I mentioned something yesterday about 'long shot'.
"I'm in the same boat as you. I'm rolling the dice...betting on the long shot that is who I truly who I am."
And it is a long shot.
Anyone who spends a lifetime being something other than who they are- tailored to the expectations of others- & THEN decides to correct that merry mess by being true to themselves??
That IS a long shot.
A very tough road.
It would be nice to report that when you decide to be yourself...
all of a sudden the sun comes out, birds twitter, and life is a strut along the boardwalk into the sunset.
If anything...it gets harder.
Much like Alcoholics report that when they give up the booze...
It's all uphill from there.
Because all you have done is removed your crutch.
You still have the weak wobbly legs of your authentic albeit neglected existence to deal with.
& the task of making those legs strong again ahead of you.
It's a long road.
I'm not telling you this because I'm suddenly depressed; I'm feeling pretty ok.
I'm telling you because to NOT do so would be lying.
To pretend I whistle zip-a de dooda every day is a misleading and duplicitious.
It's a lie.
Lie lie lie.
& sometimes?
I feel like my encouraging sayings and anecdotes might be lip service.
I sometimes wrap a blog up...and wonder...
Did that really come from the heart?
Or was I mumbling aphorisms on auto pilot, like some kind of new age zombie?
To my mind...that would make me not a friend of the universe...
But an enemy.
THE enemy.
The enemy within.
In your midst.
also- how can I say I'm in the 'same boat as you'??
It might be the most frightful gall to suggest I am anything like you. I'm not sure I have any kindred.
A planet populated by people as vague and trusting as me...
People who coast on the crest of a dream...
Would be a dreadful mess.
No wonder the customs officer at the Canadian border did not know what to make of me.
He might well have never SEEN one like me.
This might be a boat ride I'm taking all by myself.
I hear it all the time.
I talk to people I meet by chance along the way, and they seem to like me well enough...
They invite me to things...
Buy me drinks in the bar and what have you...
But I KNOW they don't know what the hell I'm talking about when I talk about 'following my dreams'.
They look at me blankly.
As if to say, 'yeah, that sounds fine, and it works in movies...
but when do you return to the real world with the rest of us?'
I don't know.
Maybe never.
I can't go back.
I just have to keep on going, and HOPE for the best.
Have faith.
sound a little weak?
I won't argue.
I'm not getting any younger; not only do I wonder...
Will I find what I'm looking for?
See what I want to see?
But also...
will my BODY even stand this punishment much longer?
& what about my mind?
as I search the desert landscape of my hopes dreams and aspirations, my water bottle full of sand?
For I know...
I have NO evidence that my approach will come to anything at all.
It might end up to be the biggest NOTHING in the history of voids.
I might wind up with existential egg on my face, the laughing stock of the universe.
& what then? when everything is gone?
My resources depleted?
World weary...
What do I do?
Rely on good will?
Wade out into the icy waters off Novo Scotia and wait for the heart to slow down, stop, then freeze??
Who the hell knows.
This 'aint rocket science.
I am cruising these longshot straights in the leakiest boat ever to brave the frigid briny.
Sometimes I feel like that Italian boat captain who ran aground.
Ignorant, deluded, cowardly...
& selfish as hell.
There are people back home who care about me and love me.
I can hear them now...HAVE heard them...say
'what are you doing?'
'what is he doing'?
'what is he looking for?'
'why can't he just settle down and be content?'
Tears well in my eyes as I write this...
and contemplate my plaintive reply...
I don't know.
Yes, it's lonely.
Yes...I'm scared.
I might sound like everything is fine...but last night?
Trying to get to sleep?
I was plagued by doubts and fears.
I even dreamed about my Father.
He was still alive. We were communicating well- as if on the bench of a baseball game-
until I said something about his personality, and he snarled, and changed into a monster again, mumbling something about the fish Mum fed him being to blame.
Jung would have something to say about this.
I write in a positive manner, because during the daylight hours...I generally feel positive.
& frankly? Who the hell wants to be around a cross patch?
But the truth of it is...
I'm flying on a wing and a prayer here.
Riding this long shot into the ground.
The God of Gamblers.
I am heading to the Northern climes, to fulfil a dream.
But what I do when I get there?
I have no idea.
Pretty soon...I will have nothing left.
& what then?
I am riding this wave on the shittiest surfboard imaginable.
For all I know- I might be running under the steam of sheer fantasy.
Or even worse...
mental illness.
What will I find when I get there?
Will all my dreams come true?
You see...
I talk a lot about the 'power of positive thinking', the 'call of adventure', 'making all your dreams come true', following your heart, etc etc...
But I have no proof of any of it paying off.
In my experience?
Life for the most part is a pretty shitty deal.
Unless you play 'the game'...
Indenture yourself to servitude to the grand capitalist plan...
you are fucked.
For the first time in my life- I am being called upon to put my money where my mouth is.
& the money is almost gone...
swallowed up by my strange obsession with...
It's like I want to prove...
No, not want to prove...
NEED to prove...
That this shit I write about actually pays off.
I think when I write my blogs...
going on about following aspirations and all that...
I piss people off.
Hell...sometimes I piss myself off with this insupportable hyperbole.
So often...people say to me,
'I try to be positive...but things still don't work out!'
I know.
I hear you.
I could say something like, 'well, you just don't believe hard enough'...
but I can't say shit like that.
That would be not only insupportable...
But cruel.
Like I am in some higher, loftier place looking down on you.
Nope.
I'm down here with you.
Probably lower than you.
Scratching my head.
I'm not so much looking at the stars...
as seeing stars.
Sucker punched and headbutted by some extraordinarily depressing things in my life.
I still spend long lonely nights reviewing my failures, and the sins wrought against me by selfish people.
But I can't look back.
And I can't go back.
Like that fish hook in the finger...
I have to keep on going.
Break on through.
Crash through...
or crash.
Crash and burn.
into the icy waters.
Or maybe...
Just maybe...
That customs officer at the Canadian border let me in because he DID understand...
& he wanted me to win.
To see me do it.
Just like I want to see me do it.
Maybe you do too.
If I have wings...
This is what they are made of.
