I finished writing that last blog post and had a real heart to heart with myself; my soul. The universe. A monologue addressing my deepest emotional concerns and troublesome thoughts. My struggle with maintaining a positive outlook. Overall, I felt like I had a lot to get off my chest and even if it was just the chirping birds there to listen, I did just that.

The universe has a way of making you not feel alone though, when you take a moment to look around.

After my monologue, I was still not entirely certain why I was drawn there. When I called on the universe the other day, I got an answer. Did I adequately return the gesture?

I had decided to stay on that bench until I saw the sun begin to rise past the trees at the edge of the park. Light was already starting to drive back the night, yet the half moon was bright as ever, defiant against the inevitable relegation until next nightfall.

Something made me smile, made me happy. Even now it’s hard to really understand, but I just felt so invigorated, alive. I was sitting there, alone on a park table, rocking out to random Nirvana songs and mashups that had been in my head all day. And I didn’t give a single fuck who may or may not have seen. I probably looked like a jackass, but I just didn’t care.

I was there, tackling my emotional turmoil, and coming out victorious. And damn if that didn’t feel good. It was worth celebrating.

The sun had yet to rise, though.

One of the topics I had talked with myself about was my ability to lock my mind onto something and pursue it with unwavering tenacity. It’s been a great strength of mine and a crippling weakness. When I want something, I just want to get to the end. As efficiently as possible. Can you guess why I enjoy programming so much now?

And I felt that pang of impatience waiting for the sun to rise. I’m sitting there, looking at this beautiful progression of events, beginning to feel agitated that the sun didn’t just spring up like a jack-in-the-box so I could head home and get some rest.

And it hit me like a ton of bricks.

In the book I’ve been reading, the word epiphany is roughly described as a realization about something largely you already knew or understood. I know that Rome was not built in a day. I know that the journey is often more important than the destination, and yet here I was looking at one of nature’s miracles through this narrow-minded lens.

It felt like the universe jacked me up by the collar and said, “Albert! What the friggin’ Hell. Do you not SEE how beautiful this is right now? Just enjoy it. The sun is going to rise in due time. Why sit there and fret over it? You’re missing out on what’s going on right in front of your damn face. Right now. So sit there, shut up, and smile you jackass.”

Well, maybe the universe wasn’t that abrasive, but it sure as Hell was impassioned in its expression. And I listened.

The world kinda faded away, and I just… Enjoyed the moment. I felt so many parallels to different things in my life that I traditionally rush and ultimately push away. Sunrises I try to rush.

The sun started to rise, on its own time, in all its glory, and I checked my phone to see when the official sunrise was supposed to happen. It was 5:46 AM at the time, so why would the odds be that in Alexandria, VA the sun was set to rise at 5:47 AM?

It was like the universe said, “That’s why I brought you here. For that message. Don’t rush the sunrise. Now you can go home. Get some rest, and look at tomorrow differently. Even if it’s difficult. Just… Trust that it’ll fall into place. When it’s supposed to.”

I don’t know how well I am or am not explaining any of this. If anyone will read this, or if this will resonate with anyone. But it’s resonated with me, for sure.

That’s a sunrise I don’t think I’ll ever forget.

I had something of a revelatory experience this week. I bought a book, which focuses in a very down to Earth way on how to shift your perspective on the world and find more positivity in the universe. I was skeptical at first, but after reading its suggestion to meditate and focus on drawing positive energy toward me I thought the worst that could happen is nothing.

After my first attempt, I did feel much more relax and in tune with things, for lack of better phrasing. Much more centered and calm. That’s not exactly a common occurrence for me. The second time I tried, however, was something of a trip.

It was nearly 3am. I had work in the morning and it was at best irresponsible to be up that late, yet there I was. Before trying to get some sleep, I thought to establish another connection with the universe. I stand in my room, turn off the lights, focus on my breathing, and picture distant cosmos, hurtling through them at the speed of light toward some means of spiritual understanding. I ask for positive energy, and in no less than 30 seconds I receive a text from my mom, telling me she loves me.

My mom never sends texts at this hour. I call her immediately, asking why she sent the message. She told me that God just encouraged her to. That she felt a need to.

It’s hard to chalk a thing like that up to coincidence. I called the universe, and she answered.

