Today at the grocery store I observed a young father and his toddler aged daughter go shopping. She was very resistant to getting in the cart and instead of fighting with her, he gave up, and had a very frustrating shopping trip. This sparked something in me. Now, I know nothing about raising a toddler, but I do know about taking the easy way out.
It's human nature to make things easier on ourselves. We do things we are used to because going boldly into the unknown abyss is a foreign concept. I am equally guilty of this. I refuse to call delivery people because it makes me feel uncomfortable. I don't interact with strangers if I can avoid it because the thought of exposing myself to someone new makes me itch. I order the same thing at restaurants. I'm a creature of habit.
Here lately I've been doing things that are out of element. I spent my evenings with my nose in a book, or my fingers dancing across the computer writing a blog to be more productive. I'm going to bed earlier and waking up earlier. I'm keeping my promise of doing 30 minutes of chores. And quite honestly, I feel great. My self worth has rocketed. I feel important. I feel that my time is valuable and there's more to this world than the latest social media gossip.
Next time I'm working on doing things that scare me. Perhaps start up a conversation with a person in the grocery store. Maybe order that salad from Chipotle I've been meaning to order for 3 months. Something small can mean so much more.
Monday, August 31, 2015
I'll pray for you
I live a life full of sin
Don't go to church on every Sunday
I spend my morning sleeping in
Dreading that day called Monday
A man sits on my corner
Alone, and cold wishing he was warmer
Every day he asks me for a dime
Til one day I gave him some of my time
He told me he lost his job and lost his wife
He was sitting there thinking of taking his life
I told him there's a million reasons not to
I can't give you money, but here's what I'll do
I'll pray for you
For all the hard times you're going through
For the chance to renew
And a warm boiling pot of stew
I'll pray for you
Because that's what we're supposed to do
No matter what this life comes to
Know that I'll pray for you
I walked away, with a new found promise
When I stumbled across a woman lacking confidence
Her big blue eyes blinked away the tears
The cancer was taking away her years
She said the doc told her they could do more
The months of her life were limited to four
She had so much more to achieve
She had nothing else to believe
I put my hand on the back of her head
Took a deep breath and calmly said
I'll pray for you
For the hard times you're going through
For a miracle to appear
And for the end to not be so near
I'll pray for you
Because that's what we're supposed to do
No matter what this life comes to
Know I'll pray for you.
3 years later I sat in a hospital bed
A drunk driver had left me for dead
Everything I had ever known
Was waiting for me at the heavenly throne
All I could keep thinking was the word no
I told the lord I wasn't ready to go
The nurse came in and took my vitals
She was a kind woman with a fancy title
I asked her what exactly had it come down to
She said things looked rough, but here's what I'll do
I'll pray for you
For all the hard times you're going through
For the strength to win a losing fight
To never give up with all your might
I'll pray for you
Because that's what we're supposed to do
No matter what this life comes to
Know I'll pray for you
Now I'm here by God's good grace
I now know that in this world I have a place
To help those less than me
To find the one and start a family
And with each breath I take
I know my life is heaven made
And no matter what I'm going through
Just know I'll pray for you
Don't go to church on every Sunday
I spend my morning sleeping in
Dreading that day called Monday
A man sits on my corner
Alone, and cold wishing he was warmer
Every day he asks me for a dime
Til one day I gave him some of my time
He told me he lost his job and lost his wife
He was sitting there thinking of taking his life
I told him there's a million reasons not to
I can't give you money, but here's what I'll do
I'll pray for you
For all the hard times you're going through
For the chance to renew
And a warm boiling pot of stew
I'll pray for you
Because that's what we're supposed to do
No matter what this life comes to
Know that I'll pray for you
I walked away, with a new found promise
When I stumbled across a woman lacking confidence
Her big blue eyes blinked away the tears
The cancer was taking away her years
She said the doc told her they could do more
The months of her life were limited to four
She had so much more to achieve
She had nothing else to believe
I put my hand on the back of her head
Took a deep breath and calmly said
I'll pray for you
For the hard times you're going through
For a miracle to appear
And for the end to not be so near
I'll pray for you
Because that's what we're supposed to do
No matter what this life comes to
Know I'll pray for you.
