Saturday, May 29, 2010

by the wayside...





I'm not sure where I developed a love for writing, however sick and demented I was at that time, I wish I hadn't ever conjured up the thought or desire. Writing is one of the most painful experiences one can actually endure; the opening of the mind, the pouring out of the heart, and the riddling of ones mind often absent of reason or logic. These past few months have been such a hellaciously beautiful endeavor through the utter-unknown and the remarkable-abyss of chasing dreams and running from fears.

I don't own a tap out hat, an affliction shirt, or a pair of combat boots. So, without much more relinquishing of boring self-details one could easily derive how much an "un" macho guy I am. I don't like to drive fast, blast rock music, or kick babies (maybe not so macho). I'm not good at pick-up lines or spitting-rhymes, I don't blow cash or rock-a-stache, realistically speaking, I'm more of a Tooth-Fairy than a Dirty Harry.

This torrential-downpour of self-deprecating slander doesn't come from a hidden-bitterness towards potent-masculinity but mainly at the sad-reality that the lack thereof makes one undesirable in today's culture. Maybe I just don't get it, that would explain about 20 something years of relative and actual inevitable-singleness. It's not that options haven't presented themselves, it's just never felt right. I've always dodged in-&-out of potential relationships for a billion fears; 98% uneducated assumptions of how pathetically I'd fail.

I converse often with my married pals, a multiplicity of them have given me their thoughts and opinions on how and why I'm in such a unique predicament. Usually it ranges from it's not God's timing to your too picky, or the worst one, your probably not ready. I love that one though. I think to myself about all my unique and undoubtedly off putting selfish habits and prideful endeavors and have to realize the sad potential of those all someday ending.

I've walked the streets of Europe and the beaches of Cali, all solo, always wondering how much different life could be. However, I'm eternally tied to the reality that I have become so content in my oneness and singleness embarking on any attempt to be conjoined seems unnecessarily painful and awkwardly wasteful.

I've been inspired by a friend lately who is in his mid-20's and has a great job, great joy in His faith, and a solid-foundation of living life with/or/without a special 'someone' floating around nearby. I've discovered that living life happily alone is the only key to potentially living life happily together later-on. Now, granted, many people get together with someone so early that they never discover themselves; and sadly become a shade of someone else colors. I've found myself in what I believe; found who I am in the things that I 'am-not.'

"No man for any considerable period can wear one face to himself and another to the multitude, without finally getting bewildered as to which may be the true."~Nathaniel Hawthorne, The Scarlet Letter


this is me. being me.
4th grade. when keepin it real was natural.

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