Aug 30, 2009

To endlessly begin again.
I tried the life of the man who works a simple job from nine to five. The man who watches movies with his girlfriend on the weekends. The man who makes enough to pay rent, buy some clothes, eat some pizza, have some beers with his buddies. The man who has a nice little apartment with nice little furniture and who lives a nice little life. It didn’t work out for me.
I tried the life of the crazy party animal who comes home after a night out and sleeps for a few hours before going to work. The man who tries to stay awake behind the counter while serving customers who probably wish this guy would turn the music down a bit. The man who tries to juggle life between his band and his cool record store job. The man who is single and has no interest in being in a relationship or settling down in anyway. The man who looks for his kicks wherever he can. The man who wonders why everything is so messed up when faced with those inevitable moments spent alone in silence and darkness. It was fun while it lasted, but it also didn’t work out for me.
I tried the life of the vagabond who wanders around from country to country, city to city, town to town. The man who doesn’t want to have any responsibilities. The man who just wants to write his songs and play them to people who want to listen but not really caring if anybody does listen. The man who never wants to be anywhere. Never wants to stay but misses things when he has left. I lived this life and I must say it was painfully blissful but it didn’t work out for me.
I tried the life of not being a traveler, not being an escape artist, not being the nice little boyfriend, but a life of waiting quietly for the next thing. The man who gathers his energy and collects his thoughts. The man who disconnects from most of his past. The man who no longer believes in these traditional ideas of love, god, friendship or anything else for that matter. The man who just wants to be alone not needing anybody or anything. The man who feels sick when coming across selfish parasites who steal his energy and erroneously think of themselves as somehow important and special. This was important and taught me some great lessons although left me with pretty much nothing (which is not such a bad thing in hindsight) but once again, it didn’t work out for me.
I changed. I became somebody else. I found myself. Or so I thought. I got myself under a roof I could call my own. I thought the world would be okay with me for awhile. I was right. But I knew “awhile” would never last for long. Now I find myself in a place I don’t belong which is ultimately a place I have been in for most of my adult life. Yes, it is probably true that it is my own personal choice to be in that place. Once again those seven words are echoing in my head but I am at least trying to keep them in the present tense. Things “not working out” is a kind of life I have always ran from and maybe for once I can make it work. At least I can try to let it play out.
And so I endlessly begin again. To accept whatever I have right now. To be wherever I am. To release myself of all expectations and hope for the best yet prepare for the worst. To forget about words. To enjoy life whether it’s heaven or hell, acknowledging that they actually define each other. To fly in my little sky with imaginary wings. To fail forward.