I typically despise using old writing (even if it’s recent) as new content. I also generally dislike posting material written during one of my…lesser moments. I do so now (and reserve the right to do so in the future) for the following reasons.
- I pay for this domain name and the web hosting. Being a fiscally responsible gentleman in these questionable economic times, I might as well put this blog to good use.
- Someone else might be dealing with the same thing.
- It often helps remind me where I’ve been.
- It’s easier for me to hold myself accountable for how I act/feel if it’s out in the open.
That last one has some caveats. There’s still plenty of things I don’t see fit to bother with, but in some cases, openness is a effective form of therapy. Since this here blog is the last remaining vestige of my internet-based social interaction, this stuff has to go somewhere. In the interest of actually starting this wagon on the trail again, here I am.
–
In the last year or two, I’ve done a pretty good job of deconstructing my inner robot and actually opening myself up a bit. I’ve drilled it into my head that locking away ones feelings isn’t any more desirable than laying them at the feet of the world, waiting for the day they stomp them out. Some would say I’m pessimistic, but on the contrary, I’m actually far too idealistic.
At my core, I wan’t to believe everything someone tells me. Let me rephrase that, if I care about you, I wan’t to believe that what you tell me is true. This happens even when I know (with a reasonable amount of certainty) that you can’t possibly live up to what you’re saying. Everybody means what they say, until the moment they simply don’t anymore. It’s easy to say “I’ll always be there for you, no matter what,” because it’s the stuff fairy tales and movie scripts are made of. People LOVE movies.
Fundamentally we all WANT to believe in those things, even when our experiences tell us it would be foolhardy to do so. We NEED to feel like forever really means forever. Behind the sunny affirmation lies a grey and rainy truth: nobody can really guarantee anything. Not in love. Not in friendship. Not in life. Ever. I can guarantee that one day I will pass into the realm of the non-living, but that’s about it.
What you MEAN to say is: “I promise I’ll do my reasonable best to be a good friend/lover/brother/sister until shit gets to be too much, then I reserve the right to get ghost.” Nobody says that because it sounds like a contingency plan rather than a declaration of affection. It’s not exactly rosy, but at the very least, it’s an authentic picture being painted. My logical mind can accept the upfront truth and adjust accordingly. It could at least, were it not for that pesky heart of mine, yelling and screaming in the background. Had I seen what people meant, instead of believing what they said, it would not continuously catch me by surprise when reality so effortlessly places it’s knife between my shoulder blades.
(it always does…)
They say “love is blind.” Now you know why.
The ever-present ”they” say: no risk, no reward. I always figured “they” were on to something, so I traded a piece of my life for a sliver of a dream, a place beyond reality. I lost. Quite a few times actually.
In my life, Logic and Pragmatism ruled my kingdom with an iron fist for as long as I can remember. Though the land was a little boring, at the very least there was quiet. Then Love, Emotion, and Empathy came breaking down the walls, laying siege to everything I had built. Through destruction comes rebirth, so I know the war in my head eventually leads to calm. The issue is the “eventually” part. For right now, I play God and give Logic a little nudge. Not enough to totally crush the rebels, just enough to make things quiet again. Faith is the stuff that builds the wonders of the world, but it sure does take plenty of energy. That shit is in very short supply around here.
I’ll cut out a piece of my heart in exchange for peace of mind.
I know it won’t last long.
(It never does…)
I woke up on June 21st 2011, and said : this year will be the best of my entire life.
I dont have a crystal ball, and I havent been blessed with the gift of clairvoyance. I simply know that I’m going to put in the work to make that statement come to fruition. I also know that 28 was a year of complete chaos, and minus a couple months and a few decent experiences, I would say it was the most difficult period I have ever endured. But from the ashes, I’ll be reborn…as it always is. I’m feeling rather optimistic in the face of everything.
By the time I head into my 30th year, I pray I am financially stable, spiritually balanced and on my way to where I need to be, wherever that might be. For the first time in a good long while, I actually have an idea of that place. Actually saying I have an idea is a bit of an understatement. I see it. I see the pathway and I see the city in the distance. I see the outline of home…the lights shining in the distance. I see the left turn onto the street where my house will sit. I hear children playing, laughing…celebrating life. I can FEEL IT. I just have a little bit of fog left to wade through before I get there.
As much as I long to be there, I’d be wrong to lack appreciation for being HERE. Breathing. Alive.
Awake to win another day.
