All this business about finding one’s self. The never-ending story.
Anyway, I won’t get into that again. I just wanted to share a video. Quite profound, really, the words, the intonation, and the images. You have a hard time not wondering what it all means. What does this all mean? As I sit inside my empty apartment, I have to wonder to myself what this all means?
I feel an emptiness. A hole, deep down, that seems bottomless, but I have started to find things to fill in that hole. Small grains of sand brought forth to fill the abyss, but eventually (if you look hard enough) you will see that this hole is being filled with all of those small, seemingly insignificant grains of sand, and that will fill you with wonder.
Again with the tangents. I will get back to the main point of this spiel. Listen to what this man has to say. Listen to his words, listen to his amazement, and let them fill you up with wonder. Take a moment out of your busy schedule to actually wonder. Be filled with doubt. Be filled with the inexpressible emotions reserved away within. Let them wash over you, and you will know what truths lie within.
Anyway, if his words do not lead you a little closer to a light of truth, then I cannot imagine what could.
I have a continuously growing feeling that I cannot hold back. It rears its head at me, and then it retreats. It fills me up, clouding my mind and bringing me to my knees. My brain feels like it will explode, and my eyes pain to see the world around me. Everything seems to move in slow motion, or maybe it is just me, and the world is a chaotic blur around me. I’m not sure anymore.
Where do I begin?
I feel like I have lost everything. Now there’s a pessimistic sentence… It is a chance for a new beginning. They say that change is good, and I am coming to realize this. But who really wants to experience heart-wrenching change. Who really wants to be thrown into the dark without a light to find their way? Who really wants to fall into the dead winter: cold and helpless against the frost?
No one.
Most of the time, I walk around in a haze. Surrounded by people, passing me by, laughing and smiling: oblivious. But are they the oblivious ones? Maybe it’s me. I’m the oblivious one walking through this world. Unconscious to the fact that people surround me. It seems to me that loneliness is a deeply rooted personal endeavor to keep the world out. Walls and towers are thrown up, strong against a harsh world. It isn’t even safe to peek out to look down at the world that surrounds you.
I have built the walls all of my life. Rarely do I let people in. I smile, and I laugh, but I rarely love. Some might say that it is hard to come to a conclusion like that at such an early age. I might say that they’re wrong. I know me. I am a fiercely loyal friend, if I become friends with someone. I am not the type of person that takes friendship, or love for that matter, lightly. I cannot just throw it away for something else in the world. I cannot just run from friendship and memories like they were nothing. I immerse myself in a friendship, in love, and when it disappears, I am devastated. But you would never know me to be devastated. I put up a front, the walls and towers, and no one can see inside.
That thought scares me. I remember for years that I would keep people out. Most of my life actually. No one knows, so no one has to care, so no one has to worry. Maybe it’s just a phase. Maybe I will outgrow this growing feeling. I can cover it up pretty well, I can bottle it up and put it on a shelf, I can write it down and burn it to ash. But will it disappear completely? When will I be free?
Some may say that the answer to that question is easy. You are free when you set yourself free. Maybe that is true. Maybe that is the simplest answer to the most complicated question. How do I set myself free? Free from this feeling, free from the headache of pain. (Just a side note, I mean free physically and mentally, but I really like living, so let’s not start thinking that this means anything fatal…)
Freedom. An American Privilege. But does that mean you can release yourself from the very walls that you have created to keep you safe? I want to run. I want to run away from the memories, and I want to let the pain fly away behind me like a kite. I want to close my eyes and let the sun’s warmth swallow me. I want to be able to look around and become one of the coherent humans in the world. I don’t like being oblivious, but it is the only way to live within the walls.
I have lived this way for years. Locked behind a mask. Very few have taken a peek behind the mask, but did they actually see me or was I just hiding again? I call myself a loyal friend, and maybe I am, but am I an honest friend? Do I let the people I call friends know who I really am? The only way to answer that question is to ask myself: do I really know who I am? That answer is complex.
I do no know how to know myself. They say that if you experience life, and if you live to the best of your ability you will be able to find out who you are. I look in the mirror, and I see a stranger. I do not know the person in front of me any better than anyone else does. I know this sounds all types of “complainy,” and I know that everyone has problems to equal mine, or they have problems of a magnitude that I do not even want to imagine. I commend them for their grace and elegance. They are walking around in the world, and they are living. Do they know who they are? Do they really know? It is hard to imagine, they say the human brain is a complex machine. But they also say that machines have ghosts. What ghosts are hidden from us?
Point in case, I try to remember anything before the age of five or six, and I cannot even glimpse that time. I cannot remember my life up until that point. Is that a ghost in the machine? Another example, from as far back as I can remember, I have bottled up any of my anger. I do not like to display it for the world to see, and I do not like to express it. Where does the anger go? Why did I decide that that was the best way to deal with it? Another ghost.
Some days, I just want to be able to walk out into the world and know that I am welcome. I want to know exactly who I am, and I want others to be able to know that person. I have read that until you love yourself, others cannot love you. How do you love someone that causes you so much pain? Of course, I blame myself for the wrongs in my life. It is only natural. Self-hatred is only comparable to self-destruction, but they also say that there is a fine line between love and hate.
