Rebirth

Today is a new day, and I am a new man.

By the sweat of my brow, I shall work; not for others, but for myself. Life is an adventure, and it is one I cannot wait to experience. 

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find me, unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul. 

I Find Comfort in the Slowness

Time is a strange concept. I have struggled with its passage for most of my life. 

I remember as a young kid, not more than five or six years old, being slightly annoyed by how slowly time crawled. Dad could never get home from work soon enough. Only how many more minutes until Sesame Street came on? And summers. Good Lord. They were endless. I remember soaking in the sun on the back stoop of the house we grew up on down on Wortman in Claremore, just waiting. For what, I can never remember. Maybe for my sister to get home from visiting her friends. Maybe I was waiting for the mail to arrive, and maybe there would be a new Lego catalog. Maybe I was waiting for the newspaper, so I could check the baseball box scores. Maybe I was waiting for my cousin to come visit. I'd just sit there by the sandbox, and let the sun beat down. I'd feel it soak into the back of my neck. I'd feel the warmth of the sun through the bottom of my feet as I rested them on the concrete stoop. Just waiting...and basking in the sun.

Somewhere along the way, time began to betray me. I don't remember when. Yesterday? Two months ago? Two decades ago? I don't know. Time is funny out here on the frontier. But, I look up, and too much time has passed. The sun has risen and set more times than I care to count. It makes me uneasy.

At least it is something I notice. In the evenings, I take comfort in the slowness. I sit, and I let time creep by, much in the same ways I once did when I was young. I sit, and I pretend that the mailman is coming with a Lego catalog. I pretend that I am waiting on the newspaper to see how the Indians did yesterday. I sit, and I soak up the sun. I watch it paint a masterpiece across the sky. The sun leaves me each evening as it sets in the west. But, I know it will be back again. It will rise in the morning, and bring a sunrise that is more beautiful than I might think possible. It always has. I find comfort in that.

I find comfort in the slowness. 

#EverythingisOK

I used to love to draw. It was a little bit therapeutic for me when I was growing up. No matter how "hard" life was, I could always escape to my room, and let my brain sort through things as I started to create something. I expressed myself to no one in particular; I created for an audience of me.

I was still pretty young when I stopped, though. I wasn't more than twelve or thirteen. I am afflicted by a belief that "I'm not good enough." It is a lie, of course. But, that doesn't make it any less real to a twelve-year-old boy. They can believe anything, especially what they tell themselves. At some point, that kid took notice of other talented artists, and convinced himself he wasn't good enough. So, he abandoned something he loved.

I haven't drawn anything really since I was about twelve. Today, I decided that I needed to get to know that little boy that still lives deep inside of me; that little boy who is hurt and never believes in himself. And, that little boy hasn't drawn anything for almost twenty years. His skills, whatever they once were, were rusty.

It was good to spend the evening with that boy. I tried to tell him everything is OK. I hope he understands. I hope.

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