Just when I thought I finally had everything planned out and worked out, life throws another curveball my way. The move I thought was so close is likely to be pushed back at least another few months. Likely until the end of the year. Though December 28th, 2011 was originally the date I set a year and a half ago, I had set things in motion to make the move in late July, until circumstances kicked that plan into the garbage can. Life laughs at your plans. I’m fairly certain I have been through all of the stages of grief over the last couple weeks, and now find myself ready to adjust to the idea of another extension of my sentence.
More than anything, I was ready to take the step and liberate myself from living most of my days in this cubicle. I figured living for a little while in between jobs would inspire me to get up and put myself out there as far as writing professionally goes. Unfortunately, here I remain for the foreseeable future, placed in the position of simply making the best of an extremely irritating situation. If I posses no other talents, that is one thing I am quite proficient at, having been placed in said irritating situations on a regular basis.
I hate to be the cliche’ guy, but I do firmly believe everything is where it is for a reason. Perhaps theres something that remains unfinished, or an oppurtunity that lies waiting just beyond my vision. It’s entirely possible that the events of the next few months will propel me to exactly where I want to be in life.
This is me taking the positive outlook.
I dont wish to make it seem like I loathe New York City. I don’t. As I’ve written before, some of the best moments of my life have happened here. I walked through midtown Manhattan and just observed everything around me. Everywhere I turned there was another memory, another smile, another recollection rising up in my chest. This place has been good to me in so many ways. Yet after all these years, it still doesn’t quite feel like home. I’ve always felt like I was just visiting until the next portion of my life began. I don’t even know that Cleveland will be my place of residence permanently once I finally do get out of NY, but it is where family is. The ONLY place my immediate family is. It’s where a bit of rest lives. Where a bit of sanity resides.
Despite all that, here is where I am, and here is where I’ll be until further notice. Maybe one dream is deferred so that I’ll live another one. If thats the case, then the temporary disappointment is completely worth it.
Jumping in place is starting to feel like a leap of faith…
Even in defeat, he remained defiant. A legacy in question, he sat in front of a throng of reporters and implied that whoever was rooting against him simply wasn’t happy with their own lives. The implication is that people dislike him simply for being LeBron, rather than anything of his own doing.
There are a few dynamics at work here. The first: LeBron genuinely believes that any vitriol directed his way is a result of simple jealousy. It doesn’t appear to have occurred in his mind that he may have had something to do with the “villain” role that he seems to be cast in.
This leads to the second dynamic: LeBron James clearly has no concept of media training or public relations. James frequent missteps in front of a microphone speaks to a lack of maturity as well as a lack of coaching, that is assuming that he would accept suggestions on how to carry himself in the first place. A man so concerned with “living life the way (he) wants to live it” likely wouldn’t value the input of others. I would surmise that this is what happens when your PR team is comprised of a group of your high school friends, with no real training. Rather than surround himself with professionals who are equipped to prevent debacles like The Decision and the ensuing aftermath, James would rather put his business and his brand in the hands of those he’s known since growing up in Akron. While a man wanting to surround himself with family seems innocent, it also contributes to his lack of growth. He perpetuates the Boy in a Bubble lifestyle willingly.
The third dynamic is the juxtaposition of James as a stone cold assassin who only cares about getting the job done, versus the guy that is very clearly affected by SOMETHING in high pressure situations. The look on James face during Miami’s Game 6 loss in the NBA Finals was like that of a child who knew the world was crumbling around him and could do absolutely nothing to stop it. He later sat at the microphone, voice shaking, tears in his eyes and told us how little it all mattered. The words he spoke very clearly didn’t match the story his body told.
This seems to be the issue with LeBron James. His life seems to be in a constant state of duality. The Ohio boy who grew out of humbling circumstances, only to assume the moniker of King. The guy who just wants to hang out with his friends and have fun, except when he aspires to become the ruler of all sports media, and a global icon. The player who is less an athlete and more a force of nature, except when he defers to his teammates. The man who doesn’t care about what naysayers, sportswriters and television pundits think, but seems to truly wonder why people don’t embrace him. A man who is unaffected, yet admits to staying up all night reading internet press articles about him and “taking notes.”
We’ve been all silently asking the question “who is LeBron James?” Now, in the epilogue of yet another playoff disappointment, this one not softened by the excuse of inadequate support, it has become clear.
We can’t answer the question “Who is LeBron James” because he himself has yet to find out.
