I DIDN'T Have a Dream

Fulfillment, that one thing we all want, need actually, but it's not something that most people would say if you asked them "what do you want?" It's a difficult thing to define because it can be attained in so many different ways and it's different for all of us. Some people are born with a dream and spend every waking breath, from the moment they realize what that dream is to the moment they achieve it, breaking their back to get there. Some people luck into it, stumbling upon something that resonates in them so completely they are caught in the rip tide and never look back. I am neither of those people; I was not born with a dream, nor have I found that one thing that I have to do.

We've all heard the old adage "you never work a day in your life if you love what you do," but what if you haven't found that thing you love doing? What if you've found several things you only like doing? What if what you love is doing a lot of different things? Well if you're looking for the answers to these questions, I'm sorry to disappoint you, I haven't found them yet, but it is possible that I have a bit of insight to share.

They say a "renaissance man" is someone who can do a little bit of everything. I am by no means a renaissance man, but over the years of doing various different things I have noticed I have a knack for picking up most anything and being pretty damn good at it. I have worn many hats in several different fields yet none of them have ever really defined me. I was an exemplary student, an exceptional athlete, a promising culinarian; I've held offices in multiple organizations, held management positions in various occupations, even spent a few years as a pretty decent DJ for a night club. I've partially taught myself two different instruments, how to write HTML and CSS code, and how to build a computer. I've worked in the automotive industry and have a decent hand at small engine repair. As trivial as it may sound to most, I've kicked some serious ass at several video games (against real people…not the "computer")  I've liked all of these things. I was supported by friends, peers, and people I looked up to in each of these endeavors. I have heard praise from many for a multitude of skills. I am the quintessential poster child for undeveloped potential (and I'm also the most humble creature you've had the good fortune to come across). So, yes, I am a jack of all trades, but a master of none. I've tasted several bowls of porridge and haven't found that one that's just right.

I suppose what I'm slowly eluding to is that fact that I've "liked" several things but I've never seen myself doing any of them for the rest of my life. So, recently, as I have done many other times, I asked myself "what is it I really want?" Obviously I still don’t have the answer, but I had an idea. Actually putting it down on paper now makes it seem very trivial, a "duh, dumbass" moment, but regardless I feel like it's necessary. Despite all the successes I have experienced and the exceptional bit of bragging I accomplished mere moments ago, it still took me 28 years to realize… "hey, maybe you should just write down everything you really enjoy, no matter how trivial. Make a list, actually have these things visible, tangible, right in front of you and evaluate them that way." I wont say "rank them" because they're all things I enjoy, I don’t want to stop doing any of them, but I can look and see which ones offer realistic goals. I can see which of these things I couldn't live without and see if there is any potential there.

So, what my list pointed me to, ironically, is writing. It is the one thing that I've always done, even through all of my other ventures. I know I have some talent (it could stand to be well polished, but some talent nonetheless), and it is ironic because this article, this "chronicled epiphany," is probably one of the worst things I've ever written. However, if there is one thing I know with absolute certainty about writing it's that you have to write; just get the words out on the page, don’t let them bottleneck in that space of indecision between your head and the page.

As I said earlier, if you came here for answers, you've definitely come to the wrong place. However, if you came to be entertained (using the term extremely loosely) by a lengthy diatribe, well I might have the goods to accomplish that feat. At any rate I am now certain as to what I want to do….and that is to never bore you, nor myself, with another trivial "diary entrance" like this one ever again. Not all of us have the gravitas to make a lecture about "dreams" entertaining and eternal… smug bastard…..(drops the mic).   

Wary on the Run

It's a regrettable thing really, that moment when you realize that you're no longer wishing to go back to being that kid digging for worms in the dirt but instead you see that you're still the same kid, it's just not dirt you're digging in anymore... and those aren't worms. I feel that I'm not alone in occasionally fantasizing about going back to the simpler times, back when your biggest worry was how to entertain yourself next or if mom is going to be mad about the grass stains on your jeans. When was it exactly that our priorities shifted from the frivolous and lighthearted woes of the wonder years to the mundane complexities of daily living? It seems as though it happened overnight. One day we're counting the seconds until recess and the next we're banking on Friday's paycheck for a place to sleep. For lack of a better term, shit got real, and it happened so fast and with such vehemence that ever since that day we've been surfacing, one breath at a time, solely focused on survival that we forgot we knew how to swim.

