Beginnings

Journaling

In coming here I plead the fifth as to what I wish to nurture in me or whether or not to convey or keep secret all that jazz in my head. All I know is I have a yearning to emote, to not conceal myself in the sea of people and be men among men at a distance. Yet sometimes cautiously I abandon my post as conveyor of tech security and post my thoughts without abandon or thoughts of reprimand. I guess, what I mean is, I want to be unique, just like everybody else.

In this world it is best to be ready for anything so if something arises you're awake to the opportunity presented. My approach doesn't exactly fit that mold. I'm defiant to a T, yet docile, even patronizing. I have conflicts of interest, selfish motives attached to a guise of altruism. I think that only makes me more human. Wanting recognition and praise. Being noticed or even lauded. Appreciated not for something I did, but for who I am intrinsically that is my essential essence, always in motion though, not static. A torrential river of activity not a statue. Constantly wanting to learn and adapt and be "a part of". I've seen my share of being ostracized from the in-group. Me being awkward and introverted; I need to be poked and prodded at times when I get stuck. But I clean up well and can put on a happy face, pretend to fit like a glove in situations where I feel dis-ease. And yet the world continues to astonish me with what has been afforded me. Like I need to be pinched it's going so well at that moment. I'm fresh from a journey to the East Coast. Still absorbing all the wonderful attractions and succulent food along with ample time to just talk with a kindred spirit, my brother. I don't know how I haven't gone to see him for this long, but I tend to drift off into the rabbit holes of life and can let time pass without seeming to be growing but just subsisting. I'm not. I'm always attracted to new projects and ideas and fantasies of a better quality of life and achieving stability within.

Another thing drives me here. I want to leave a part of me behind. I know it sounds morbid coming from someone who could have many years ahead, but I find myself latent with foreboding sometimes veering and knowing that I am on borrowed time. This may not make much sense now, but I'm sure I'll probably give explanations about being me. Not that I am even aware of my own situation or whether there are explanations. Some things just are. I exist so I write. I yearn for the mornings mostly to journal and see the morning light cast long shadows across my living room with mildly hot coffee and a lit cigarette nearby. Musing about what I want out of life when life is passing through me as I ponder.