He will have plenty of time to look within during this summer of certain discontent. What does a man see when he looks over a kingdom in flames? Is it the resolve to rise from the ashes and recreate ones self stronger than ever?
It would appear King James greatest opponent isn’t Kobe Bryant, the Boston Celtics, or even the shadow of Michael Jordan. LeBron James greatest foe is one he can’t avoid or evade. One he can’t fool or misdirect.
LeBron James stands alone in the ruins, A man clearly at war with himself.
Note: I usually dont talk sports here, but maybe thats set to change..I want to start featuring my work on subjects other than myself and my life. This NBA Finals has been one of the most compelling in recent memory, so much so that it inspired the following piece, on a subject I know all too well…LeBron James. Enjoy.
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From an inevitable coronation, to an unexpected execution.
The narrative has undoubtedly shifted.
The world was certain that this was the moment. This was His moment. This was the place in time where a once in a generation talent finally usurped the kingdom from the old guard. This was the validation of the would-be King’s most polarizing decree, his boldest Decision. After finally dispatching the old and broken Boston regime that held him under thumb in years past, and asserting dominance over the upstart Chicago squadron, The King and his Royal Guard would walk in, and walk over the valiant gunslinger and his band of outlaws in Dallas.
Destiny knows nothing of inevitability…
LeBron James and the Miami Heat find themselves on the brink of oblivion, and in an unthinkable twist, it is the King himself who has helped bring ruin to the empire.
Last season, at the time where his team needed him most, LeBron transformed from unstoppable juggernaut and force of nature, to a player in a continued state of deference. When Cleveland needed him most, he showed the least interest in getting it done. An anomaly? Perhaps.
Let it be said clearly. The Miami Heat belong to Dwyane Wade. As talented as Wade is though, the 4th quarter should belong to LeBron James. This is the principle that guided those Cavaliers to 127 wins in two years. This is the principle that drove one of the greatest performances in playoff history: Game Five vs Detroit in 2007.
In that performance, the King of Cleveland bruised and battered the vaunted Detroit Pistons defense into a fine powder. Over and over he called for the ball. Over and over he waited for the defense to set. Over and over again he decimated their every effort. He would not defer. He would not quit. He simply would not lose. Winning was the only thing that was relevant on that day.
That moment was the one where a championship went from an “if” to a “when.” in the eyes of the public.
Who could stop such a player from reaching the heights of heaven?
Only LeBron James.
So begins Act I: The Ascent.
Through the Cavs playoff losses in 2007(vs San Antonio), 2008(vs Boston) and 2009 (vs Orlando), the prevailing thought was always that LeBron was one solid teammate away. LeBron simply needed his “Pippen.” Despite having the best record in the league, and having home court advantage, LeBron couldn’t get enough help to get over the hump.
It all seemed to come together in 2010.
With LeBron’s pending free agency looming over the team and the city of Cleveland, the Cavaliers once again amassed the best record in the league. They beat the favored Lakers twice in the regular season (convincingly). LeBron collected his second straight MVP award. Coach Mike Brown added Coach of the Year honors, and it seemed as if it was unfolding as everyone expected it would. The ascent was complete. LeBron James would finally take his place in the pantheon of NBA Champions.
In the first round series vs Chicago, LeBron occasionally looked passive and listless. Cleveland fans had seen this LeBron occasionally, but simply dismissed it, after all, even the greatest of players have an off night, especially when being forced to carry the load time after time. Statistically he did what he always does. Those with a more keen eye sensed something amiss.
With the Eastern Conference Semifinals vs Boston knotted at two games apiece, in an arena where the Cavaliers had been nearly unbeatable, basketball observers around the world expected LeBron to deliver on the promise and potential planted in that Game Five three years prior in Detroit.
Instead he gave us one of the worst playoff performances by an MVP in history. LeBron went 3-14 for 15 pts. Every player is entitled to a bad game or two. This game was so bad however, that the world spun into full blown conspiracy theory mode. LeBron played so on such an inconceivably uncharacteristic level, we would rather believe a player on his team slept with his mother, causing James to spiral into a malaise, than to believe LeBron simply didn’t have it.
Truthfully, this says something about his greatness as much as it does about our willing disbelief in what’s plainly laid out in front of us. The telling stat isn’t the three shots made. It’s the 14 attempted. In an offense where the ball goes through LeBron hands exactly 100% of the time, 14 shot attempts in what amounted to an elimination game for the Cavaliers? Passive. Listless. Disinterested. Unacceptable. Though James posted a triple double in the next game. The series was basically over from the moment Cleveland boarded the plane back to Boston. Another opportunity, another failure.