3 years later I sat in a hospital bed
A drunk driver had left me for dead
Everything I had ever known
Was waiting for me at the heavenly throne
All I could keep thinking was the word no
I told the lord I wasn't ready to go
The nurse came in and took my vitals
She was a kind woman with a fancy title
I asked her what exactly had it come down to
She said things looked rough, but here's what I'll do
I'll pray for you
For all the hard times you're going through
For the strength to win a losing fight
To never give up with all your might
I'll pray for you
Because that's what we're supposed to do
No matter what this life comes to
Know I'll pray for you
Now I'm here by God's good grace
I now know that in this world I have a place
To help those less than me
To find the one and start a family
And with each breath I take
I know my life is heaven made
And no matter what I'm going through
Just know I'll pray for you
Saturday, August 29, 2015
Check yes or no
After a busy summer of political hot button items, the sentiment "opinions are like assholes" really rings true. I think I've deleted well over half of my Facebook friends. I can tolerate different, I can't tolerate ignorance. Throughout the summer a nagging feeling has been overcoming me. Is it possible to be so open minded that you're in fact close minded? Can political ignorance swing so far left, that there's no way to make it right? The answer is a resounding yes.
3 or 4 years ago, when ChikFilA decided to have it's "Traditional Marriage" day, everybody lost their shit. LGBT activists called for the CEO's head. How dare he they said, when in reality, he did what gay pride does every year. How is it acceptable for a specific group of people to come together and take a day to celebrate, when the other isn't? Is it because we think one is right, and one is wrong? Is it morally acceptable to persecute somebody for their personal beliefs?
I know what you're thinking, "Nate how can you sit here and say that when you yourself admitted to deleting half of your Facebook?" My response is this. I don't have to subject myself to that kind of hatred on a daily basis. I don't fault them for their beliefs. I don't agree with them, but they are not bad people. They're simply people who think different. Isn't that supposed to be the point of progression in America, respecting people for their differences?
I have a friend who is extremely liberal. Gay marriage, gun control, planned parenthood, all are okay to him. He detests anybody who is against his beliefs and it alters his mood to know that there are people out there who simply think differently. He's convinced he's on the right side of history, but in fact he's bringing it back a few generations. The beauty of this world is that no two people think differently.
One thing I will say is this, defending your beliefs based on your faith is one thing, but when you're known for not practicing your religion and then want to hide behind your faith it makes me raise an eyebrow. The Lord is our savior, not to be used at your convienence.
Sure, I have political beliefs that are questionable. I am actively for the death penalty, with more concrete guidelines. I believe the confederate flag is a symbol of racism. It's okay that others don't share my sentiments. It's not going to make me change them.
My whole point is, life is a revolving door. We won't be the same person 10 years from now that we are now, nor was 10 years ago. Don't hide behind a closed door. You never know what could be waiting for you on the other side.
3 or 4 years ago, when ChikFilA decided to have it's "Traditional Marriage" day, everybody lost their shit. LGBT activists called for the CEO's head. How dare he they said, when in reality, he did what gay pride does every year. How is it acceptable for a specific group of people to come together and take a day to celebrate, when the other isn't? Is it because we think one is right, and one is wrong? Is it morally acceptable to persecute somebody for their personal beliefs?
I know what you're thinking, "Nate how can you sit here and say that when you yourself admitted to deleting half of your Facebook?" My response is this. I don't have to subject myself to that kind of hatred on a daily basis. I don't fault them for their beliefs. I don't agree with them, but they are not bad people. They're simply people who think different. Isn't that supposed to be the point of progression in America, respecting people for their differences?
I have a friend who is extremely liberal. Gay marriage, gun control, planned parenthood, all are okay to him. He detests anybody who is against his beliefs and it alters his mood to know that there are people out there who simply think differently. He's convinced he's on the right side of history, but in fact he's bringing it back a few generations. The beauty of this world is that no two people think differently.
One thing I will say is this, defending your beliefs based on your faith is one thing, but when you're known for not practicing your religion and then want to hide behind your faith it makes me raise an eyebrow. The Lord is our savior, not to be used at your convienence.