I’ve done my best to shift my attitude and way of thinking, and positive things continue to roll my way. It’s freeing, venturing forward with confidence and belief in yourself. And daunting. I’ve lived the majority of my life struggling with depression, self doubt, and certainty of my own inadequacy. But why can’t I have the things I want out of life?

My first real test to this change in posture has presented itself, and the challenge is by no means small. I feel a part of me wanting to return to the comfort of self loathing, but I want more for myself than that.

I was hanging out with a friend tonight, and initially I was going to crash there but I couldn’t sleep. I was going to head home but something told me to go to a park I frequent when my heart is heavy or my soul aches. I’ve gone here on occasion since I moved here. It’s been there for me at various stages, highs and lows. It was as though the universe itself called me here. I can’t explain it. But it was kind enough to pick up the phone for me, so here I am to return the favor.

4:30 in the morning, sitting on a picnic table in a park, looking up at the half moon while the world sleeps. I feel like the universe is asking me to stay the course. To have faith in the unseen and to not relinquish the confidence I’ve enjoyed just yet. Maybe I’ll stay here till sun up.

It’s not like there’s a lack of things to mull over.

It’s Sunday night. I’ve spent most of the day sleeping off the residual effects of Saturday night. I’m pretty sure I woke up just still drunk and not even hungover, but that’s the price you pay for a good time I suppose.

I close Twitter, Facebook, and all other avenues to the world. I lower the lights, put on some Jazz, lie down on my couch, look up at the ceiling, and let my mind wander. The windows are slightly open. Though cold, the light breeze reminds me of that sunset on St. Pete Beach, feeling the wind roll off the water as the sun lazily eased past the horizon. Even thinking about it now lights a smile on my smile, and makes my heart skip a little.

Every time a car drives by, the subtle slosh of rains adds to the overall calm of a constantly tormented mind. Analysis. Always, always analyzing. My mind is forever racing. It’s a strength and weakness of mine, but moments like this are sacred. They’re also pretty depressing.

I’ve been spending a lot of time lately thinking about what I want out of life. It’s a topic that I find myself drifting back toward often. Maybe we all do. In some ways, we should. Lately, I think something I’ve been looking for and/or missing is a connection with someone.

My last relationship was the best one I’ve had in my life, I would say. In terms of the personal and emotional growth I went through during its time, I’m left with little doubt that the experience helped me to evolve into a better person. For the past while, I’ve been more or less fine with being on my own. I’m not so certain that’s the case anymore, though.

The concept of dating and putting myself out there in that capacity is a daunting task. I’m not the most socially inclined person you’d ever meet, and I am patently awful at reading subtext or levels of interest. I never know when to make the first move, or when to lay cards on the table, or when to give space. I am legitimately bad at dating.

And rejection hurts.

There’s an unusual balance that comes out of valuing your opinion of yourself than the estimated opinion others have of you and allowing yourself to become vulnerable enough to allow someone else’s opinion of you matter. It can be really difficult for me.

When I think about the things I want out of life, it can feel somewhat impossible. The odds seem incredibly unlikely that I’d find someone that I was physically attracted to, could connect with emotionally, and have them feel the same way about me. I’m such an odd duck that I’m not sure how compatible I’d even be with most people in that capacity. Sometimes I’m super social. Sometimes I’m an absolute recluse. Sometimes I just want to be close to someone. Sometimes I want to be left to my own devices. And there’s generally no rhyme or reason to any shift in mindset.

Reading that last paragraph back is somewhat embarrassing. Someone might read this and think I’m batshit crazy. And maybe they’d be right, but I’m not going to delete it. I started this blog to try to explore myself and work on being more open. It’s extremely uncomfortable for me to write about myself, but I think it helps me to learn how to express feelings better.

But anyway, I think what I’ve come to realize about wanting to try for a relationship or putting myself out there like that at all is that… I’ve sat here for a few minutes, trying to think of the best way to describe it.

Not everybody’s going to like you, for whatever reason. And that’s okay. Not everybody’s going to respond to you as soon as you’d like, or be as excited to see you as you are to see them, and that’s fine. And feeling rejected can and will more than likely hurt. And that’s okay, too.

At the end of the day, it doesn’t change who you are, and it shouldn’t change how you feel about yourself. Above all, you can’t settle for less than what you want or less than how you want to be treated.

It’s not all about another person accepting or rejecting you. Someone has to bring their A-game to the table as well. They have to wow you, impress you, and make you feel appreciated. You have a lot to offer someone, and it’s okay to feel like you deserve someone that wants to offer you things in return.