Another playoff loss under his belt assumingly provided the impetus for The Decision, the culmination of Act II.
It feels like forever ago that we offered up platitudes for LeBron James’ occasional faltering in pressure situations. He simply didn’t have the help he needed. He had no other choice, so he left Cleveland in pursuit of dominance, in pursuit of soldiers who wouldn’t crumble under the pressure in battle, in pursuit of the holy grail.
NOW it would be different. Mo Williams, and Antawn Jamison were no Dwyane Wade and Chris Bosh. The three pronged assault of two certain hall of famers, and a perennial all star would be enough to finally deliver LeBron to immortality’s door.
A man who had never known anything but Ohio, (a land where the boy who would be King was treated as a God before he was even old enough to grow hair on his chin) sacrificed everything he ever knew, for the one thing he truly needed in this world. Validation. Validation of a career. Validation of the years spent beaten and bruised as the lone true warrior among a sea of part time fighters. The Ring would make it all right. The Ring would make him the unquestioned ruler of the NBA landscape.
Which brings us to these Finals.
When Jason Terry called LeBron out in the aftermath of Game Three. I thought the same thing we ALL thought. “LeBron is going to absolutely decimate these dudes. Terry is going to wake him up…” For years, we have been waiting for James to show that killer instinct, not only against lesser teams and talents, but against the best the NBA has to offer. After seeing the maturation of the Heat in this years playoffs, many felt the switch had been flipped, and it was full speed ahead to the Larry O’Brien trophy. Numbers don’t tell the whole story, but they can construct a context by which games can be viewed. Read for yourself…
Game 3: 6-14 for 18 points in 45 minutes. 4 free throws made.
Game 4: 3-11 for 8 pts in 45 minutes. 2-4 on free throws.
Game 5: 8-19 for 17 pts in 46 minutes. 1-2 on free throws.
Those box scores don’t scream “great defensive effort,” though Dallas has played much better defense overall in the last few games. Those box scores say “lack of aggression.” Lack of aggression is the one unforgiveable sin for a superstar. I don’t subscribe to the theory that every player must be a stone cold killer. I do subscribe to the theory that the greatest talent of a generation needs to impose his will on the game, and show a sense of urgency. LeBron has often been accused of being a bit disengaged. Games like this make that argument an easy one to defend. Miami needed an unstoppable force, and instead they got a lukewarm breeze during a two point 4th quarter.
TWO POINTS!
He has been blown by, shot over, and largely forgotten in the final stanzas of these Finals games. The Takeover has been turned into The Afterthought. The greatest player of this generation, shown up by Jason Terry, JJ Barea and a 38 year old Jason Kidd in crunch time. How appropriate it was, that the dagger in Game 5 came from Terry, shooting over the outstretched hand of James.
I won’t pretend that Game 6 is the beginning or end of the legacy of LeBron James. If he comes back and gets a ring (or two, or three) in the coming years, perhaps his curious backward steps become simply a footnote, a bump in the road. I do think there is a chance that something will just “click” and LeBron James will rule the National Basketball Association for the next several years. I also think theres a chance that what we are seeing is reality. At what point do we say “maybe he isn’t who we thought he was?” An unthinkable question until recently, but one that must be answered anyway. Anything less than a transcendent performance in the next game and possibly Game Seven, completely changes the narrative on James career. Where once he was looked at through the lens of “possibly the greatest ever,” a Finals flame-out changes the story to “the greatest regular season performer we’ve ever seen…but he couldn’t get it done when it counted.”
A passive, disinterested game in either of these last two begins to call into question whether James possesses the mental makeup to lead, to set the standard. The speculation after The Decision was that James simply needed to take some of the pressure off. Instead of the weight of leading Cleveland to its first major championship since 1964, or returning the Knicks to prominence under the spotlights of New York City, he chose Miami, the “fun” destination, a destination where Dwyane Wade has already established a pecking order. While I can’t in good conscience call a man of James talents a sidekick to anyone, I do truly believe that he is more comfortable in a role behind the front line. He has done nothing in this series to discourage those beliefs.
