency in my thoughts and expression."

Consistency? Did I achieve that? Maybe, maybe not. But what kind of goal is that? Is thought consistent? Is that what I want to achieve now? 

I am just happy to write. Get that smart guy out of the way, at least the one that's too smart for his own good. He can stay on as a consultant. Let the inner child return to the fold. He's the one with the imagination anyway. The smart guy wanted consistency. That's boring, right? Still, it's all me. This is just an adjustment. Knowing myself means being able to adjust when I become my own worst enemy.

Van Wilder Write That Down GIF from Vanwilder GIFs

Package Plan

Since 'Normal' is just a theoretical construct, why not make one of your own? I did. I call it 'The Package Plan. Let's start at the beginning.

I took the test in first grade. Listen to this song I wrote about 20 years ago. There were two reasons a student was pulled out of class back then. It was either for Special Ed or Gifted and Talented (GT). That's where it starts. That's how it starts. Your only chance is if you have some kind of head start, which I did:

• At six months, I was speaking words. 
• At nine months, I was walking 
• At ten months, I was speaking in sentences. 
• At two years old, I was reading flash cards 
• At three years old years old, I was reading. 

These are facts about me, according to my mother. Now, according to the Package Plan, this is supposedly above average. You might even say that predictions could already be made based on this information. That is precisely why I provided this information, not to brag, but to emphasize the importance of my 'head start' and how it made me aware of the Package Plan.

But what is the Package Plan? As I said, it is a theory I came up with to explain normalization, which is a thing, according to the internet. At some point, everyone seems to apply this concept to children. Infancy is a sort of grace period. You have about three years, tops. For whatever reason, I was up to a whole lot in those years. OK, my mother had a whole lot to do with it. Still, by the time school started and socialization began, I feel like I already had something to say about it. Was this an advantage? It depends. Are you asking me now? Let's just say my feelings are mixed and complex, hence my having this theory and the need to write about.

Who came up with the Package Plan? I did, silly. If it were an actual thing, it may sound like something we are born with. Therefore, it could be God, Satan, or any other force that seems to be involved or interested with our time on this planet. It could be nature or nurture. I think it is a sort of option that people choose, on a mass level, in order to avoid the sheer terror of going it on their own. Believe me, I have been able to relate for some time now, hence the complexity and theory. Perhaps when I was younger, I sneered at what I thought was conformity or trend-following or whatever a sorta punk was calling it that month. 

So what are the features of this plan? For one, it seems to me as if someone wrote a script but few people have actually read it. I did. It sucks. But I thought that by reading it, I would understand the plan a little better, life would be easier and I would get along with people better. I couldn't have been more wrong. Is this plan the same as conformity? It turns out that the answer to that is 'No', at least not here in America. We all know that capitalism is capable of absorbing counterculture and selling it back to that same counterculture, right? This also applies to disaffection, disabilities, etc. There has to be room for everyone. 

So how does one find themselves not covered by the plan? What happens upon realizing this? See, I had that head start. Somehow, I was aware of where I was supposed to fit in the plan. There was talk of my being a doctor, lawyer or doctor-lawyer pretty early on. Wealth awaited, as did women. OK, it was actually girls,  schoolmates actually, whose parents would say things like that to my parents. I kid you not, it was like imaginary matchmaking or a fantasy league for arranged marriage. I know, it sounds gross, but they meant well. 

Somehow, I was aware of this. I wasn't supposed to be. I was supposed to be running around in circles, falling down, or babbling gibberish, whatever is expected of children. All I knew is that something special dwelt inside my noggin and I was curious what it could do. At some point, I learned how to enter and exit the package plan at will. Actually, that kind of skill came later. At the very least, I felt I could explore space outside this plan, while simultaneously relying on my parents, my whiteness and other advantages so that I would not be suspected or missed. It was what would be the beginning of a life where I would always have one foot in, and one foot out. Yes, I was under the illusion that I could please two masters, so to speak. To me, conform or die was a pretty unreasonable choice. I didn't care for it. Sure enough, as I got older, I watched as plenty of my peers showed dissatisfaction with conformity and there would always be a spot reserved for them in what I would come to call the Package Plan.