Sure, I have political beliefs that are questionable. I am actively for the death penalty, with more concrete guidelines. I believe the confederate flag is a symbol of racism. It's okay that others don't share my sentiments. It's not going to make me change them.
My whole point is, life is a revolving door. We won't be the same person 10 years from now that we are now, nor was 10 years ago. Don't hide behind a closed door. You never know what could be waiting for you on the other side.
Thursday, August 27, 2015
Friends are like flowers.
When I graduated Kindergarten back in a year we won't discuss, we had to sing a song comparing friendship to flowers in the garden of life. I didn't really pay attention to the song at the time because 1. James was tone deaf (we sat beside each other alphabetically) and 2. I couldn't figure out why Mrs. Molnar had a deep speaking voice, and a high pitched singing voice.
Okay, so I got distracted. My apologies. The point is from the very tender age of 5 we are taught the importance of friendships. Being an only child in a family that adored me, I just assumed that everybody liked me. I didn't know there were parts of my personality to dissect and tear apart and make people not like me. I was in for a rude awakening when I started school. For some reason, being friends wasn't as easy as it seemed to be. Throughout elementary school, I had one mutual friend throughout the duration of my time at SES. I wasn't a loner by any means, but I had friends of convenience . If we were in the same class we were fine, if we weren't, I didn't talk to them all year. I was never invited to somebodies house, hanging out with kids from school was just something I didn't do, and by the time I left, I didn't have any friends at all.
In middle school I suddenly had an influx of friends. People didn't care that I was fat, or poor (things that plagued me in grade school). They liked me. Of course I had no idea how to deal with this new found adoration, and I squandered away all the friendships I had by being clingy, and making myself look better in order to fit in. As if my life wasn't compelling enough.
Flash forward to High School and I found a person to be my friend. We had each others backs, despite the difficulties in our life we never lost faith in each other. She was 3 years older than I was, but I loved her. She graduated, and moved away after 9th grade, but we never lost touch. I wound up going to a different high school where I was involved in extra curricular activities that gave me a group of friends whom I loved.
8 years out of high school and life teaches you some valuable lessons about friendship. I'm just going to come out and say it. The people you went to school with, are the people you went to school with. In some cases, (one in my life) the friends you made in high school stays with you. Through the trials and tribulations of adulthood that person is married to you. But most cases, people you went to school with turn into a memory. A story of "oh we used to be so close." A picture on social media can transport you back to a time and people in your life that you're happy you had the time together. Lunch dates become weeks, months, years apart. Texting is reduced to a "hope you're well" exchange on Facebook messenger.
Friendship, I've learned, is a huge amount of give and take and trial runs. Sure, new friendship is intoxicating. There's something incredibly wonderful about having a new friend. Getting to know someone is the best part of things. They don't remember that in 6th grade you lied about your birthday because you wanted your own cupcake. They weren't there for the melt down at 17 when your life seemed to be over because Monica didn't put you in the same position in her Myspace top 8. However, the ones that stick by you. The ones who support you no matter what. The ones who accept that on some days your mania is high, but loves you anyways. Those are a dime a dozen, and when you have them, cherish them.
I refuse to believe that people who TRULY want to be your friend will let you slip away. I moved away from my hometown in 2000, and from my home state in 2011. As previously mentioned, when I left my hometown I didn't have friends. And in 2011 I had a core group of friends, whom I still have to this day. Distance hasn't changed our relationship,, why? Because I accept the limitations that is our life, and I make the effort to change things. I know my friend Randall is the worst communicator on the face of the planet. He takes days to text back, never answers his phone, is generally a busy person, leading a busy life, in the land of busy. I accept this. I text him anyways. I call him every other week and leave him silly voicemails. I don't let him go because I love him, and he matters to me. I do this with all my friendshipa. I keep it together, because those who matter to me, are worth my time. I don't accept the phrase "I don't have time" I've worked 40 hours a week while attending 12 hours of school, and spending time job shadowing, and I still made time out of my day to let my friends know that I was thinking about them. That's how my 2 best friends remain my best friends despite 4 1/2 and 7 years of distance.