We sleepwalk through week after week, only taking the time to do any real living from Friday to Sunday. We're so worn down from the monotony of day to day that we actually look forward to and set aside time to literally do nothing. What happened to being utterly captivated by hitting rocks with a stick or a playing card in the spokes of your bicycle?

Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, a phrase we are all familiar with, the inalienable rights bestowed upon us by our creator. While "we" find these things to be self evident, I personally find them a bit long winded, not unlike myself. "How dare he," you might say, well I dare and here's why. The focus, in life as well as in the aforementioned anecdote, lies in the pursuit of happiness, the thrill, the chase, the hard work hoping to reap the reward. We become so enthralled with the pursuit that we can't just let ourselves find happiness. We are always chasing, always striving, never taking the time to just sit down in introspection and see if you've already caught it. Sound cliche'? Maybe...Off base? I don't think so.

As a kid I was always chasing something whether it be a dog, or a ball, or a bug. I was always on the run heedless of where I was heading. You'd think that is something I would grow out of but in actuality I see now that it's something we all grow into. We continuously graduate to chase bigger and better things. My personal affinity happened to lie in butterflies. I've chased them all my life, from fields around my house, to the small of a girls back, to the irritatingly addictive ones that show up in your stomach from time to time. The trouble with butterflies is that even though you may catch them you can never hold on to them for very long. They die, or you lose interest, or they just flutter away. You get so caught up in the thrill of chasing that next one that you never really appreciate the one you've got. Lost in the thralls of the chase, the only time you stop to take a breath is to look back to see how you got here, or look forward to see where you're going, but if you could take a second you might see that your right where you need to be... or you could be standing in shit. This is all circumstantial after all.

None of this means that I am condemning ambition or begrudging you your particular flights of fancy. After all, chasing things can be a hell of a lot of fun, but as they say, "everything in moderation." While the chase may lead you to where you want to be, make sure you're not moving too fast to recognize it when you get there.In other words, enjoy life, take your liberties, and be wary while in pursuit of butterflies.    

Grassy Fields and Alabaster Ranks

As it has every year before, my day always ends here. The patterns that bring me here are the same, the day’s events unfolding in a predictable way. It’s always a long day for me, a day where I am exercised to my fullest extent, appreciated and recognized. Despite my many tasks on this day it is definitive that while the sun creeps low on the horizon my feet will find their way to these grassy fields.

The morning comes early for me as I silence the alarms and begin the daily routine. I go with many to work, no different from any other morning. Their pursuit of happiness, providing security and stability, thankful they have the opportunity to do so. It’s always a slow day, this day. While they work others are hard at play in their own pursuit.

Later in the day I go with them as well. I enjoy the BBQ ribs and potato salad, the cold beer, warm sun, the time spent with family, friends, and neighbors. I revel in the cool breeze and spray of the lake, the skiing and swimming. Listening to the laughter and joy around me I am heartened to be appreciated so.

As the day winds down, the coolers drained, boats docked, embers ebb to ash in the grills; it is then that my feet begin to wander. They take me out to rolling fields of green grass and purple dusky skies. I look around and see husbands and wives, parents and children, all huddled together in their small groups.  I see men and women in uniform being thanked by total strangers for their service. These same soldiers offering solace and condolences to the huddled groups standing vigil, giving their own private salute to the alabaster soldiers in ranks spanning the grassy fields.

I watch these scenes unfold with mixed feelings of sympathy and pride. These people, these families and soldiers understand the depth of my price; they have lived it, fought for it, and many gave their lives for it. I am Freedom; Freedom from tyranny and oppression, freedom to believe and praise in your own way, freedom to pursue happiness, freedom to choose to do with as you will. With every name etched into stone, every white stone cross marking a hero of freedom, with every man and woman sworn to their country that still fight, I am bought and paid for. They deserve respect and gratitude every day, but this day we set aside to honor their service and their memory in recognition of everything they set aside so that we may do so.

ID# 93461

Day 630 of my captivity. I’ve come to realize this is not a prison but some form of opportunistic concentration camp. They neglect no race or creed but seek to dominate any within the compound. They tease us with inescapable glass walls so that we me stare freedom in the face each day, yet never reach beyond the pitted and shoe polish adorned cells.