How could life seems so accommodating? I knew that was not life's way. Check out this quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson, probably my favorite:

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“It is easy in the world to live after the world's opinion; 
it is easy in solitude to live after our own; but the great
manis he who in the midst of the crowd keeps with 
perfect sweetness the independence of solitude.”

Do you know how I discovered that? College, which I came to realize was the last stand for those who thought they could outsmart life, really had me up against the ropes in this one class. Book after book was thrown at me, not literally, at a rate that made me consider hating reading. Nothing could make me stop reading, but I have always said that as the years of higher education stretched on, my love of reading was starting to waver. Anyway, one of the books hurled at me with the expectation of a paper written by the following day, was Self-Reliance by Ralph Waldo Emerson. It's an essay, actually. Did I arrive at that quote and embrace it? Are you kidding? It was only because we were given the opportunity to revisit just one of the books assigned in the class, and write out final paper on it. When I was done reading that essay, I not only realized that my life had almost not been irreversibly changed, but that I would never let college do that to me again.

Eventually, I would even return to college for a degree in English, so that I could teach it. You might say I doubled down on reading, as well as writing, with dreams of a career in education. Instead, I became a fighter, teaching character education derived from thirteen years of martial arts to young people who were ready to hear what I had to say about this so-called plan. You might say they weren't fond of it or the place their families were assigned in it. What else was there, though? They had to be fighters, as well, fighting a fight I knew nothing about. We fought different fights, for sure, but I had tools to offer them. I had a surplus of tools. That head start had really piled up, to the point where I felt I could use all that I had learned of the Package Plan and infiltrate its institutions in order to train kids who had already been defeated but didn't know it yet. This was the ultimate test for a guy who still thought he could be two people. One was still resisting, while the other was in over his head.

Soon, I would realize that this Package Plan was in fact, just a theory, and that living the way I was living was untenable. At that time, however, I felt that I had something to offer these young fighters. After all, they were fighting authority long after most had just settled in to whatever role that the Package Plan had to offer. When you have little to lose, you kind of hold on to that bullshit detector that children have. You sort of outsmart yourself. These kids knew they were screwed but boy did they have a smell for bullshit. These were my kind of people and I knew that I could pass on some of the Eastern thought I had absorbed from my martial arts training and offer them a middle way.

"In Mahayana Buddhism, the Middle Way refers to the insight into śūnyatā "emptiness" that transcends the extremes of existence and non-existence, the two truths doctrine."  

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Middle_Way 

Somehow, I attempted to re-direct their fight and trade in all their opponents for the only one that truly exists: life. You might say life or you might say 'opposing forces'. Let's just say I don't see the difference. That is why I had to form this theory, at some point, that this society offered some sort of 'plan' that existed in the collective unconscious. Americans, as it turns out, can be convinced that they are all on the road less traveled. In my opinion, Robert Frost left a whole lot of shit out. He did, however, hint that you could tell which road was which by signs of how much traffic that each had clearly seen. Could it be that everyone took the other road for a reason? Was there a reason that they felt safer going that way? Perhaps a plan had been suggested on some level of consciousness. Neither of my degrees were in sociology. The first was in Communication. There would be no career in that for me, but it did forever alter my perception of what was really going between people, both inter-personally and on on a mass level.

What else do I have to say about this Package Plan? There will probably end up being a follow-up to this post.  What's that? You can't believe I have more to say? You better believe I do. I have been observing you all for forty years now. It has only been about five or six years since I began to consolidate my energy and start becoming a whole person. It took a few more years to realize this task would require another person, a partner if you will. See this earlier post, Commitment.

More importantly, how did I even make it this far? Was I truly able to keep one foot in, with one foot out, and survive on my own? Absolutely not. There are those who not only know the plan well, but are able to teach, love and support someone who may not seem to be covered by said plan. I had both parents, my grandmother, my martial arts instructor and eventually my partner in life. Because of them, I still have my own plan. I also have no illusion that there really is a plan. Even if there was one, my theory never claimed to cover all people. My perception of normalcy could only apply to the society and culture I have been privy to. There is far too much world out there for a kid from Jersey to cover with all the theories in the world.