I miss the connection. The hand holding. Feeling like I wasn’t alone in the world. I know that I’m not alone, but there’s a different kind of assurance when you have someone in your life and you’re both in love with each other. I miss having a bond like that, and I want it again someday.

But I’m not going to sell myself short to get it. Someone should be excited to see me. To spend time with me. To be around me. I guess I’ve just kinda realized that if I do put myself out there, it’s not just a matter or if they are going to like me or not. It’s not entirely up to them. My accepting them is not some forgone conclusion, where I’m effectively assessed and measured. If I don’t like the way someone is making me feel, then that’s meaningful.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m worth something. It may sound like a cocky or arrogant thing to say, but being with me is a privilege. I value myself highly enough to feel that way. Someone should feel lucky to be with me, and I want to feel lucky to be with them.

I don’t know if I’ll get all of the things I want out of life. I don’t know if I will ever find that kind of impossible connection that continues to thrive after decades. I don’t know.

But I never will if I don’t try, or if I let setbacks cause me to withdraw and wither. If I close up in the name of not getting hurt again, I can’t be open to the kind of connection I want. And nobody is worth me doing that to myself. So even if it hurts, I have to keep believing in myself and I have to move forward.

This all probably sounds pretty Hallmark or obvious, but it’s something of a revelation to me. I’ve always been one to just shut down, withdraw, close off, and make sure I didn’t get hurt anymore. But that’s giving people too much power and control over me. The pain that comes from shutting myself off emotionally hurts more than any kind of rejection I’d find out there.

Win or lose, I am me. And I like to think I’m pretty damn cool. And whoever I pursue should think I am, too.

I wouldn’t necessarily call myself a car guy. Not in a detailed or comparative sense. I couldn’t tell you anything about gear ratios, wheelbase, fuel injection, or anything like that. I’d be lucky if I could figure out how to change a tire. I can’t change my own oil. Or brakes. But I do like cars.

Memories fade for me, but one set that I think will always remain fresh in my mind are the days I buy a car. I remember all of them. When I bought my first car, a Crystal Pearl White ’99 Honda Prelude. It was a 5-speed. The first time I ever drove stick was when I bought it and had to get it home.

My first S2000, a 2003 black on black, was special. I remember the evil cackle I bellowed as I hit the highway and let the RPMs pass 8,000 with the top down. I felt so damn cool.

I remember the keys of my 1971 Corvette being dropped into my hand for the first time. A 4-speed, 430 horsepower beast that had absolutely no practical application. Red on black, frame-on restoration. I had always wanted one since I was a kid, and there it was. Halorin license plates and all. I still remember watching it burn, and being told I was lucky to be alive.

I remember the second S2000 I bought. A return to form of sorts, after a few events in my life kicked me pretty good.

And of course, when I bought Mary Jane.

Mary Jane is a 2011 Chevy Camaro. 6-speed (of course), V6. White with black stripes. She was perfect; a succinct mix of every car I’ve ever purchased. Its interior designed harkened back to the visual styling of my Corvette. It’s 2-door coupe frame reminded me of my Prelude, and it had the kick and acceleration of my S2000.

When I was about to drive off the lot, I put on the radio and Christmas in Hollis by Run DMC was just finishing up. It was fitting, seeing as how I bought the car on Christmas Eve. The song that came on right after was Mary Jane by Rick James. I put together an epic Rick James costume years past, even sang karaoke dressed up like that. So he’s become something of my spirit animal. It only felt right to name the car, something I had never done before.

I’ve tried my best to baby this car, but in the back of my mind I’ve always been worried that I’d mess it up somehow. My clumsiness would scratch it or dent it or something. That it was in the wrong hands. That I didn’t deserve it. And all of those feelings came to a head Tuesday.

Coming out of my work parking garage, I cut a corner too sharp and dented my rear right quarter panel pretty good. I’ve never done anything like that before, and here I am less than 6 months into owning my favorite car I’m ruining it.

A swell of dread rose within me. It was like some mark of shame. It was a representation of my failure to do one thing right. I felt bad. I stood there looking at the damage, and let out a long sigh. I was surprised by what came next. I hopped in MJ, drove over to a body shop, and dropped it off to get fixed. $653.04. Ouch.