There are some cases I've found recently that the people you weren't friends with orginially doesn't necessarily mean you weren't meant to be friends with them later on.
Gretchen was the most popular girl in school. Everybody knew who she was, and everybody, including me, wanted to be her friend. In 2nd grade, she was recognized as doing the best job learning the Macarena in Mrs. Tyree's class. We didn't have the same teacher until 4th grade. By then she had long established friendships, and didn't share my same admiration of her. Despite being a tomboy, she was very much boys are icky. That said, in 4th grade she was the one who cheered me on in gym class when nobody would. She was the one who would tell the boys not to pick on me. She allowed me to dance square dancing with her when nobody else would. In 5th grade things changed, she befriended people who did not like me, and ultimately followed their lead. She was by far a superior person both intellectually and personally. Gretchen was making 100 on math quizzes, and they were making 70's. When she wasn't around them (on the bus) she was the same Gretchen I grew up loving. I didn't understand what changed in one year. Or why she thought it was important to turn my notes to the teacher, when I'd pass her notes. I left SES, and Gretchen became a memory. She became the pretty wide eyed girl who cut her butt length hair in 3rd grade, and laughed louder and harder than anybody else. When social media brought us together 10 years later, I suddenly realized that her and I were essentially the same person. We were like minded, intelligent, individuals on the same wavelength on a majority of political and social issues. The only thing we disagree on is my love for the grocery store and her disdain for Christmas music. Of course, she has the life I dream of. Happily married, with a beautiful house, and a college education. Yet, despite that, she doesn't treat me like I am a less of an individual. We had very different grade school experiences, and we love to reminisce. Now, she's my daily texting buddy. But she's more than a texting buddy. I consider her one of my closest friends.
John and I were middle school rivals from the beginning. John was the best singer in the school until I came around. That jealousy led to bitter fights and arguments. I was insanely jealous of John. Here he was, an only child of a wealthy and highly respected couple. He had everything he could imagine, except health. He had a bad heart and had to go through major surgeries to fix it. When I came to his high school in 10th grade, he was the one who told everyone I was gay. Our friends from my previous high school told him and he decided it needed to be a secret no more. I resented him for years over that. But I soon realized John was harboring a huge secret but was unable to admit the truth. A secret I once, in a moment of pure drunkness, invited him to share. I told him it was okay, and that life would move on. We even wound up going to the same college, where we'd talk occasionally but never in the same circle. My jealousy became admiration. I was inspired with how hardworking, determined, and talented he was. Through social media we kept in touch, and last year he fell in love and decided to tell the world. I was cheering him from afar because I knew what he was going through. John, always liked, always respected, was now experiencing small town mentality. My heart broke for him, but at the same time I was rejoicing because finally, this man that I had grown to respect and look up to could be free. We now talk a couple times a week. We are away from our hometowns enjoying life.
Folks, friendship is about effort. Friendship is about allowing somebody into your life who deserves to be there. Friendship is about making time out of your day to tell someone you're thinking about them. Friendship takes hard work. Friendship comes in the most unexpected places. But friendship is the most beautiful thing, growing in the garden of life.
Okay, so I got distracted. My apologies. The point is from the very tender age of 5 we are taught the importance of friendships. Being an only child in a family that adored me, I just assumed that everybody liked me. I didn't know there were parts of my personality to dissect and tear apart and make people not like me. I was in for a rude awakening when I started school. For some reason, being friends wasn't as easy as it seemed to be. Throughout elementary school, I had one mutual friend throughout the duration of my time at SES. I wasn't a loner by any means, but I had friends of convenience . If we were in the same class we were fine, if we weren't, I didn't talk to them all year. I was never invited to somebodies house, hanging out with kids from school was just something I didn't do, and by the time I left, I didn't have any friends at all.
In middle school I suddenly had an influx of friends. People didn't care that I was fat, or poor (things that plagued me in grade school). They liked me. Of course I had no idea how to deal with this new found adoration, and I squandered away all the friendships I had by being clingy, and making myself look better in order to fit in. As if my life wasn't compelling enough.
