I have spent a large part of my life living a dream. I don’t care to explain that in great detail now so I’ll climb up onto my soapbox and begin my session of preaching to those who need it and to those in the choir.
I am a voracious reader, it is something that I love. I read almost anything, nonfiction, fiction, biographies, science, medical files, legal, this and that. My library is a potpourri of odds and ends, an assortment like Forest Gump’s box of chocolates. You don’t really know what you are going to find there.
My personal library is an area filled with snobbery and high falutin’ ideas. It is a place that I can always find solace and sanctuary in, although there have been times where it is hard for me to catch that little thing that makes me smile.
I am moody, at times more high strung than laidback and then the exact opposite. A dear friend calls me consistent in my contradictions. If nothing else I am longwinded and not as concise as I could or probably should be. Members of my fan club take me to task for not getting to the point, but if you are reading my words you are probably willing to take the long way home.
For years I have listened to people cry about their lives. Untold tales of sorrow and woe, high drama and things that are so petty that I just shake my head.
The basketball gym is filled with men who could have done something. I hate that. I grow tired and weary of listening to stories about what people could have done. Don’t yammer on about what you could have done, tell me what you are going to do. Tell me about how you have discovered a new love and how you are going to bring this love into your life.
It could be a person, a hobby or a career. If you are speaking/writing about things you love there is an energy that radiates from you. I am a big believer in exposing myself to that kind of passion. It is a highpowered fuel that fills me with belief in my own dreams.
I hate change, but I hate regret more. I measure success in my own happiness. Can I look in the mirror and feel good about myself. Do I like me? Would I want to be friends with myself. All that newage crap that you read in the greeting cards, I internalize a lot of it.
There are many people out there who have suffered more than I have, whose lives have been much tougher and there are many who haven’t begun to plumb the depths of sorrow that I have. There is a darker side to me, a place in which the sun seldom shines. It is filled with thorns and the dead rose petals. I know it for what it is, a graveyard in which I store the pieces of me that have died.
But a cemetery does not have to be a place of endings, it can also be the site of new beginnings. So I can look at the dark side and see the potential for many good things. It doesn’t have to be a place filled with regret. People bring flowers to the cemetery and they add bright and vibrant colors.
For no reason whatsoever allow me to share one of the contradictions of my life. I have often felt that I would either outlive most of my friends and family or die at a young age. I have already lost several friends so I don’t really expect to be among the vanguard of souls into the world to come. There is still too much to do and see so I expect that I’ll be around for a long time.
In Tolkienesque terms my doom is to watch over those around me and to eventually be the one to turn out the lights when the party is over.
And now on to a more exciting topic.