In Miami, in Game Six, LeBron James has the greatest opportunity of his lifetime. He can snatch the momentum from the seemingly unflappable Dallas sharpshooters. He can finally silence the swelling undercurrent of doubt as to whether he possesses the same basketball DNA as the greats who stood before him. He can justify the biggest Decision in the history of free agency. More than anything, LeBron James, over the next game, possibly two, can define an era, and define his career.
A monarch without a crown, a ruler in name only?
The rightful heir to the kingdom?
Tonight, the answer to a generations worth of questions may be found.
That would seem to be a great deal of pressure for one man to handle.
A challenge fit only for a King.
“I been waitin on this my whole life/these dreams be wakin me up at night…”
Its almost Graduation Day.
Not in the sense of a commencement. More like moving on to the next stage in my life. Barring something catastrophic and unseen, the end of this summer will mark the end of my journey in New York City.
(at least until that book tour comes along.)
Upon reflection, I realized that a good deal of my angst in the last several days is related to this move. I have no doubt that it is the right one. I have no questions about whether it will be better for my life to be back in OH for a while. A support system is something you cant truly put a value on, so though my income will likely be substantially less, and my nightlife options diminished severely, Cleveland looks like heaven right now.
I remember sitting and contemplating coming to New York, and knowing in my mind that everybody thought I would run back to Ohio at the first opportunity. Clearly they didn’t know me. They didn’t account for my drive, for my determination, for my will to survive. Because of that will, and the pride that accompanies it, I’ve stayed here even past what I should have.
I was determined not to “lose.” It took a series of horrible events one after another to make me realize that making the best move for me and my family could never be a loss. The game I played when my plane landed here isn’t the one I’m playing in today. The rules change once you have a child. The game changes when you come to the realization that whats important to you is completely different than it once was.
So I declared it in my mind that I would get my ass out of NY by 2012.
Now that we are on the eve of what will probably be the biggest move of my life, I can admit that part of me is scared out of my mind.
Sidebar:This is two back to back entries admitting the kind of things a man doesn’t readily admit…but again, im human. Hell I’ve talked about a spiraling depression before. A little fear should be nothing.
What I am scared of? Its likely a combination of overanalysis and an overabundance of concern for the well being of my little one. When I strip away the chatter in my mind and get right down to my inner truth, I know that wherever I go, success will follow. I’ve never been in a situation where I had to hustle and I didn’t come out on top. I came here with almost nothing, and I’ve made it this far. Once again I’m being forced to give up everything I’ve known to chase something I unknown. Isn’t that the way it goes though? Life places us in those situations where we have to choose one or the other. To grab what your future, you have to open your hand and let the past fall away.
It was a little different before my daughter was born though. If I made a screwed up decision then…what difference did it make? I was 21, and had absolutely nothing to lose.
Creeping up on the precipice of 29, I now have someone else’s future to consider.
Its no coincidence that I’ve started to lean more on faith than ever before in recent days. I have to believe that everything I’ve gone through was simply preparing me. I have to believe that finally, after all this time…I’m ready to walk that stage and step out into the world once more. The only way to know is to do it right?
And so…to the best teacher I ever had…to my prized professor, you’ll be with me even when I am away. Cleveland was always in me while I was in New York. New York will be with me when I move back…
For all the angst, fear, uncertainty and worry, I know that without question I am a better man than I was when I came. By any metric, that would make the time I spent here an unquestionable success.
Now…back to the future.
Every so often, the universe likes to remind us that we are in fact very human, very falliable and very much influenced by our emotions. As we try harder and harder to become more robotic and uncaring, we are often shown exactly how much we do care. As much as I pride myself on being able to control myself in any given situation, there will always be that one moment where you slip and fall just a bit. In the process of getting up from said fall, I write this to serve as a reminder of the way I felt on this particular day. I write it out as a sort of warning…because there is no point in slipping on the same spot twice.
Today I rose from slumber wrapped in a cocoon of jealousy, restlessness and dissatisfaction, and I let it permeate the fabric of my entire day. I let myself spiral lower and lower with no real regard for how I may have been overreacting. Admitting that isn’t easy, especially the portion referencing the “j” word. Regardless of the level of difficulty, the admission was fully necessary.
