And Life Goes On....

It’s been a year, and I'm back home for another Christmas break. I figured that this post may have more significance than the others simply for the fact that it marks the anniversary (exactly to the day) of the creation of this journal. It is because of this that I have decided to reflect back on another year that I’ve had the privilege to live through....let's see...

The year has been one of (if not) the most interesting and inspiringly depressing years of my life. I have been through emotional extremes of joy and pain, have had sorrow tap me on the shoulder while happiness gave me a reassuring handshake, and have heard, felt, and known heartache knock on my door as peace tried its hardest to close the curtains of my soul. I've experienced a great deal (to say the least), and yet, I know beyond a shadow of the doubt that I've only scratched the surface of adulthood, which leads me to question the very validity of the claim that my age and educational status so deftly exclaims through every calligraphical nuance of my signature. Am I ready to lead a life of blaring uncertainties wrapped in a thin veil of analepticly assuaging promises of possible stability? Will I every be able to face the possibility of an inability to accomplish my lifelong dreams without the risk of taking chances that may not include the option of beginning where I started. How can I accept the fact that, despite the tears, love, contentment, and complacent frustration, I will still have to live through repeated instances of even deeper effecting emotions without cracking under the seemingly unbearable, monotonous pressure of them all?...

...I recently ended something in my life that had been atomically fused to every particle of my existence. Needless to say, it hurt. But the truth is, though I may never totally get over it, I’ll live. I figure that that's the beauty of life. The fact that joy and pain are like sunshine and rain never meant a thing to me until I cried tears of both happiness and sadness right before the end of that something came. The bliss I felt for having that something in my life and the hell I foresaw in that something leaving were for a single moment in time interchangeable. I'm guessing that in that same moment I saw the entirety of my life through those teardrops and I grew up all at once...

...Funnily enough this caused me to understand that, no matter how I may ever feel, I will never be truly and completely ready for each and every blow that life has the ability to throw my way. It is an incapability that I willingly concede to. But it is this incapability that makes me who and what I am. Life, at times, sucks harder than a marathon runner at the top of Mount Everest, in the middle of a hurricane (an embellishment?...yes... unfounded?...no...) This is something that I admit to. However, as long as I have a healthy desire to live, it is all but impossible for me not to roll with the punches (in spite of the black eyes and missing teeth). I will never be truly ready for adulthood because it does not come with a checklist of requirements. All I can do is plant my feet, take my stance and wait for the bell to ring.

Work in progress.....

I have a question. What does a person do when he or she, after finally realizing what is destined to be his or her calling, chooses to forsake it in order to be in good societal standing and to shield himself from the possibility of complete and total failure? If any of you who read this (assuming that anyone does) has an answer, I would like for you to contact me as soon as possible, because I am at a loss.

All of my previous posts about being unsure of my direction in life stem from not knowing the answer to this question. To put it in explicit terms (for those who do not know me personally) I am the epitome of a person existing outside of his calling, and it hurts me to no end. I am a follower of the belief that whatever it is I wake up in the morning and think about doing, whatever it is I dream of night and day, whatever it is that causes a joy in me that is surpassed by nothing else is essentially what I should devote my life to doing. Honestly and truly this idea is all well and good if one finds joy in doing something that would guarantee an (at least) stable means of living, but if a person who believes him or herself to be worth too much to gamble his or her prosperity on a path in life that is less stable then a tightrope walking elephant, how does this person cope with ( apparently needed) self imposed relegation. Better yet, what does this person do if he or she knows that the path to which they are called is one on which he or she performs exceptionally well. Is this person justified in taking a gamble in his or her future, or is it more imperative that the person think about the possible contributions that he or she is sure to be recognized and or thanked for in a field that is seen to be a more acceptable manifestation of his or her intellect and cognitive abilities? In plain English: should I pursue a music career or should I keep my future vested in the English/Political Science realm of thinking that is now my major scholastic focus?

I've tried integrating music into my life as an auxiliary occupant of my time and mental/creative energies, but truth be told it's not enough, because when I participate in activities with those individuals who have devoted their lives to the pursuit of happiness through this facet of inspired expression, I realize the void that is left in my life. It is a void that I have tried to cover with an alternate usage of my talents. It isn't that I am ignorant of the fact that covering this life problem will only result in a cursory quasi solution for an extensively actual predicament. I know full well that covering this void will only suffice in temporarily securing me through a day to day existence. I am even more aware of the fact that I will never be truly content with pursuing something other than what I feel I was born to do. My conundrum is not a result of a lack of understanding. No. The cause of it (put bluntly) is the lack of huevos and mental wherewithal that is required of me to pursue my life dream.

I try to normally end my posts on a positive or an at least objectively conclusive note, but this one seems to be too important to try to prematurely draw a close to solely for the purpose of perpetuating a sense of continuity. I'll just say that, for now, this problem is still a work in progress.

When all else fails....

It has definitely been a while since my last entry and it is from this fact that I have drawn a conclusion. The length of time between my posts is exactly proportional to the importance of what it is I decide to let off my chest in them. I don't know if it is a superficial internal desire for suspense or a fundamental internal fear of release (assuming that these ideas aren’t exactly the same) when it comes to writing in this here journal of mine. All this to say I've written a poem not only because it's my (and arguably the) premier literary device for communicating intensely inarticulable (probrobly not a word) ideas and feelings but also because free verse has always had a profound impact on me. Enough for the introduction...here goes:

My life has been a succession of disillusion and regression.
Plagued by struggle and confession of ethical rejection,
I cry the weary tears of unlearned lessons
I live the dreary years with overturned professions
My mind is lost in the sauce of intellectual discourse
Like prepubescent intercourse, I experience things before my time

With lack of reason or rhyme I struggle to find my meaning in life
In spite of the strife that keeps my mind and heart infinitely apart.
I press on, knowing deep inside that my actions are wrong
I potentially and existentially extinguish my mental energy in trying to reach synergy between the two.
Knowing full well the impossibility of what I propose to do.
I am proverbially screwed.