Three Movies In Three Days

Friday, November 29th

Knives Out, aka Rian's Revenge. Take all the juice derived from your Star Wars experience, both good and bad; throw in some franchise principals (Captain America, Zod, Laurie Strode, James Bond); and tackle a trope-heavy genre: the murder mystery. Oh, and hit it out of the park. Did I mention this is not a franchise? Don't get me wrong, I have been thoroughly enjoying the era of the superhero mega-franchise after growing up with Superman featuring Richard Pryor, Dolph Punisher, "Rubber Ears" Captain America vs. The Italian Red Skull and let's not forget the Fantastic Four movie that was never released in theaters but defined the era of bootleg DVD vendors dominating comic cons. However, my answer to all those who bemoan the absence of non-franchise films that are not "cinema" (I'm looking at you, Scorsese), I think the only answer is to make a good one, with a great cast, and stick the landing. Oh, and release it in a theater (Still looking at you, Scorsese). 

Saturday, November 30th

It was very challenging, jarring even, when I realized the filmmakers were going to use miniatures to take us OUT of Mr. Roger's neighborhood and into this macabre circus of a world. Fortunately, it worked, but not right away. It still left my inner child confused as to why we left Mr. Roger's Neighborhood in the first place. This device is saved by the performance of Matthew Rhys, who plays Lloyd Vogel, a pseudonym for the actual magazine writer whose world was changed by Fred Rogers. One might argue that having one's world changed by Mr. Rogers is pretty relatable. I'm with you. Kudos to the filmmakers for going as dark as possible in order to make us see the light Rogers brought to the aforementioned macabre circus. Would I rather have stayed in the Neighborhood? Absolutely. Will I be revisiting that documentary on Netflix? I kind of have to, in order to restore balance. Can I really return to Mr. Roger's Neighborhood? I'd like to think so. Maybe, one day.

Sunday, December 1st

The girl from Game of Thrones and the dude from Crazy Rich Asians in a romantic comedy/Christmas movie inspired by the music of George Michael. It was my girlfriend's birthday wish, OK? She had every right to discover the disappointment on her own and I was perfectly happy to share it with her. She called the ending early on, while I was fighting drowsiness. Was it cute? No, but Emilia Clarke is. They should make a movie about her eyebrows. Let me be clear. There is only one Christmas movie for me:

Conception

Conception. Can you conceive of it? You may see sperm as male and the ovum as female. But what happens following conception? Is gender determined immediately? No, it takes from 16 to 20 weeks to see that via an ultrasound. At the time of fertilization, chromosomal sex is determined. An XY chromosome means male, while XX means female. Is it over yet? No, next up are the gonads. Are there testes or ovaries? Are we done yet? Listen, a human fetus doesn't even develop its external sexual organs until seven weeks after fertilization and even then, it doesn't look male or female. It takes another five weeks of sexual differentiation, when the fetus produces hormones that cause the sex organs to grow into either male or female organs. This has to be when gender is determined, right? How long has this kid been alive by now? Three months? Isn't that a trimester? Can't it make up its mind?

Believe it or not, I did not intend to get into gender identity. It does seem to be a topic that has been confounding people lately. Anyway, I'm just happy that a sliding scale, or a spectrum, has been introduced into our culture. I've just never been a fan of binary thinking. That may be my creative thinking. Hold on, though. Don't we all begin at conception? Even that goes all the way back to either a Creation or a Big Bang Theory or something, right? What's that? It's off the air? I wasn't referring to a TV show, but thanks.There just has to be a link between referring to our beginnings as conception and the underlying creative nature of all living beings. This should be good news for creatives, right? You know who I'm talking about. I don't mean arts and crafts. 

Creatives still don't seem to jibe with the way things are done, do they? Those that do these things still don't seem to understand creatives. Everyone wants to be one, don't get me wrong. Anyone that can successfully express a single metaphor receives high praise by their peers. When we are born, we are the closest to conception we'll ever be, at least until we do it ourselves. We are almost always distraught and can't express the experience to anyone. Some creative bro once coined the saying "We spend nine months trying to get out and the rest of our lives trying to get back in?" Was it John Travolta in Look Who's Talking? You know, I tried to get the opening of that movie for the video above but I couldn't clear the rights. 

So, there's conception. What about perception? Didn't someone say we create the universe by perceiving it? Are we conceiving and perceiving at the same time? 