I could sit here and pretend like it’s not hard to watch friends and peers flourishing artistically as I become a festering wound in the cubicle shaped guts of __________ (employer omitted), but pretending has never ever been my strong point. It’s difficult to see others reaching for and touching the golden ring you so fervently wish to grasp, especially when you feel like your own leaps of faith are hindered by the cement boots of circumstance. On the surface I am congratulatory…and even below the surface, I am proud. Deeply proud. I am filled with love and wonder whenever I see one of “my own” get what they deserve. But let no mistake be made…I THIRST for that shit. In this moment, I fully covet their prosperity. Of course, the situation is made worse by feeling like a dick for even thinking such envious thoughts. It’s then that I remind myself of the aforementioned humanity. Above all other things… a father, a lover, a student, a brother, a son, I am simply human. Despite appearing to “have it all together” I have my moments just like anyone else.
Having been slapped in the face with this dose of reality, I’m left to take my lumps, process my moment, and get back to the real mission. Its perfectly fine to fall. Its perfectly fine to cry (figuratively or literally.) This is part of the balance of life. It gives us a chance to step back, reassess and rearm for the next round.
Instead of fighting it, I’m learning to just let myself feel, knowing that my current pain, is the building block of my future character. Break down, let the storm wash over you, and then get your ass up and push forward. It’s still a little cloudy, but I know the sun awaits.
Motherfuck a struggle, I’m dancing in the rain.
Struggle merits progress.
This is what I tell myself as I sit and stare at the cursor blinking in front of me, waiting for inspiration to rise in the space between my fingers and the keys. Why should something so completely natural be
so
damned
difficult?
Why can I feel the words bubbling beneath the surface, only to see them disappear into the mists when I reach out to grab them? I take a step back from the questions, the fears, the frustrations and realize, its all a lesson. The difference between the good and the great is simply the desire to succeed. The will to win at all costs. The knowledge that this, whatever “this” happens to be at that particular moment, will not, cannot, never will defeat me.
The “this” I currently face is my usual case of writer’s block that occurs after a period of great inspiration and creativity. This time, it’s a taken a bit of a different shape. The words are there, I feel them sitting heavy within my core. It’s simply that I cannot find a tool sharp enough to carve out a cohesive work from the imposing block of potential energy. So I sit, waiting for it to crack right down the middle.
Learning to fight through those moments where we aren’t at our best is what takes us from where we are to where we should be. Difficult when you can actually visualize the finish line. Where I SHOULD BE is right in front of me and yet, here I am…stuck.
Perhaps this work isn’t to be realized currently anyway. I am entering into the final paragraphs of this chapter of my life, and if nothing else, I know am subconsciously diverting all energy, creative and otherwise into that transition. The looming shadow of the move covers everything I do these days. An invisible goal that I can’t quite catch no matter how quickly I move my feet.
So I don’t move at all. I become still…
I listen to as the strings from Be fill my headphones…
“never lookin back or too far in front of me/the present is a gift, and I just wanna be…”
And suddenly, fed by the rhythm and melodies in my ears, the seeds in my mind begin to burst forth from the ground…
Spring’s struggles destined to produce Summer’s fruit.
I thought about not posting what follows…It’s one of those intensely private things that I often neglect to speak on. When I thought about it further though, I realized that there are plenty of people who are/have been in the situation I have with regards to my father. So for those that may not be able to sort through their own emotions, I lay mine bare.
—
A year ago today, my father was beginning what would be the last day of his life. I can’t say whether he knew that death awaited him, as we didn’t get a chance to speak before the blood infection he was fighting began its final assault on his body. The cardiac arrest that followed was simply the moment of impact on a slow, seemingly inevitable descent.
I wasn’t exactly close with my father, and yet I wasn’t completely far away either. At least not in the years since I’d had Serena. Having a child of your own tends to wash away whatever previous issues you had with your own parents. Serena marked the end of my life as a forgotten son, and the beginning of looking at my father as a peer. An individual I could look eye to eye with (at least figuratively, since he had me in the height department by half a foot.)
Ironically, it was his death that finally completed the process of turning him from a specter looming on the outskirts of my life, to a real man. A real man, who had real struggles. A life of experiences, triumphs, mistakes and confessions. As his body passed into the aether, so too did the sins that body had committed, and so too did our conflicts.
I feel the most pain not based off what actually happened in our time together on this earth, but rather what COULD have happened. It’s a slow dull hurt. Not like the typical sharp pain of grief. Rather it was like the resonance of a bell tolling deep within. Far enough for the sound to be faint, close enough for the vibrations heavy hum to reach my core. It’s a pain fueled by the thought of what could have been. A sadness sparked by a vision of potential. Me and that man there…we were different, and yet as time’s sword slices and carves me into the man I will be, it becomes obvious: we shared so much. That sharing never translated to the physical world though, and that’s the great tragedy of it all. The more I grow, the more I realize how close we would have been. I think back to the great defeats in my life, and though those losses eventually gave me the resolve to learn how to win, I can’t help but wonder about the path my life would have taken had I known the wisdom that only a father can give his son.