The owner of the shop gave me a ride back home. It wasn’t far away. I watched him drive off and it hit me. I was fortunate enough to have a job that allowed me to get Mary Jane in the first place, and to be able to fix her up right away. Just because I had an accident in it doesn’t make it any less awesome, and I haven’t ruined the car forever.

It felt reminiscent of the human spirit in a lot of ways for me. I am far from perfect. Life has dealt me its share of scars, both physical and emotional. And yet, I’m still here. I pull myself together, rise up, and continue to move forward. The blemishes and imperfections are in a lot of ways badges of pride than something to be ashamed of.

I so passionately pursue perfection in so many things for some form of validation that I forget sometimes that it’s okay to just be me. I’ve made a lot of progress in being comfortable in my own skin, and feeling good about myself but I have work to do still.

It’d be really nice to feel like people accept me for who I am, and that they genuinely care about me. But if any one person on the planet does, it has to be me. I have to not shy away from my imperfections. I have to accept everything about who I am, and improve where I can. Keep my head held high.

I got Mary Jane back this afternoon and she looks great. You’d never know something happened to her. But I know. Mary Jane and I have been through some things. She may not be perfect in the sense I had hoped for, but she is a perfect representation of me. And no other car will be exactly like her.

Part of me worries I will always question my worth and value, but I learned more about myself out of this.

It’s about 1:30 in the morning. The gentle and steady sounds of a light rain manages to calm my soul through the open windows. I’m playing Blue In Green by Miles Davis, with only one of the lamps on in my living room. I’m laying on the couch, looking up at the ceiling.

I’m trying to define what I’m feeling. I mull some thoughts around in my head. There’s a bit of irony in feeling that the only way I could express the conclusion of this soul searching is by typing it here for myself to read back at some point. Maybe someone else will read it too, I don’t know.

I’ve talked about this before numerous times, even on this blog, but I have trouble feeling like I belong anywhere. I’ve never felt like I was a part of a clique, or that I fit in with any particular social setting. Even my own family sometimes. The world can feel so alien to me, where I’m more just observing other people interact more than being a part of the interaction itself.

This weekend was my grandfather’s 90th birthday. 9 decades of being on this planet. He’s seen so much. Endured so much. It was good to see him smiling, enjoying the big party my father went through great effort to put together. It wasn’t perfect, but it was with love. I gained a lot of respect for my dad this weekend, and I already respected him plenty.

There were a lot of profound feelings I had coming out of this weekend. Someday, it’ll be my dad who’s lived a full life and I’ll be trying to make sure he knows how much he’s loved by his family. It’ll be me wanting to buy him little things to take care of him. I wondered if I would either a) live long enough to be that old or b) have any children of my own to give that experience to. Depression has a strong way of influencing speculation on those sorts of things, though.

The drive back from my grandfather’s was a long, arduous process involving traffic and other obstacles. My family stopped off for dinner on the way up. In spite of my dad’s insistence, I paid for everyone. I don’t know. I have difficulty expressing emotions; a trait in the Hailey men I’ve gathered. But I wanted to remind my dad that it’s not on him to put the world on his shoulders. And that’s he not alone. I don’t know if I was successful, but I tried.

I wanted to get out of that car by the 5th hour. I’m a person that recharges by doing his own thing. No matter how much I like someone usually I find myself wanting a break to where I am just left to my own devices. There was a lot of social interaction this weekend, and I was ready to relax. I got home, my parents and sister left, and I felt this awkward sense of loneliness.

The world, as I knew it, went on in my absence. The people I socialize with and consider friends probably didn’t even notice I was gone. I didn’t have any place I had to be. Nothing I really had to do. I felt this weird contradiction of wanting to be around people but not wanting to be around people at the same time. I think part of me just wanted to sulk.

But sulk about what? I’m not sure. This weekend reminded me of a comparison I made to someone when I was in high school. I said that it feels like every person in the world is red, and I am blue. Only I can see the difference. And it separates me from people. It’s like I read them in a way they don’t read themselves, or I observe and place values on different things socially so I just end up not fitting in. And no one else is blue.

No one.

It’s human nature to not want to be entirely alone, but try to imagine the sullen futility in feeling like whatever effort you did make to act on the simplest of human urges would likely be met with some measure of failure.

I’ve tried being a more expressive, open, and vulnerable person. I think I’ve made some pretty big strides on those fronts. But I’m still blue. And the world’s still red. And I still feel alone.