Don't Judge...

I believe in romance.
I believe in romance and magic and dreams and dreamers and possibilities and the wonder of the way your heart feels and your head reels when you know you’re with the person you’re most meant to be with.

There.
I said it.

Yes, I’m painfully well aware of the fact that this goes against the grain of the way I’m generally perceived – an illusion I’ve cultivated since the first time I let romance ruin me. Nonetheless, I still believe. I have only one question…

Where are the Grand Gestures? Those beautifully executed crescendos that are the stuff old movies are made of? It’s not naïve or childish to believe these still exist. I know they do. I remember them. And not from movies, but from a very real time earlier in my life. Admittedly, when we’re somewhat less experienced in love, it’s easier to interpret even the smallest gesture as something more grand than intended. Still though, I remember. And from memory comes the desire to recapture that giddy wonder and excitement of being fully in a moment of romance.

We’re never more aware of ourselves than when someone else is willingly involved in us – in our moment. I suppose the key here is in the “willingly” part - the willingness to create a moment of romance. The Grand Gesture isn’t expensive nor is it pedestrian. The romance comes from the idea and the planning. It is not romantic if someone else has to tell you how to do it! Grand doesn’t necessarily mean large in this instance. It refers only to the underlying depth of importance.

Now, I’m not saying that huge and public and over-the-top doesn’t constitute the Grand Gesture. I’m only saying that doesn’t make it one, and it’s just not a prerequisite to one. Romance isn’t dead. I refuse to believe that there isn’t still breath and a heartbeat.

I think maybe I’ll go looking for it. You comin'?

Footprints

Do you ever think about your footprint? Not the one you leave in the sand, or the kind left behind from walking through wet grass. No, more the kind that you leave at the end of your life. Some will do it by meaningful career; many by children; a legacy of some sort. But what if you won’t leave those impressions? What is the long-term relevance of living a life that serves no obvious purpose?

Introspective examination. Not really something I subscribe to or recommend. But at some point one must find that purpose – that direction – that turns all of the struggle and challenge into events not solely for survival, but events which create a life of personal satisfaction.

We all want to make our mark before we move on to the next thing. To do or be something or someone that leaves a lasting resonance. Something noble. Someone purposeful. When we look behind at our life’s walk, what will we see? What will you see?

There is no nobility or purpose in spending too much time scrutinizing this idea. We know, instinctively, whether or not we will leave a footprint of impact. For those who have never contemplated this, it’s obvious that it’s not an actual question. For those of us for whom the answer is less clear, it’s a matter of whether or not this abstract concern is, in reality, a concern at all.

Life is not kind to those who wallow in the injustice of late-coming self-realization. Life becomes the thing that we do; not the thing that we live. There are too many dependencies; too many responsibilities; too little time; too few resources, and eventually, too little strength.

I’ve said before that my own life has too many nouns which require too many verbs to spend much time trying to squeeze in a few adjectives. It's sophistry to believe that if I were to focus on adjectives I could somehow also situate the horror of the nouns.

I have no idea what path my footprints were supposed to take. When I look back, I see no method to the madness. It almost looks like dancing. Interesting… I’d like to know what you see… That said, I’ve decided to listen to my good friend Jenn and stop with all the boring crap I’ve been posting and “get back to the funny good stuff like your old blog when you make fun of yourself and your life.” Okay. Done and done. Go with what you know!

Cha Cha Changes

Another repeated entry just because it seems relevant now.

"She talks kinda lazy, people say she's crazy, and her life's a mystery."

Where have life's mysteries gone? We talk about, watch, and participate in just about every conceivable thing. People's private whatnots are everywhere. It's like a rummage sale out there. But why? Where did this voyeuristic sense of entitlement into the lives of others come from? Am I alone, or do you think we've reached the verge of epidemic societal mental illness?

Personally, I'm not trying to have any part of it. I make an effort not to put my life out on the line for the neighbors to gaze upon and gossip about (though some do as their lives are small and empty). Some would say that's hiding - or lying by omission; I would say that not participating in this free spillage of personal business is just good sense.

Though, if you're willing to ask, I'm surely willing to tell.

Just be specific.
And succinct.
Know your boundaries and mind your manners.
If your grandmother would be embarrassed that you asked, don't. Don't ask me. Don't ask anyone.

Remember when we didn't know that our heroes were only human... when relationships weren't passing fancies or "hook ups", and privacy was sacred from the inside out? I'm not naive enough to think that the disintegration of mores is new - but now we're talking about it. And talking about it leads to acceptance. Do we really want to live in a world where "I love you" equates to "see you soon!" or "I'll be there" translates into "if I have time"?

"It's nice to know that there's someone I can turn to who's always there.... who'll always care..."

I know this is all very disconnected. I'm just woefully baffled by the lack of principle tied to people's actions. What about consequence? What about repercussion? What about basic common decency and manners and discipline? The world is running amok while part of the population is watching and another just stands there pointing. I don't suppose my silence is any better... But then speaking up requires entering into someone else's personal business, doesn't it...

Toe the Line

The Line (n): a place where everyone involved is on equal footing. Where everyone is pulling their own weight and managing their own responsibility – all the while looking out for the greater good of the unit. It’s the only place where honest communication can take place because all parts involved have the same amount to gain – and more importantly – to lose. We’re not really equal until the weight is equally distributed.

Ugh! All that reminds me, interestingly enough, of something a friend of mine told me once. He said he only cheated on his wife with married women – it keeps things fair and infinitely more safe given that they would both get equally screwed if they got caught.

[sidebar: I wonder why we were friends… obviously more poor judgment on my part – a common phenomenon.]

RANDOM RHETORICAL QUESTION: what’s with the common thread of poor judgment that weaves it’s way through my entire life? I assume my entire life in any case, given the amount of time I’ve spent too fucked up to notice my environs.

OK. Back to the Line.
I feel like I’ve spent an inordinate amount of time ensuring my toes were squarely on the Line. For this I blame my father.

Oddly, I often find myself surrounded by people with absolutely no knowledge of said Line. And I'm baffled. When and where did this overt sense of self-righteous “deserve-ism” begin? Which chromosome, specifically, is the one that allows a person to never see themselves through the eyes of others – only through their own rose-colored glasses? I blame their mothers.

I suspect the reason so few people are willing to even acknowledge the Line, let alone toe it, is fear. Fear of failure; fear of commitment; fear of not being able to just laze around watching television; fear of missing something else infinitely more fun. But ultimately, fear of creating something for which they are responsible – in whole or in part – which circles back to fear of failure; fear of commitment.

Now. Fear. Fear I get. But the few cannot carry the many just to ensure the few maintain their sense of self-esteem by never failing. I fail every day. Every. Single. Day. I hate it and I wish I had some help. Unfortunately, there are many, many things we have to do alone. I’m considering stepping off the Line. I know, it seems an unlikely possibility but since everything else in my life is in flux, why not really shake things up? I’m thinking that since change is coming anyway, why not make those changes Band-aid style? Rip off the old and check for improvement. I could use a solid scab about now…

Just ANYTHING on Paper...

Sitting. Alone. Thinking. Waiting. Watching. Wondering… wondering when… … she’ll be found … she’ll find the right path … she’ll make it all more right … she’ll stop just remembering … she’ll start moving forward … she’ll find hope … she’ll see the better … she’ll become impervious to the wrong … she’ll get out of her own head … she’ll stop sitting. Alone. Thinking. Waiting. Watching. And wondering when. She is me, is her, is him, is you.