"You are the universe experiencing itself" - Alan Watts

"The cosmos is within us. We are made of star-stuff. We are a way for the universe to know itself." - Carl Sagan

"Today a young man on acid realized that all matter is merely energy condensed to a slow vibration, that we are all one consciousness experiencing itself subjectively, there is no such thing as death, life is only a dream, and we are the imagination of ourselves. Here's Tom with the Weather." - Bill Hicks

 Don't you see? Everyone was using the bathrooms. Then all of a sudden we became aware that everyone was using the bathrooms. So, we created all-gender bathrooms. Wait, what? Did you know the outside door can be locked? So, anyone can go in and use one of the stalls but prevent anyone who has to go from using the other stall? At least that's what I heard. Did you just put me on one side of your binary thinking? Yes, you did. Did you not read what I said about that?

Life does not end with conception any more than evolution did with our developing opposable thumbs. That last bit is from another Bill Hicks quote. I might as well include it. This post is already quote-heavy. Why not?

"Folks, it's time to evolve. That's why we're troubled. You know why our institutions are failing us, the church, the state, everything's failing? It's because, um - they're no longer relevant. We're supposed to keep evolving. Evolution did not end with us growing opposable thumbs.  You do know that, right?" - Bill Hicks

Commitment

Commitment is like achieving the rank of black belt. Most think of it as a culmination when it is only the beginning. When my parents learned that I intended to continue my martial arts training after earning my black belt, they were not prepared and informed me that I would have to pick up the monthly payments. I continued to train for nearly a decade and taught men, women and children of all ages. That is where this analogy ends. Trust me I am not about to start teaching anything about commitment and I intend to be with my partner for longer than a decade

As of this writing, I am 40 years old. You might say that I have been following a  "40 and 40" plan so far. I wish I could say I planned it that way. About six years ago, I had a "coming out" as an artist. I had spent the better part of the first 40 years going to school, having a breakdown, going to school, going to work, having a breakdown, going to school, going to work and so on. What did I do for work, you ask? I was always an artist but the only thing I thought I could be of use to the squares was to serve, to teach, to help, etc. At some point, I got a tap on the shoulder from God to let me know my services were no longer required. It was not long after that I self-published a graphic novel and released an album. I was in my mid-thirties. I was myself, or at least beginning to be myself. That seemed like a good time to step up the dating process and find my partner. The only problem was that I knew what a girlfriend was. What was a partner? I had to lose her in order to learn that. You can read more about this in earlier posts.

What is love? Baby, don't hurt me. Don't hurt me, no more. 

For those who follow the word of the prophet Haddaway, that may cut it. Somehow, they believe they will answer the first question and avoid pain. Good for them. The title of my one album of original songs is The Heart Stays On The Sleeve. Yes, I march to my own tunes. Not only did I wear my heart on my sleeve, I gave it away. I would take it back in whatever condition it was left in and I would put it right back in my heart. Maybe Haddaway was onto something in his recognition of pain and the logic of at least returning the heart to its original location, to at least give it some time to heal. That was not my way, for better or worse. Keep giving it away, taking it back. I believed it was making me stronger. Then, one day, I went to take it back and she wouldn't give it back. That was the true beginning of commitment. Am I saying I was to stupid to recognize it? Absolutely. Haven't you been paying attention? Apparently, I wasn't. Then, one day, I went to a movie by myself, realized she could be seeing one with someone else and wasn't having it. So, I e-mailed her and we went on our first date as life partners. Welcome to the second '40' of the "40 and 40" plan.

You might be thinking it was a hell of a gamble to bet it all on finding her by 40, in order to find her in time for the next 40. That's how I roll. If I'm lucky, I'll get some bonus years. That's not what rocks about commitment. I started as a white belt in karate. Everything had to be spelled out for me, every step explained. It was all about kicking and punching. Becoming a black belt was about becoming a better human being. Are you seeing why I'm sticking to the metaphor?

You make me want to be a better man.