Upon further reflection, maybe this is the true power of death. Giving up the physical body transforms us into something greater. A frail, flawed man can become an idea, a philosophy, a movement. A reason. In my father’s death, I unlock the totality of his experience, which grants me access to the wisdom I needed during his life. His silent reflection guides me across the same obstacles he once tripped over. A memory carrying me over a mountain.
I used to try to avoid becoming like him, until I realized that being LIKE him didn’t mean I had to BE him. If he provided nothing else, he provided that important piece of perspective.
Where before I was angry, lost, hurt, I can now be grateful.
That is evolution.
That is transformation.
That is life.
Even after death.
Peace, Pops.
Current events involving a hip hop artist, with a history of dating what most of us men would consider “dream women” sparked a mental dialogue this morning. On the off chance I watch the news or view tv programs, I find it difficult to go too long without watching a story on how some celebrity is getting a divorce. Typically it comes out later that there was some brand of infidelity leading to the breakup. What is it that makes these relationships so fragile?
In particular, I am focusing on those who tend to be most desired in our culture: models, athletes and the like.
I won’t say that all of the aforementioned people are automatically whores or unscrupulous. At the same time, people who choose a certain lifestyle tend to share similar traits. It takes a certain makeup mentally to be attracted to certain situations. That mental makeup often leads to adherence to a value system. If your values are constructed in such a fashion that your looks and your sexuality are the primary means of interaction with people, I don’t think it would be a stretch to assume a more liberal moral structure is at play.
Though I shouldn’t have to say it, let me be clear, I’m in no way saying those that adhere to a certain set of moral tenets are infallible, any more than I’m saying those who are more “free in spirit” are automatically godless heathens in capable of holding on to a relationship.
With that out of the way…
An individual who’s primary method of advancing in the world is exploiting the natural interest in their sexuality is much more likely to be an opportunist in general. When an opportunist sees a method by which they can move to the next big thing, they seem to be much more likely to jump on it (puns may be intended,) as opposed to the individual who’s moral code focuses on forming more organic, complete relationships. The lust that empowers those type of individuals is often fleeting and unsustainable, leading to a host/subject type of relationship…like that of a vampire and his prey.
It does not come down to right/wrong, so much revealing how one views people. Power hungry individuals tend to view people as “things” rather than complete souls worthy of the highest respect. A mate ends up presented as something you “do” rather than someone you need. Let’s be honest, when the entire world covets your beauty or your prowess, you’re less likely to feel like you need ANYONE. You have a constant supply of validation, an unending waterfall of euphoria. Like an eternal crush, with all of the good, and none of the bad (until the undesireable finally comes bursting through the wall, Cain Marko style.) With the continuous intravenous feeding, you rarely become sober enough to recognize how destructive these relationships actually are. Your existence is a perpetual haze of adoration, without need for reflection.
The human psyche isn’t meant to withstand a bombardment of anything. Even love in an overdosed form can become toxic. We need space and time to analyze and internalize. During this time the brain adjusts and absorbs what we have seen and felt. This is why we NEED sleep. This is why we NEED time off. There has to be a down cycle. Anything short of that is disorder, and cannot be sustained over an extended period of time.
This is why I don’t place value on a woman that looks like a model, any more than I do one that would be considered a 7. What I need isn’t a trophy, nor do I need to leech her power to bolster my own. I don’t need the quick fix, or the perfect 10. I need respect, loyalty, and a willingness to build. Those things are in short supply in an environment where the answer to every question is YES. We shun the “normal” organic individuals because they don’t have that certain “shine,” never giving thought to the fact that a.)being blinded is never a good thing, b.)the shine is addictive, c.)the shine wears away over time. The cycle repeats again and again. Forever chasing the new car smell…
I’m not saying that we shouldn’t pursue the woman/man of our dreams.
I AM saying that one cant be sustained on dreams alone. Eventually the lines become blurred and we forget what reality feels like. Sometimes it’s harsh, and rife with struggle. It’s also tangible, fulfilling, lasting.
Wake up.