  As they begin the daily parade of interrogators sent before me each day I begin to suspect they are trying to wear down my mental stability. What seem to be perfectly lucid strangers delve off into unseemly and unpredictable fits of idiocy. I am subjected to screaming tantrums, bouts of inconsolable grief and anguish, pretentiousness, sarcasm, elitism, slander; a steady cavalcade of emotional torture all while obligated to maintain courteous composure in scripted responses that never change despite the variety of situations that arise. This can only be a form torture designed to test and break down my sense of self. Perhaps the most disturbing realization is I believe it is working.I am rewarded for my benign robotic behavior each week with a piece of paper with my name on it and some numbers. I’ve been conditioned over time to appreciate and even desire these numbers. Oh, how I wish there were more of them. 

Perhaps the cruelest act taken by the oppressors is in giving me a brief respite each day; time enough to nearly pull myself back together. Just as I begin to regain a semblance of my former self I am thrust back into the berating stream of sycophants, firmly planted in wait for more verbal water boarding. Delving still further into the sadistic nature of the oppressors, I am forced to document each encounter, taking the verbal assault and then recording it verbatim to ensure maximum retention, thusly ensuring I fully understand the spectrum of my piteous existence.  Need I mention this allows for the most vicious of these encounters to be readily retrieved so that I may relive them at the oppressors’ leisure?

 Unbeknownst to my captors I have broken through and established communication with the outside world through my documentation device. This brief ray of hope was soon smothered as I found the only hope of deliverance would be to escape, only to be bound to yet another stint of monetary servitude, prisoner exchange if you will. Oh look, the man with the numbers is coming. Maybe it’s not so bad after all.

Inspired by a lack of Inspiration

More often of late I find myself in an involuntary state of indolence. As a result of this perpetual inactivity I’ve come to recognize a few observations about many useless and irrelevant topics, one being this very state that I loathe so much, but we’ll return to that later. As the initial cacophony of thoughts assault my mind they begin to spider web down several different avenues of introspection. One strand in particular traps me in its wake and thusly, I am doomed to follow.

It is in this way, hopelessly devoid of activity, I find myself questioning. Being a creature of curiosity and logic, I can’t help but glance down the other strands of the web as I pass, tendrils of my mind being swept away, unable to maintain focus on my designated train of thought. As the various pieces of my mind meander their way back together, something of a coherent thought begins to emerge.  Visualizing the way my mind works, the manner in which I perceive my surroundings as well as my own opinions, I come to a realization; I am a pessimist. Surprisingly, this is a warm and comforting thought. Treading the tepid waters of cynicism I realize that is the brand of a true pessimist.

Do not mistake, I’m not speaking of negativity. While it is much easier for me to see and recognize negativity, I still believe my pessimism is born in logic, not skepticism. It has been my experience that a dose of optimism tends to have the side effect of naivety, the scale of which is dependent on the individual. Blissfully walking through life seeing the “bright side” of things means you’re intentionally overlooking the places the light doesn’t reach. This is a poor practice; it’s not seeing “both sides of the argument” so to speak.

As I wander further down this haughty strand I begin to study the passing tangent threads more intently.  I spend a great deal of time plucking each chord, hearing the thrum of thoughts reverberating back to me. How do people not hear some of the idiocy spewing from their mouths? What possesses a person to be such a colossal bastard to a total stranger? How does someone rationalize not tipping? Where can I get whatever hallucinogen this tool was on when he looked in the mirror and decided “yep, this looks good.”? YES, PLEASE GOD, show me more pictures of your baby/pet/food on facebook, I NEVER get tired of looking at them. Why hasn’t anyone invented a font for sarcasm? A caterwauling symphony of dissonance, majors and minors, sharps and flats, all played in the key of contempt.  As I listen to the boisterous discord of wonderings, I realize how incredibly entertained I am and I see that I have come full circle around the web and back to center. Back again to the reason this venture was begun, boredom; that abhorrent state where productivity and amusement are laid to rest.

