I

I sit and I try. I have nothing else to offer. I am what I am.
I have made decidedly wrong choices, and I live them.
Afraid to to take a chance. I will lose what little pride I have.
What little self-respect I have that defines me.
Excuses overrun, and running to nowhere.
Pride becomes shame, on a one-way road where there is no destination.
Confusing writing, masking the haunting of discovery. Learn a little. Have.
Acrimonious feelings no longer have a grip, than a someway a finger hold is found.
Pushing away, those and myself, easy is the path most taken.
No more one more-but there is always just one more I hope.
Inadequacy reigns, in some form, in some life.

Wait a little longer, push a little more, expose just another minute.
Witt, humor, intelligence, amounts to...well, only time will tell.
Overcoming desire, but not sexually, desire without work. Then maybe sexually.
Whose voice is heard first, whose pride bends a little. Everyone I want.
I am what I am, no glory, no contentedness, not now, not yet, but maybe, you'll see, or you won't.

I make ebullient feelings, but is there more?
A word smith, fancy on himself, there is limitless potential you see.
What if he fails, what if he falls, then disappointment is felt universally. We should of seen.
Its easy to not try, then no one is let down. Perhaps the one whom desired a teacher, perhaps more.

I long to take care of, to provide, I have in my own limited way, but again disappointment, distaste, to foul a flavor to be savored.
I try, perhaps a bit more this time, to see what others see, to not be blinded by illusion, desire, contentedness, live up to what you are. Climb. Fall. Fail. Try again.
I am who I am, but can I be more?
Evasive writing makes sense only to the writer. I am content with elusively.

Standing Storms

Isn't life filled with its little ironies sometimes? Recently my fondness for writing reemerged in my life. It has been some time since I have even wanted to think about writing, including blogs. But Last month something awakened inside of me, and I feel better than I have in a very long while.

Ah, but there is always more. Just as I was getting into a groove again, an unfortunate accident came my way. It would appear that a beverage of some sorts, I'm not sure what kind, met gravity and the two conspired to ruin my laptop. So just as soon as I return to find my passion in writing, my legs get swept out from under me.

It occurs to me, that in life when you try to stand up, you can get knocked right back down. What matters though, is how many times you try to stand up, and how long you wait. I have been sitting for way too long, and it looks hard to stand up, and I can only imagine that I will get knocked down again...and again. That's OK. For some reason I don't mind.


"Life is a storm, my young friend. You will bask in the sunlight one moment, be shattered on the rocks the next. What makes you a man is what you do when that storm comes. You must look into that storm and shout as you did in Rome. Do your worst, for I will do mine! Then the fates will know you as we know you: as Albert Mondego, the man."

It may be old, but its still clean.

Let me take you back to an incident that I think you'll enjoy, it's one of my favorite anecdotes.

It was a cool fall evening when I was asked to manage a large video store in Dearborn, MI. If you are unfamiliar with the ethnic makeup of this city let me explain, it is primarily Arabic, which is of no real concern to me, but it is a foundation for this story. I like to consider myself as a pleasurable guy and rather enjoy meeting people. So when I promptly arrived a little past when my shift started, I scoped out the people with whom I was going to share this evening.

I arranged various unimportant items in an attempt to look more important than I actually was, and decided after enough time had passed that it was time for my fellow co-workers to make my acquaintance. So I approached a young female and in a friendly, professional tone, introduced myself. Here is where it gets interesting. As a slave to cultural traditions, I extended my hand to shake this fellow human's hand, because this is what one does when they meet someone.

What happened next will forever stun me. At the very sight of my outstretched hand, she visibly recoiled from it, almost like my hand was a venomous snake. Sidebar: I hate similes, they are like gay. Anyhow, as she recoiled, she said; "oh no, no touching. You are an infidel. You are unclean."

Needless to say I was slightly taken aback at this. I had never in my life experienced racial prejudice, and it stung a little. I guess I do not have to explain that our relationship never really progressed past that event. Sometimes I think it is just hard to move past something like calling someone unclean. Ah well.

To this day I still think about how I am an infidel and I will forever remember my brush with racial profiling.

The man

There is a man sitting alone in a deep valley. Surrounding this valley are hills in all shapes and sizes, and surrounding the hills are mountains. To the man in the valley it is overwhelming, how could anyone climb something that seems so impossible. So for awhile he simply sits there, and does nothing but moan about the helplessness of his present situation.