Flash forward to High School and I found a person to be my friend. We had each others backs, despite the difficulties in our life we never lost faith in each other. She was 3 years older than I was, but I loved her. She graduated, and moved away after 9th grade, but we never lost touch. I wound up going to a different high school where I was involved in extra curricular activities that gave me a group of friends whom I loved.
8 years out of high school and life teaches you some valuable lessons about friendship. I'm just going to come out and say it. The people you went to school with, are the people you went to school with. In some cases, (one in my life) the friends you made in high school stays with you. Through the trials and tribulations of adulthood that person is married to you. But most cases, people you went to school with turn into a memory. A story of "oh we used to be so close." A picture on social media can transport you back to a time and people in your life that you're happy you had the time together. Lunch dates become weeks, months, years apart. Texting is reduced to a "hope you're well" exchange on Facebook messenger.
Friendship, I've learned, is a huge amount of give and take and trial runs. Sure, new friendship is intoxicating. There's something incredibly wonderful about having a new friend. Getting to know someone is the best part of things. They don't remember that in 6th grade you lied about your birthday because you wanted your own cupcake. They weren't there for the melt down at 17 when your life seemed to be over because Monica didn't put you in the same position in her Myspace top 8. However, the ones that stick by you. The ones who support you no matter what. The ones who accept that on some days your mania is high, but loves you anyways. Those are a dime a dozen, and when you have them, cherish them.
I refuse to believe that people who TRULY want to be your friend will let you slip away. I moved away from my hometown in 2000, and from my home state in 2011. As previously mentioned, when I left my hometown I didn't have friends. And in 2011 I had a core group of friends, whom I still have to this day. Distance hasn't changed our relationship,, why? Because I accept the limitations that is our life, and I make the effort to change things. I know my friend Randall is the worst communicator on the face of the planet. He takes days to text back, never answers his phone, is generally a busy person, leading a busy life, in the land of busy. I accept this. I text him anyways. I call him every other week and leave him silly voicemails. I don't let him go because I love him, and he matters to me. I do this with all my friendshipa. I keep it together, because those who matter to me, are worth my time. I don't accept the phrase "I don't have time" I've worked 40 hours a week while attending 12 hours of school, and spending time job shadowing, and I still made time out of my day to let my friends know that I was thinking about them. That's how my 2 best friends remain my best friends despite 4 1/2 and 7 years of distance.
There are some cases I've found recently that the people you weren't friends with orginially doesn't necessarily mean you weren't meant to be friends with them later on.
Gretchen was the most popular girl in school. Everybody knew who she was, and everybody, including me, wanted to be her friend. In 2nd grade, she was recognized as doing the best job learning the Macarena in Mrs. Tyree's class. We didn't have the same teacher until 4th grade. By then she had long established friendships, and didn't share my same admiration of her. Despite being a tomboy, she was very much boys are icky. That said, in 4th grade she was the one who cheered me on in gym class when nobody would. She was the one who would tell the boys not to pick on me. She allowed me to dance square dancing with her when nobody else would. In 5th grade things changed, she befriended people who did not like me, and ultimately followed their lead. She was by far a superior person both intellectually and personally. Gretchen was making 100 on math quizzes, and they were making 70's. When she wasn't around them (on the bus) she was the same Gretchen I grew up loving. I didn't understand what changed in one year. Or why she thought it was important to turn my notes to the teacher, when I'd pass her notes. I left SES, and Gretchen became a memory. She became the pretty wide eyed girl who cut her butt length hair in 3rd grade, and laughed louder and harder than anybody else. When social media brought us together 10 years later, I suddenly realized that her and I were essentially the same person. We were like minded, intelligent, individuals on the same wavelength on a majority of political and social issues. The only thing we disagree on is my love for the grocery store and her disdain for Christmas music. Of course, she has the life I dream of. Happily married, with a beautiful house, and a college education. Yet, despite that, she doesn't treat me like I am a less of an individual. We had very different grade school experiences, and we love to reminisce. Now, she's my daily texting buddy. But she's more than a texting buddy. I consider her one of my closest friends.