My reasoning misconstrued by none other then myself
I try and pull outside sources becoming a verbal contortionist
I falsely rationalize incorrectly criticize and internally ostracize my fundamental beliefs
In order to bequeath my desires to the entreats of others.
Now floundering, smothered within the blubber of these opinions
I heed the need for internal redemption,
An indefinite suspension of this inwardly harmful external retention

Realizing that every man is an island with interconnecting bridges
Philosophizing that each person is challenged with internally affecting decisions
I uncover (through contention with adamant outward dissention disguised as genial efforts of prevention) the self sustaining dimension of auto-inspired decisions.
Through this I resolve to change the focus of my attention
From an externally inspired diatribe to an internally conspired mental convention

No longer will I wallow in the shallow minded hollows of the public psyche
Now stronger I will follow the empirically ethereal overarching ideals that guide me.
Finally deciding to be the representative for the state of my being
It is now my own understanding on which I will be leaning.

debilitating idleness...

I realize now that one can be inwardly bored while being the exact opposite outwardly. I was previously blaming this boredom, a lethargic anti-energy that engulfed my every move, on my lack of steady employment/mobile activity, but when I started to work 4 days a week I saw where I was mistaken. I realized that this boredom came form some place much more deeply rooted and long running. It apparently originated in the mental restlessness that was the unfailing boon of my quest to find what I truly wanted to do in life.

I didn't come to this realization right away of course. What is life if not a continuously increasing sequence of consecutive and varyingly conclusive attempts of trial and error? I did know that I was close when I tried to write this deep seeded boredom off as a result of exiting the intellectually stimulating atmosphere of college (that wasn't sarcasm, I promise) and entering the safe and familiar world of home. But as every child who argues with his or her parent about the various "almosts" and (later on in adolescence) "relativelys" of life knows, almost only counts in horseshoes, hand grenades, and anything that isn't exactly what a parent requires of his or her child.

After realizing the connection between this oft used statement and my current situation I soon stopped kidding myself and got down to the nitty gritty. It occurred to me that the mental complacency from which I suffered was indeed a result of me leaving a place that necessitated the admittedly draining activity of 'thinking', but it was not the express cause of my boredom. I eventually concluded that it was not the end but the means that bothered me. Needless to say this made me nervous. It implied that the severity of this need for constant mental activity/challenge would relegate the only contentment I would ever find to avoiding the things that were often associated with being content.

No wonder I can't decide what I want to do in life; I have an apparently ardent desire to continue the habitual search for the rest of it. I now have to figure out how to convince my subconscious that profession is not necessarily synonymous with pigeonhole (though it knows better) but is indicative of specialization which ultimately alludes to the opportunity for in-depth analyses. I guess it would help if the conscious part of me actually believed it as well.

Here’s to successful autopersuation...

That four letter word...

It's been a while, and I must admit it would have been longer had I not made a conscious effort to make an attempt at writing something. I guess I was scared that by writing what I am about to, I would cross a threshold in this here web journal of mine. A point of no returns so to speak. It's kind of ironic that what lies at the root of my reluctance is what has caused me to open up in ways I had never dreamed possible. To put it bluntly, that often indescribable, increasingly commercial, totally under/overrated and grossly misused four letter word has crept past all of my outer social and emotional defenses and taken root at the very core of my soul. I know, up until this point I have spared you of the ordinary and admittedly mushy ideas that this four letter word brings to mind and I intend to continue to keep this journal that way...for the most part at least. I just thought that to avoid including this into the stockpile of feelings and beliefs that I have accumulated here over the months would be a horrible injustice to the very idea, ideal and ideology of this four letter word. So here goes:

It's amazing to me how much one particular word can be used so frequently and unthoughtfuly and yet still retain all of its meaning when its power is finally and truly recognized. And the miraculous thing is, the realization of its flagrant misusage does not even touch the very tips of the fabric of ones awareness until he or she understands or feels it for what it truly is. What is even more amazing, (at least in my case) is the ability for this word to beseech me to take into account all of the times I have used it prior, only to distinctly conclude that my usage of it was in the right direction but in the wrong vicinity.

The crazy thing is I know that no matter how far in depth my explanations attempt to plunge, they are fated to merely skim the surface as far as this word is concerned. It seems to me to be one of those ideas that one could spend his or her entire life studying and eventualy die with the the realization that not even the beginning inquires had been completed. It boggles the mind and eludes common (and often uncommon) perception. It asks for nothing and necessitated everything, and at times it seems too much for me to sanely contain. This causes me to conclude that in order for me to keep what little sanity it has allowed me to retain (no matter how torn and convoluted) I must let some of it escape by sharing it. The good thing is that I have the ability to shape the way in which it is shared. The bad thing is I can't seem to allow myself to take the easy way out and share the less involved aspect of it (if there even is in fact such a thing).

But all in all I reckon that sharing this decidedly more personal area of my life is not so bad. I guess that just as is with everything else, a word (after a little mental finagling) can be explained or shared in ways that are not specific enough to be too uncomfortable/painful for the sharer and not cryptic enough for the sharee to be thoroughly confused/annoyed and eventually offended by. I guess I'll stop here if not for the sake of length then for the sake of my fingers.