At this point in my life, I am having a hard time finding reasons to love myself. I have read that you should wake up in the morning, look yourself in the eyes in the mirror, and say, “I love you.” Whenever I do this, it feels insincere and ungracious. A stranger on the street would not be easier to convince. But it is a stranger that lives in the mirror world. I do not know him. He does not convince me that he loves me. I can’t wake up in the morning, look myself in the eyes, and lie. That is self-destruction.
So I guess it is up to time to tell the story. I know that I must love my real self before others will be welcome, but I still have no idea who that is. I do not know who the person is in the mirror. I only know that he causes me irrevocable pain, every day. How can I trust the person in the mirror? How can I trust myself to love myself when love is so easily lost?
I know that I have friends that are by my side, and that love me. I know that I have family that loves me unconditionally. But I do not yet love myself, nor shall I love myself until I know who I am. This seems logical, until you realize that love is not bound by logic.
I guess I am walking into the dark. I am moving forward, at least, but it is not a clear future. Each step takes me closer and further away from pain. I do not know what to say to comfort anyone at this point.
All I know right now, at this minute, is this: I will wake up in the morning, glance at myself in the mirror, and then I will look away. I will go through the actions of getting myself ready, and then I will step out into the wide world. I will be surrounded by people, and still feel lonely, only occasionally taking the time to notice the people around me. I will follow these actions in a closely guarded manner, and no one will know that I feel pain with each breath I take. No one will know that I do not know who I am, and no one will know that I do not love myself: and that will be okay. Because eventually, one day, they will know. But by that time, I will know who I am, and I will love myself.
Tomorrow is another day. I might just look into the mirror and see a familiar face.
Just an addition, below you will find a video that I have taken to heart over the past week. I haven't liked a song this much in quite a while, and I think it sums things up pretty nicely.
The day that everyone bulldozes all of their junk from the confines of the garage, attic, or basement. After the bulldozing, they throw the junk in hodge-podge piles all over their lawn or down their driveways for early-risers to come poke through and buy at insane mark down pricing.
Of course, there is an art to “yard-saling.” Driving down the street at 40 mph, you suddenly see the handmade, fluorescent green sign marked in bold, permanent marker: “Yard Sale.” The car whizzes past the sign, and you are still craning your neck trying to see the address on the sign. Soon, you pull an illegal “U” turn and speed back toward the intersection. Hopping from street to street, you start to lose hope of ever finding the yard sale.
“Did you actually see the address on that sign?”
“Well… Kind of. I thought there would’ve been another sign by now…”
“Does it even exist?”
“It has to! Maybe just a little further.”
And there it is. You just have to have that slight sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, the one that says, “You’re not going to find it!” And that is when you see the heaping piles of children’s clothes, random kitchen utensils and dishes, unmarked cardboard boxes, and larger items: beds, washing machines, scooters, and even the occasional refrigerator. That’s when you know you’re in heaven.
Walking through the piles, you wonder what treasures might be in the cardboard boxes. I’m always searching for “vintage” items. These items were bought long ago and have sat in the attic for the past few decades. Old pill bottles, TIME Magazines from the 50’s and 60’s, glass medical containers for “Applicators” and “Gauze”; you can find all sorts of stuff.
I am always drawn to the large stacks of books. I look for the oldest covers and flip open the cover to look at the copyright date. 1903. That’s when I know I’ve found something special. When a book has survived for over 100 year, no matter the actual value, it is valuable to me. Other times it is just the old paper products in general. Today, I found Polish postcards dating from the 60’s that showed 1945 and 1963 photos of post-WWII Warsaw.
Absolutely incredible.
The addiction cannot be controlled. You are always searching. Always wondering what will be in the next box, or what will jump out at you from behind the heaps of clothing.
And it isn’t just finding a treasure, from there you have the chance to haggle and barter like there’s no tomorrow.
“So, I know you wanted $7.00 for this, but I was thinking more like $5.00.”
long pause: “Yeah… I guess I could go $5.00 for those. They are vintage, though.”
“So, $5.00, right?”
“Yeah, we’ll do $5.00.”
“Do you have change for a $10.00?”
And so on and so on until about noon. Prime time for yard sales is between 8 AM and Noon. After that, either all of the “good” items have been bought or the yard sale is being packed away into the garage until the next Saturday.
There are also fine distinctions to know which yard sale is going to be worth going to. If you ever see a sign with “Estate Sale” written on it, you must go. No matter what, turn that car around and head back. Estate sales usually have the oldest items, with the most variety. They are people cleaning out a whole lifetime’s worth of stuff, and that usually provides you with a feast for the eyes.
The next type of sale is a “Moving Sale.” These usually have some of the best prices because the people are trying to get rid of their stuff extremely fast. They need to go, and their stuff can’t come with them. They practically give their stuff away.
Finally, you have the “Garage Sales” and the “Yard Sales.” There is a fine distinction between the two that makes them categorically different. From my experience, Garage sales have a wider variety of items that aren’t clothing. From electronics to housewares to hardware and tools, you will find more practical items at garage sales. While yard sales have the same type of merchandise as garage sales, it always seems that there is an abundance of clothing and paperback books at yard sales. In my opinion, this makes yard sales the low man on the totem pole.
Next Saturday is just a week away, and I can’t wait to see what I might find. Hope to see the rest of you out there, digging and searching for a treasure.