John and I were middle school rivals from the beginning. John was the best singer in the school until I came around. That jealousy led to bitter fights and arguments. I was insanely jealous of John. Here he was, an only child of a wealthy and highly respected couple. He had everything he could imagine, except health. He had a bad heart and had to go through major surgeries to fix it. When I came to his high school in 10th grade, he was the one who told everyone I was gay. Our friends from my previous high school told him and he decided it needed to be a secret no more. I resented him for years over that. But I soon realized John was harboring a huge secret but was unable to admit the truth. A secret I once, in a moment of pure drunkness, invited him to share. I told him it was okay, and that life would move on. We even wound up going to the same college, where we'd talk occasionally but never in the same circle. My jealousy became admiration. I was inspired with how hardworking, determined, and talented he was. Through social media we kept in touch, and last year he fell in love and decided to tell the world. I was cheering him from afar because I knew what he was going through. John, always liked, always respected, was now experiencing small town mentality. My heart broke for him, but at the same time I was rejoicing because finally, this man that I had grown to respect and look up to could be free. We now talk a couple times a week. We are away from our hometowns enjoying life.
Folks, friendship is about effort. Friendship is about allowing somebody into your life who deserves to be there. Friendship is about making time out of your day to tell someone you're thinking about them. Friendship takes hard work. Friendship comes in the most unexpected places. But friendship is the most beautiful thing, growing in the garden of life.
Sunday, August 23, 2015
Cinderella I am not.
If I may stereotype for a minute, being gay brought me a lot of fine attributes. I am a fantastic shopping companion, I have a gaggle of insanely hot gal pals, and I give a toe-curling blowjob. Unfortunately, a few things escaped me; my lovefest for a fork over fashion, and my natural untidiness just to name a couple.
I'm the first to admit, I'm not a naturally clean person. I'm not as bad as I used to be, but I'm no where near neat. I find cleaning tedious and the most unappreciative thing I could ever do. It's endless, nothing stays the same where you put it, and if I'm going to get all hot and sweaty, it better because of something better than mopping.
Unlike most men my age (again, stereotyping) I KNOW how to clean house. There's pictures of me at 8 years old washing a sink full of dishes. My mother firmly believed in raising me not to be lazy, (oops) and messy (double oops). I think because she is both of those things, and my grandmother isn't, she was trying to pass on tidiness to my generation.
I guess the biggest complaint I have with cleaning these days is the fact that my mother doesn't pick up after herself. I can scrub the kitchen, and wake up the next day and see blatant evidence where she's packed her lunch. Evidently she's allergic to the trashcan. Something.
While I am presently unemployed, my mother and I had an agreement that she would provide me a rent free living environment so long as I attend school, and I took so responsibility of the domestic household duties. I believe I got the messy part of the bargain (see what I did there?).
The strange part about it is I actually don't mind the act of cleaning. There's something oddly satisfying seeing your house become clean. There's a relaxing sensation that comes with an entirely spotless house. Generally, when I am cleaning, I have music blasting on my favorite station (lately it's been Shania Twain or Kesha) and I go to work. It the systematic dread beforehand that gets me before I start. I blow it into a bigger proportion, or I procrastinate to the point it's overwhelming.
So, I'm making myself a new promise (seems to be a new trend). Cleaning is inevitable, and if I want peace in this house, and reduce the constant negativity, I will take a half an hour out of my day and clean up. The house isn't that big, it shouldn't take that long. 30 minutes a day. I can spare 30 minutes a day (talking like I actually have a busy and prosperous life).
30 minutes. 6 songs on Pandora. Peace of mind.
I'm the first to admit, I'm not a naturally clean person. I'm not as bad as I used to be, but I'm no where near neat. I find cleaning tedious and the most unappreciative thing I could ever do. It's endless, nothing stays the same where you put it, and if I'm going to get all hot and sweaty, it better because of something better than mopping.
Unlike most men my age (again, stereotyping) I KNOW how to clean house. There's pictures of me at 8 years old washing a sink full of dishes. My mother firmly believed in raising me not to be lazy, (oops) and messy (double oops). I think because she is both of those things, and my grandmother isn't, she was trying to pass on tidiness to my generation.
