sʃʃıɥ ǝɥʇ ɹoɟ pǝpɐǝɥ

It’s hard to admit, but I’ve spent much of my life in a backward condition. I have always felt a general feeling of us and them, and in my darkest hours I’ve suspected that maybe it was only me, and there wasn’t even an us. It doesn’t matter how I found myself in this condition, it has proven to be a failure, in essence, to try to figure out why I believe the things I do, harbor certain fears (many of which I have held so long that I actually believe them,) or respond in situations the way I do. Why has proven to be a worthless question. My ego-mind would like to understand why, trace down the root cause. It’s human nature to seek and ponder. But I have come to see clearly that when it comes to my grosser handicaps I mainly ask why because I am secretly hoping that it’s going to be someone else’s fault. It would be lovely indeed if you were to blame for my problems or my issues. That would be totally sweet, and I tell you… your days would be numbered baby.

I’ve long been tangled up in the adjectives of my life. I pine for this, and ache for that. I simply can’t make any music until I get this piece of equipment. Or I spend a few hours laying on the floor of my bathroom in tears because love hasn’t worked out right. Thus misspending my life in a vicious cycle of dependency where I am always the loser.

People are just people, fallible, fragile, arrogant, frightened, splendid, beautiful, and silly… just like me. And so, it follows that people will always let you down (about as much as they will delight you.) But to respond to human failings, and isolate myself is really a childish reaction to life. Like an eleven year old, still stinging from the life-ending heartbreak of love’s sudden wilt after summer camp ends swearing that he will never love anyone ever again… maybe he lets his hair get greasy, smokes a cigarette, and pouts a lot, but eventually he’s going to fall in love with his Spanish teacher, or another one of the boys on the basketball team. We can say whatever we like, and we can even mean it in a moment, but the fact of the matter is that we need each other. Perfection isn’t an inertia so great that there is nothing out of place because there is no movement at all. That’s not perfection. To my mind, perfection is a messy thing, alive, growing, learning, changing, making mistakes, and constantly in motion.

So if suffering over the adjectives of life appears to be the problem, well then what am I supposed to do, not want anything anymore? Or maybe lay down and die in the back room at starbucks between double shifts trying to pay my hideous rent in a city that doesn’t care if I live or die? I’ve tried my hand at not wanting and I’ve even made a serious effort to reframe my thinking, shame myself when my instincts arise, and even simply pretend I don’t want anything at all… no, no… not me… and then the moment some resources arrive, or someone half-way pretty starts batting their eyes at me: Baam! I seize upon the retail experience like a monkey on a fresh box of bananas. Oooh Oooh Oooh Eeeh Eeeh!

No, of course not.

Lately it’s occurred to me that there isn’t anything wrong with wanting nice things, rising up off the ledge of security to the plateau of stability and even to the peaks of prosperity. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to feel good at what I do, or positive and grateful for what I’ve done.

No, the trouble appears to lie in the internalized response I have to my own dreams, desires, and ambitions. It may not be true for everyone, though looking around at the world and witnessing all that we give up every day in order to arrive at our short term goals at least we seem to have more than a few things in common. It seems that my fear that it’s not going to be ok, that somehow the universe will run out of love, sex, prestige, intimacy, friendship, success, and I will be left behind like some buffoon who believed in some teen-aged pipe dream that hasn’t come true, is never going to come true, and only a fool would continue to hold on to the entrails of… These perfectly natural human emotions have held me so hostage in my life that at times I feel like a highwayman drooling hungrily at the roadkill, whatever it was, already boiling the water in his mind to prepare the mystery stew back at camp.

The truth is that when these root fears, lies, and selfish thoughts are exposed for what they are thy simply fall away. It takes time. Many of the things I believe about myself and the world are very near and dear to my heart, even though they seem to bring nothing to my life, or yours, but disillusion and ruin. I have realized that what has to happen here is that the horse needs to be bridled up in front of the cart at once, and my instincts have to cease to be what I strive to satisfy first and foremost. Tending to my spirit, my soul if you will, through honest self-appraisal, and with kindness and love is what allows me to be a partner in the common effort of living. Like in any relationship, who is happy? Is it Archie Bunker, bleating biased bullshit and pushing around his wife instead of facing his own fears, doubts, and inner turmoil? I would think that the husband, friend, colleague, or comrade who can put his instincts aside, and place his known fissures and emotional damage onto the table, not for ridicule, but as vulnerable information between trusted friends will find that it may no longer be possible to use these fissures, this damage as ammunition against those around him.

And when these petty things begin to fall away, having owned them, undertaken them in a vulnerable way which is what I believe it truly is to be a man, then one finds that there is partnership everywhere. Not just for the purposes of satisfying one’s limited goals, but in rich, and true bonds between friends and family, as well as in any casual exchange. After all, it is not you who must change in order to placate or accommodate the bitterness or cynicism of another. Rather, the burden is mine to accept you are you truly are, as I have undertaken to accept myself, and love you more than ever.