There are few things as detestable in this world as boredom. We ever seek to avoid it yet all succumb to it far too often. We hide from it behind the guise of social interaction, the stupor of inebriation, or the monotony of employment. We stave it off and pretend it’s not there, waiting, as we watch TV, play video games, or stalk our “friends” on facebook, but it is unavoidable, and unfortunately, the birthplace of all bad ideas. It’s fascinating if you think about it. I don’t believe I’m being presumptuous when I say boredom is the only thing the whole of humanity mutually scorns, at least I can’t think of anything else at present. With that being said, amongst all the media ambiguity, reticence from our leaders, bickering with friends and neighbors, strife in the workplace, and garbage on the internet, at least we are occupied. Maybe if we took one day, shut off the broadcast towers, throttled the internet, and sat on our asses in mutual boredom we would see the next day with a new perspective, or maybe that’s just me being optimistic…

 

 

Down to Earth

The hallway is dim, lit from an unknown source by an unnatural light, sufficient to see but only just. I cast no shadows on the walls or floor, yet the light seems focused on me, the hallway disappearing into darkness ahead. The walls are pristine, painted a deep crimson with a texture resembling filigree layered beneath. Hardwood floors the color of ash guide the way into the abyss. I take a deep breath, realizing it's the first breath since I found myself here. With that, I know exactly where I am; I've been here before, countless times, and each times its different.

The unnatural light follows me as I move further down the hall. Doors begin to appear to my left and right, spaced evenly six or seven steps apart, extraordinarily nondescript, flat wood resembling the soot and ash of the floors. Searching as I pass each one for some defining characteristic, some distinctive flare to spark interest in what lay beyond. As I passed more and more doors, each identicle to the last, I realized some drew my focus, instilled a longing within me for the briefest moment. Others would ignite a flash of rage or jealousy, some terrified me beyond measure untill I was passed. Still more interesting were the doors that seemed to evade my gaze, my eyes gliding past them as if they were insubstantial, a figment. Disinterest, apathy, detachment, lassitude, passivity, one after another they came and their influence weighed on me.

I could just stop walking but even awash in this torrent of emotions, one stronger still, rooted deep within drove me on. It just so happened to be the very next door. Curiosity loomed in front of me, a perfect replica of each door before, yet nothing the same. The patterns of the grain, the subtle changes in the dark gray to light, nothing had ever seemed so interesting. Unable to resist I gripped the captivatingly ordinary doorknob and let myself in.

To describe the room beyond the door with any semblance of specificity would be impossible as it is for me alone. That and the fact that the room lacked anything resembling distinction. As I stepped inside the door I found myself not in a room, but in wonder. At first there were walls, a floor, and a ceiling because my expectaions demanded such, a door leads to a room, obviously. But to compare this to a room would be equal to comaparing the Sistine Chapel to a sketch on a napkin. The ceiling that wasn't a ceiling sometimes, but was other times, was made of both the day and nightime sky, coelescing before my eyes to become Van Gogh's Starry night, shifting into the canvas of a zeppelin floating through an unfamiliar sky with a rippling sensation of looking down at the bottom of a crystal clear lake.

The walls that were sometimes there and sometimes not changed between a myriad of images of landscape both familiar, and not. A clipper ship on an ocean wave, capsizing, the ship rolls, enveloped by the crushing water, shifts into a rolling meadow of grass covered hills billowing as would a sail in the wind, shifting into a tempestuous hurricane in the atmosphere of some cyan tinted alien planet.

The floor shifted from white sand, to clear water, to stepping stones suspended over bulbous clouds, to a nauseating birds eye view of the naked earth miles below me. The entire room constantly shifting, changing, living, with no apparent meaning or relevance in the least, a constant torrent of overwhelming sensory stimulus. The only constant was a slender stone pedestal in the center of the "room" topped by a frameless mirror seemingly suspended above the pedestal but somehow held in place. As I approached the mirror I was nervous, would my perception of myself change as often and seemingly at random as my surroundings? But when I approached I saw only myself, staring intently at the only other unchanging thing in the "room." In the reflection I saw things behind me, people, places, buildings, I turned to look behind me only to find the ash colored door frameless against an everchanging wall. When I looked back to the mirror the images in the background were still there but changing themselves. I saw entire cities, marvels of technology, art, shelves upon shelves of books, mechanical innovations, government capitals; I saw all the facets of our society in the mirror and then everything was gone.

I had awakened from my reverie, finally found after once again being lost in the labrynth of my thoughts. It happens often of late, but never with such power. Considering what I had seen, what it could have meant, it came to me. Everything we are, all that we have achieved, everything we consider solid, real, tangible, and secure are all built on a foundation of imagination. Where imagination meets ambition innovation springs, nothing we have would be possible without someones head, at some point, being in the clouds. And we consider someone being "down to earth" a good thing... Imagine that.