Two Years Later, Part 1
For two days I have battled the urge to return to my blogging home; to return to my writing roots. And here am I.
How long has it been since my words danced on these pages? How long has it been since I wrote something honest? Something from the heart? June of 2006. Sixteen months. Countless days. One lifetime ago. I don't even know if it matters anymore, but here I am.
I feel as if I have a story to tell but no way to tell it. I've been away on some kind of journey and I feel that it is time to try to re-familiarize myself with the world I once knew. I have tried to write on MySpace, but those entries strive to entertain a different kind of audience. I need a place to go that is for me. And if someone stumbles upon this again, the way we used to stumble upon each other's occasional ramblings, then that is great. If not, I will relish the solitude which is afforded in writing for oneself. Because I don't want to write for anyone else anymore.
And yet, honestly, if I did not truly want these words to be discovered, I would have written them on a new webpage, hidden deep in the catacombs of the world wide web. But obviously I didn't go that route at all, did I? I am like a perpetrator who wants to be found, leaving all the tell-tale signs in the wide open.
I often wonder how great a document this blog would have been had I stayed with it. Fox sixteen months, I sat mum on my life, at least on this blog. And I would soon be approaching four or five years of solid writing had I stayed with it. I guess these are the regrets that don't help things much, considering they mean nothing. At least some others have stayed with it.
Yet, there seems to me a dedication invovled that I just do not have. And how does one continue to lay things bare in written form when all the demands of the world chip away at his or her time? It takes an appreciation of expression, a stamina which I apparently do not possess. I wish I did.
It will soon be two years since I moved to the city. While I am still home often (primarily on the weekends), I still consider myself to have moved away from home in January 2006. And now I can say with unparalleled clarity: I've made a terrible mistake. It's not the kind of admission that is easy to make or hear. And it's not the kind of admission I would have been able to make in any other form of writing for fear of offending those whose path I have crossed.
But I know now that I made took a jump and fell into a crevice. I've missed so many things. I've lost so much time and I don't know how to get it back. Is there a map for these sorts of things? Can I rewind time? Can I un-age a child so that I can watch her grow up? Can I make up for time lost and misspent?
And on what? I thought I was going to move here and grow up. What an interesting misinterpretation of the truth, of the way things are. There is this age-old cliche that says you have to move away to find yourself. Yet I didn't lose myself until I moved away from you, my friends, my family, my center. How do I make amends for that? To whom do I apologize? I failed. I failed.
You know why I moved. I was convinced that in order to save and strengthen a relationship that couldn't be either, I moved in hopes of proving my love to someone who never proved love to me. Is this the mistake we're all bound to make at some point? Has everyone fallen, even just once, for the sweet-taste lies of perceived love? I moved here because I wanted to be a husband. I moved here because I wanted to be a father. I thought that if I showed my commitment to this, all things would be made right.
For a time, all was right. Although I had trouble securing a job at the start, and I couldn't ever seem to plant my roots here, I was getting along with her. We were happy. We were just a few blocks from each other and all was right in the world. EXCEPT there was always that glowing hole in my heart, the hole which was once occupied by everyone I left behind. I couldn't shake. The happiest days still weren't as happy as they should have been.
--To Be Continued--
How long has it been since my words danced on these pages? How long has it been since I wrote something honest? Something from the heart? June of 2006. Sixteen months. Countless days. One lifetime ago. I don't even know if it matters anymore, but here I am.
I feel as if I have a story to tell but no way to tell it. I've been away on some kind of journey and I feel that it is time to try to re-familiarize myself with the world I once knew. I have tried to write on MySpace, but those entries strive to entertain a different kind of audience. I need a place to go that is for me. And if someone stumbles upon this again, the way we used to stumble upon each other's occasional ramblings, then that is great. If not, I will relish the solitude which is afforded in writing for oneself. Because I don't want to write for anyone else anymore.
And yet, honestly, if I did not truly want these words to be discovered, I would have written them on a new webpage, hidden deep in the catacombs of the world wide web. But obviously I didn't go that route at all, did I? I am like a perpetrator who wants to be found, leaving all the tell-tale signs in the wide open.
I often wonder how great a document this blog would have been had I stayed with it. Fox sixteen months, I sat mum on my life, at least on this blog. And I would soon be approaching four or five years of solid writing had I stayed with it. I guess these are the regrets that don't help things much, considering they mean nothing. At least some others have stayed with it.
Yet, there seems to me a dedication invovled that I just do not have. And how does one continue to lay things bare in written form when all the demands of the world chip away at his or her time? It takes an appreciation of expression, a stamina which I apparently do not possess. I wish I did.
It will soon be two years since I moved to the city. While I am still home often (primarily on the weekends), I still consider myself to have moved away from home in January 2006. And now I can say with unparalleled clarity: I've made a terrible mistake. It's not the kind of admission that is easy to make or hear. And it's not the kind of admission I would have been able to make in any other form of writing for fear of offending those whose path I have crossed.
But I know now that I made took a jump and fell into a crevice. I've missed so many things. I've lost so much time and I don't know how to get it back. Is there a map for these sorts of things? Can I rewind time? Can I un-age a child so that I can watch her grow up? Can I make up for time lost and misspent?
And on what? I thought I was going to move here and grow up. What an interesting misinterpretation of the truth, of the way things are. There is this age-old cliche that says you have to move away to find yourself. Yet I didn't lose myself until I moved away from you, my friends, my family, my center. How do I make amends for that? To whom do I apologize? I failed. I failed.
You know why I moved. I was convinced that in order to save and strengthen a relationship that couldn't be either, I moved in hopes of proving my love to someone who never proved love to me. Is this the mistake we're all bound to make at some point? Has everyone fallen, even just once, for the sweet-taste lies of perceived love? I moved here because I wanted to be a husband. I moved here because I wanted to be a father. I thought that if I showed my commitment to this, all things would be made right.
For a time, all was right. Although I had trouble securing a job at the start, and I couldn't ever seem to plant my roots here, I was getting along with her. We were happy. We were just a few blocks from each other and all was right in the world. EXCEPT there was always that glowing hole in my heart, the hole which was once occupied by everyone I left behind. I couldn't shake. The happiest days still weren't as happy as they should have been.
--To Be Continued--
posted by gabe at
7:40 PM
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