I guess the biggest complaint I have with cleaning these days is the fact that my mother doesn't pick up after herself. I can scrub the kitchen, and wake up the next day and see blatant evidence where she's packed her lunch. Evidently she's allergic to the trashcan. Something.
While I am presently unemployed, my mother and I had an agreement that she would provide me a rent free living environment so long as I attend school, and I took so responsibility of the domestic household duties. I believe I got the messy part of the bargain (see what I did there?).
The strange part about it is I actually don't mind the act of cleaning. There's something oddly satisfying seeing your house become clean. There's a relaxing sensation that comes with an entirely spotless house. Generally, when I am cleaning, I have music blasting on my favorite station (lately it's been Shania Twain or Kesha) and I go to work. It the systematic dread beforehand that gets me before I start. I blow it into a bigger proportion, or I procrastinate to the point it's overwhelming.
So, I'm making myself a new promise (seems to be a new trend). Cleaning is inevitable, and if I want peace in this house, and reduce the constant negativity, I will take a half an hour out of my day and clean up. The house isn't that big, it shouldn't take that long. 30 minutes a day. I can spare 30 minutes a day (talking like I actually have a busy and prosperous life).
30 minutes. 6 songs on Pandora. Peace of mind.
Saturday, August 22, 2015
Gorge.
My name is Nate and I'm a compulsive over eater.
I haven't made myself say that in awhile. I chose to forgo my OA meetings because I decided to "cure" my illness with surgery. It's August 20th. My foodstamps don't get replenished until September 2nd. I've eaten $181 worth of food, plus an additional $150 that Mom bought. Gone. I obviously don't deal with grief well. I kept telling myself after I'd go back for seconds, thirds, fourths that I was having a bad week and needed to stop. Save these things, Nate. You still have two weeks to go. I didn't listen, and now I'm hungry.
Maybe this is the wake-up call I needed. Maybe I need to go back to OA. Maybe I need to actually apply diet techniques I know that are ingrained in my soul. Maybe maybe is bullshit. The time is now. No better time to start a diet than when you're low on food.
For the record I'm not going to starve, it's just skimpy.
I haven't made myself say that in awhile. I chose to forgo my OA meetings because I decided to "cure" my illness with surgery. It's August 20th. My foodstamps don't get replenished until September 2nd. I've eaten $181 worth of food, plus an additional $150 that Mom bought. Gone. I obviously don't deal with grief well. I kept telling myself after I'd go back for seconds, thirds, fourths that I was having a bad week and needed to stop. Save these things, Nate. You still have two weeks to go. I didn't listen, and now I'm hungry.
Maybe this is the wake-up call I needed. Maybe I need to go back to OA. Maybe I need to actually apply diet techniques I know that are ingrained in my soul. Maybe maybe is bullshit. The time is now. No better time to start a diet than when you're low on food.
For the record I'm not going to starve, it's just skimpy.
Let it Go...
Though truly repetitive, and the constant ear worm, there's something exceptionally poignant about Idina Menzel's "Let It Go." Somehow, releasing years of bent up frustrations and failures into an isolated ice castle captures the essence of spiritial cleansing we all desperately need. As I close the chapter that is my 20's, I can say, without uncertainty. that I have a hard time letting go.
My post high school life has been a myriad of bad decisions, impulsive mistakes, and enough bumps in the road to give a tractor trailer a flat tire. Throughout each trial and tribulation, a piece of my soul aches for the time where there weren't any empty patches requiring stitches. The awkwardness of the situations have long faded, but there's a twinge of everybody's least favorite word; regret.
Sure, it's super motivational for the gymnast on TV who lost her chance to fulfill a life long dream to say she doesn't believe in regrets. She's under scrutiny to say the the right things and the most devastating time in her life. But when the lights fade, the makeup is washed off, and you're sitting in the dark with only the moon as your source of light, regret creeps into your mind.