Time wears upon him and this man finally decides that nothing is to be gained by sitting around waiting. So he begins his trek up the first hill. With a little struggle he makes it, but there are so many more. So he keeps moving to the next one, and with even more hardships he reaches the top. Here he sees that the next hill looks even more arduous than the last. Perhaps I can't do this after all, he says to himself. He waits again.

Finally frustrated by his own predicament he grits his teeth and steels himself for the monumental task ahead of him. He struggles, and he climbs, and he falls more than once, but he keeps moving. Finally, when he is worn and weary, when he has all but given up hope, he pulls himself up the last hurdle.

Instead of collapsing from exhaustion, he stands to his feet on top of this hill. He looks down upon what he has just accomplished and for the first time since he can remember he feels joy, he feels proud, he finds a renewing of his resolve. He has made it farther than he ever would have thought possible, he has bested his own self-doubt and that encourages him to move forward. With a last glance at what he has achieved, he turns to face forward, and he gazes upon what lies ahead of him.

Here he sees more hills, and more mountains, and even greater challenges. Now though, he is not afraid. He has crossed a line and he has found that if he can face his hardest challenge and win, he can face more, and nothing from behind him will further hinder him. He can go farther, and he will wait no longer.

Too

Too proud to be the first.

Too scared to see what could be.

Too nervous over how the past haunts you.

Too worried to say what you want to say.

Too ashamed for something, and you don't know why.

Too proud to not hear what you desire to hear.

Too scared over a change in life.

Too nervous about what you feel.

Too worried about reciprocation.


Doesn't it always seem like there are too many too's in life? Sometimes it is hard to see that there can be so much more.

Grand

"Isn't love grand?" This statement was uttered by an attractive young woman to her friend as they were sitting around talking.

"Um, why yes I suppose that it can be."

This young woman failed to notice the expression the man had on his face while she was talking about love in a cavalier way.

"Oh, I'm sorry for rambling on again, its just that I think this is the one. I mean he seems different than all the other ones. Don't you think?"

"Derrick? I guess. But Lisa, how long have you actually known him?"

"That doesn't matter, when you're in love you're in love. It's a wonderful experience, just to know that the one person who you can't live without feels the same way."

"Yes, than I guess love is very grand."

Lisa and John had been friends for as long as they could remember, both always being there for each other when they needed it, and even when they didn't. At some point, John had fallen deeply for his friend. Just to see her smile was the one thing that brought a smile to his lips. There was nothing about her he did not know: her severe insecurities, the way she snores, how she snorts when she laughs too hard, how her left leg is just a little longer than her right. Yet, even though he knew all about her, she would always surprise him, and to John, she was perfect.

Lisa was oblivious to John's passion for her though, and if she did know about it, she hid it very well. To her, John was the closest, purest friend she had ever known. He was always there for her, and he always knew just what to say to make her smile. He would be perfect for her, but he was like a brother to her. He may not of known this, but it was his advice and approval that she desperately sought after on all matters.

So it was here that she was asking John about newly requited love. She was whimsical and flighty in her methods, but she sincerely desired John's approval. It was just that when it came to matters of the heart, John was very guarded, and she had been known to fall for the wrong guys. So she wasn't surprised by his lack of enthusiasm, but it was not what she was hoping for, and honestly hurt her a little.
"John, you are so not a romantic."

"Yea, I guess not sugar nipples."

"I told you not to call me that, we're not 15 anymore."

"Oh, I'm sorry...babygurl."

"You are incorrigible." Although she said this with a laugh.

So the game would play on, John never having enough courage to actually tell her about his feelings for her; and Lisa continuing to be oblivious to them, and never really examining what John means to her.

"What type of wedding dress should I get?"

"Oh god..."

live

Sitting alone atop of a hill, looking down into a vast array of something beautiful. Wanting to feel something other than what you are feeling.

Being alone in a sea of people, searching for anyone who recognizes your face.

Walking silently down a beaten path, where many have come before, wondering at the eventuality of its ending.

Being trapped by the very air around you.

Lying awake at four AM, listening to clicking sounds of the keyboard.

Desperately searching for something which may be right in front of you.

Finally taking the outstretched hand, the one that has been patiently waiting...if only you can.