That line was spoken by Jack Nicholson in his Oscar-winning performance as Melvin Udall in the film As Good As It Gets. I don't know if we ever learned Melvin's age but it's clear that it took at least five decades. Thankfully, it didn't take me that long. But it's just as true about my Maggie as it is about Carol, Helen Hunt's role, also an Oscar-winning performance. Melvin is a misanthrope, a writer with mental health issues. Let's just say that's not too far off the mark when it comes to describing me. Like any great love story, two people come to the end of their respective roads and start a new one, as a couple. They don't know where their going but they're going there together. A priest, or a nun, enters in to a relationship with God and the only way out is in a coffin. It's the same idea. There's no escape hatch, no parachute, no holding back. That guy who was always ready to "get back out there", even if I wasn't? He's on the beach, in a lounge chair, sipping an iced tea. It's time for me to become a better man. How long will that take? How long do I have? That's commitment.

Time To Act

Where does it all go? They say everyone is fighting an invisible battle that you don't know a thing about. Something like that has been appearing in meme form for a while now. It's a nice gesture, a good start. Memes are the bumper stickers of the digital era. Although, we never do hear from parents of honor roll students. Progress? Maybe. Where was I? Oh yes. Where does it all go? I'd like to attempt to tell you about my battle.

In this era of walls, I speak to you as someone with very few, if any. When I was seventeen, they referred to them as boundaries. I have none, apparently. But I'm afraid I'm not referring to the boundaries that keep me from you. I speak of the boundaries that keep you from me. As each day starts, life begins to tip, like a pitcher, and pour itself into me.

Now, life is made up of all sorts of things, so that might not be a bad thing. When you decide to teach disadvantaged youth or entertain elders with dementia, just imagine what makes its way into my soul. I don't even mean the psychic sewage that floods directly in.

What about the stuff I overhear? There was this one time at a school that profited from taking in students kicked out of Newark, Paterson and Irvington. I was one of two teachers assigned to four high school classrooms. My co-teacher resigned after two weeks because he couldn't handle the language. I carried on, at my first teaching job, for months until they found a replacement. During those months, I realized what I had become a part of. There is a lot of money to be made from taking in the kids that other schools don't want. The magic trick is to convince them to pay large sums of money in order for you to do something they couldn't do. You pack your staff with doctorates and psychologists. For their part, the districts send people to check up. They are promised a behavior modification program. I administer this by issuing a score of 1 to 6 in a checkbook register each student carries. When they accumulate enough points, they can choose a school sweatshirt or pencil out of the school "store", a notebook. If a class amasses enough points collectively, they can order a pizza, once a month. Staff was not afraid to dangle that carrot. "If you can keep it up for one more week, THEN you can get your pizza."  Did this bullshit cause a riot? You bet it did. One student threatened to throw another down a flight of stairs. He was fresh out, with an ankle bracelet on. When he saw me writing him up for the threat, he calmly walked across the room and threatened to shoot me. I called the police and was promptly let go for doing so. Did I mention stuff I overhear? Oh yeah. One morning, I was stationed in the hallway where the smaller children were being ushered in. That was when I got to listen as a vice principal described the physical ramifications of sexual assault some of these children had to endure.

I just take it all in. If a 98 year old woman tells me she wants to die, I won't leave until I've taken her pain in fully and left her with as much of my energy as possible. I do some version of this every day.

Battles leave behind destruction. Every interface I have, whether with these outside events, or my inner demons, has consequences. It builds and builds. I say I grow stronger and tougher from it. But as whatever space this detritus occupies runs out, I become increasingly aware of its surface getting higher and higher. I begin to choke and heave, like I have to vomit, but I'm not nauseous.

Not being tough is not an option. But asking for help is. If I want, I can tell myself I've assembled the help. It makes me feel more like the warrior I like to see myself as. The trouble is, there's a hint of martyrdom, isn't there?

I am Christian. I once described myself as a child clinging to Christ's leg as if I don't want to leave His world and join this one. These days, I am reminded more and more of His message that he did all that stuff so no one else has to. I don't know how to tell Him this, though. This shit is falling apart. And people are hurting. Who will do something? What are the consequences for doing something, with no plan or career or system or boundaries in mind?

If I now wish to be free of it all, so I can live a life with my girl and create music and stories...is it too late? Do I have to carry this built-up mass, this glacier, with me wherever I go? How do I chip at it? How do I dissolve it? When I am literally choking on it, I would say it's time to act.