I have a stupid memory. I say stupid because I can remember the seating pattern of my 5th grade class. The birthday of every person I've ever met. What I wore on the day I got my first speeding ticket. I can tell you facts about your own life you probably don't remember. All those are useful when I cruise on Memory Lane in the center of Nostalgiaville. Unfortunately, I remember every class I failed. Every friend I've lost and why. Things I shouldn't have said, and things I should have said. Without warning a memory flashes vividly thorough my mind and I'm instantly transported to that exact place, exact time, exact mood. Sometimes, I close my eyes, and shake my head to just blot out the memory.
I've often delved into the deep epicenter of my mind to try and justify things so I feel less regretful. I dropped out of the college of my dreams because I had a mental illness flare up that was undiagnosed for 2 years. It's okay that I neglected all my aspirations of what I wanted to be, or who I could be. 6 years later, it's not. There's an ache in my heart that will never subside. The friendships that I lost, the opportunities that I wasted, the things I chose to do instead haunts me.
On this path to emotional stability, certain parameters have to happen in order for me to achieve my ultimate goal. One of which I have to learn to forgive myself. I don't believe in God. I don't believe that this is His timing, and his will. My life is a result of the choices I have made. Said choices, that were already made. Meaning past tense. There is no unmaking them. I did it. So, here's a promise to myself. I am not a perfect specimen. I do not have all the answers. Life is challenging. But, I am a good person. I have a kind soul, and a gentle spirit. My mistakes don't define who I am. My regrets will not alter the plan I have for my life. I promise myself to cut myself a break. Accept the things I cannot, change and have the courage to change the things I can (yes, that's the serenity prayer, still don't believe in God). To life my live and propel myself forward. To sing to the top of my lungs a Disney song, and write positive affirmations. To be a good student, a good friend, and a good person. Because, as Menzel says, "I'm never going back, the past is in the past."
My post high school life has been a myriad of bad decisions, impulsive mistakes, and enough bumps in the road to give a tractor trailer a flat tire. Throughout each trial and tribulation, a piece of my soul aches for the time where there weren't any empty patches requiring stitches. The awkwardness of the situations have long faded, but there's a twinge of everybody's least favorite word; regret.
Sure, it's super motivational for the gymnast on TV who lost her chance to fulfill a life long dream to say she doesn't believe in regrets. She's under scrutiny to say the the right things and the most devastating time in her life. But when the lights fade, the makeup is washed off, and you're sitting in the dark with only the moon as your source of light, regret creeps into your mind.
I have a stupid memory. I say stupid because I can remember the seating pattern of my 5th grade class. The birthday of every person I've ever met. What I wore on the day I got my first speeding ticket. I can tell you facts about your own life you probably don't remember. All those are useful when I cruise on Memory Lane in the center of Nostalgiaville. Unfortunately, I remember every class I failed. Every friend I've lost and why. Things I shouldn't have said, and things I should have said. Without warning a memory flashes vividly thorough my mind and I'm instantly transported to that exact place, exact time, exact mood. Sometimes, I close my eyes, and shake my head to just blot out the memory.
I've often delved into the deep epicenter of my mind to try and justify things so I feel less regretful. I dropped out of the college of my dreams because I had a mental illness flare up that was undiagnosed for 2 years. It's okay that I neglected all my aspirations of what I wanted to be, or who I could be. 6 years later, it's not. There's an ache in my heart that will never subside. The friendships that I lost, the opportunities that I wasted, the things I chose to do instead haunts me.
On this path to emotional stability, certain parameters have to happen in order for me to achieve my ultimate goal. One of which I have to learn to forgive myself. I don't believe in God. I don't believe that this is His timing, and his will. My life is a result of the choices I have made. Said choices, that were already made. Meaning past tense. There is no unmaking them. I did it. So, here's a promise to myself. I am not a perfect specimen. I do not have all the answers. Life is challenging. But, I am a good person. I have a kind soul, and a gentle spirit. My mistakes don't define who I am. My regrets will not alter the plan I have for my life. I promise myself to cut myself a break. Accept the things I cannot, change and have the courage to change the things I can (yes, that's the serenity prayer, still don't believe in God). To life my live and propel myself forward. To sing to the top of my lungs a Disney song, and write positive affirmations. To be a good student, a good friend, and a good person. Because, as Menzel says, "I'm never going back, the past is in the past."
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