So today is my birthday and as mentioned in a previous post entitled “Birthday Fears,” I am now my scary age: 28. I’m sitting here typing this while sipping on Peach Ciroc. Let’s call it a birthday treat and a much needed stress reducer, no addict. Then I’ll sip an energy drink: a dubios follow-up if there ever were one.
I’m super busy this week, which I suppose offers a hint as to how I should judge my life and my career at present moment. If you missed it, basically years ago I decided that at the age of 28 I needed to stop, see, and surmise my life at 28 and decide how to move forward as I inch closer to 30. Now that I’m here, I have to say things are definitely in need of an adjustment. I feel good that I’m writing for new places and that I’ve finally found more work to supplement what I lost from a lay off months ago very recently, though I still have the same frustrations I had even before then.
I want more, feel like I deserve more, and won’t be satisfied until I get it. In the meantime, you know, I’m trying to cope with disappointment. If it helps, despite wanting to cry this morning I did manage to do a drop after enough sips.
A few weeks ago, I stumbled along an old post based I did after Esquire’s lovely “What I’ve Learned” series. I was reading along and a few of the items listed made me think, “Damn, what I was talking about? So I wanted to update briefly. Here’s to hoping I have a similar feeling when I look at this again in the future.
When the nightmare happens all you can do is suck it up and deal with it. Begrudgingly if you have to, but you deal with it as best you can. I am a dreamer and even at my worst, I’m still doing all that I can to make my vision for my life happened. It gets hard – depressingly so even – but what else can you do when you have nothing else to fall back on?
I don’t want to pretend things are good if they aren’t. I wish people would allow you to feel however you choose to. If I don’t feel happy, let me be in my feelings. Not talking self-pity, but self-realization. How else will I conquer my doubts and fears if I don’t acknowledge them honestly? At the same time, one needs to learn when to see that things are getting better…just not at their schedule. Such is life.
I have no idea what to believe when it comes to my faith. I know there’s something there and I’d like to think of it as God, but Christianity, well, what used to comfort me ultimately became something that caused my great harm. Or maybe it always did and I’m only now realizing it. Jesus is the homeboy, but his people have been a nightmare. How to straddle the line between not believing in fables and needing to believe in something greater than yourself has left me at a crossroads. And I already know that the poor way I’ve reacted to bad times is undoubtedly connected to a lack of faith.
I feel humiliated about where I am in my life at present moment. All I can do is hope I don’t feel this way in the near future.
I love him so much, but it will never be what I want it to be. That hurts me more than he or anyone else realizes. It also spurs my resentment towards religion, as I look to that as the root of the problem, and harkens on a lingering issue I’ve felt maybe since childhood: The idea of being unloved by the people closet to you. Or at least, feeling that way. My family loves me and I them, but damn, it took a long while to see that. For good reason.
I am increasingly oversharing, but people seem to dig it. It simultaneously is kind of cathartic. I spent most of my life keeping people’s secrets. It ate me up inside. There has to be a reward for this kind of honesty, right? C’mon nah, encourage the cynic, why don’t you?
Being prideful is stupid. Any day now I’ll not only realize that, but behave accordingly.
I’m a great fucking writer. It’s about time time I said it. Humility is grand, but if you’re giving people the impression that you don’t think you’re great, they’ll react accordingly. That has missed up a few opportunities and it’s a habit that’s gotta end.
One needs to stretch. You never know when you might have to toot that thang, daddy, might it roll for the rent. I’m going to finesse my fitness regimen. It’d probably do wonders for the psyche. Not to mention, down times remind you that it’s always best to stay in stripper shape. I gotta get there. In the meantime, I’ve found the song I plan to Diamond myself to on stage if need be: The Yes Ma’ams’ “What Girls Are Made Of.” I am a son of irony. I can’t help it.
Meanwhile, get into them and that damn song. They are my new obsession.
Alright, I’m done with this. Happy birthday to me. And again, thank you to everyone who reads or has even ever read this site. I know it’s not as updated as often as it used to be, but you know, I write elsewhere to cover the bills. Look to your right for proof.
As a matter of fact, now look below.
See that? It’s a link to my PayPal account called “Help A Skinny Black Man” fund. Go on and help. You can drop couch change, bus far, cab fair, car note money, or one night stand with a reality star rates. Shit, whatever.