Life is and can be many things, but it’s not finite. Not for any of us, no matter how often it may seem like it or feel like it. Someday, we will no longer be here.

I got a pretty stark reminder of that tonight.

Albert Hailey Sr. lived to be 90 years old before his time in this world came to an end. My grandfather. AH1, as I started to call him over the past few years.

My grandfather was always a kind man of few words. Easy going. Jovial. These are qualities in him I didn’t take particular notice of until well into my adult years, but I think about them now and my respect for the man grows vastly.

I remember hugging him not too long ago. My grandmother passed, and it was really difficult to see him separated from the woman he was married to for over half a century. I’d never seen Grandpa cry before. Losing a loved one never really registered for me until I saw my father and grandfather mourn the loss of my grandmother.

It was a revelation of sorts.

In a general sense, I think there’s a sense of separation in family members when you don’t see them often. You go to a family cookout or something like that, and you catch your elders up on how you’ve been. What you’ve been doing.

“Work’s going fine. I started doing this new thing. Yeah, things are pretty good.”

But it’s all pretty superficial. It’s on the surface. Your path just kinda grazes past each other’s, and then you go back to your daily life. At least that’s how it’s felt for me. Not for any lack of care or compassion. We just didn’t talk very often.

But seeing my grandfather then opened my eyes to the idea that my grandpa was more than just my grandpa. He was the protagonist of his own story. How crazy must it have felt to bring children into this world, see them grow, and go on to have children of their own.

To see the future on the horizon, while the sun is continuously setting on your own story. It’s a baton relay of sorts. I, the third in a line of great men, am the result of their efforts. I carry the baton forward, and that’s an honor and privilege I carry with a renewed sense of pride and accomplishment.

My grandfather endured and worked through a lot of things. He sacrificed, and put his family before him. I never once heard him complain. I never once heard him ask for anything in return.

I have a terrible memory, but my first one is when I was around four or so. I was running down the driveway to greet my grandpa. He parked in front of the driveway, and I ran up to give him a hug.

My grandfather and I never had deep emotional conversations. He never knew too much about my personal life, but I wouldn’t be who I am now without him. He’d take me to basketball games as a kid. I’d stay over at his place as a kid until my parents got home from work. He taught me how to fish. We used to watch Charles Bronson movies and 80’s cop shows on summer afternoons, and everybody knew who he was at the supermarket I worked at.

Albert Hailey Sr. was a good man. I am lucky to be able to call him my grandfather. I hope he can look down on me and feel like his efforts were worth it. I hope I make him proud.

Thank you, Grandpa. You’re a legend.

How would you define the abstract?

I typed in a Google search, quite literally phrased ‘definition of abstract’. Adjective. Existing in thought or as an idea but not having any physical or concrete existence. Verb. Consider (something) theoretically or separately from something else.

A thought provoking jumping off point.

My definition of the abstract runs along those lines, but it strays more towards the introspective and inconclusive. For me, the abstract is the remainder of my thoughts. The aimless, wandering stream of consciousness. The uncharted and miscellaneous. The valuable yet difficult to describe. The rough draft. The cutting room floor. The soul, out of focus.

My 32nd birthday came and went on Monday. Birthdays aren’t something I’ve tried to put too much stock in over the past few years. I try to convince myself that I just don’t have the ego to really make a big deal out of my birthday, but there’s a part of me that does. A part of me that wants to feel like a special and integral part of people’s lives. There’s a part of me that wants someone to stop and think, “You know… Albert’s pretty cool. I’m glad I know that guy. I appreciate him. He’s pretty neat. I should say happy birthday.”

I think part of me tries to actively avoid acknowledging that kind of thirst for recognition because of what it’d mean if I didn’t receive it. What if I wanted to be an integral part of people’s lives and I can just be easily brushed past or looked over? What does that say about me? My worth? My value?

I’ve gotten to a place where, objectively, I seek to find value in my own opinion myself before anything else but wrestling with those kinds of thoughts are an exercise in emotional turmoil that I could probably do without.

And so, I leave celebration of my birthday more to the fringe. A passing thought. An annual fear of rejection where I hide insecurities behind a genuine sense of humility.

My birthday also serves as a marker of sorts. This one in particular, where at the start of the year I dared myself to venture into uncharted waters and to pursue my perception of happiness in ways I haven’t exactly before. Where I dared to face some of the very demons that leave me quiet about my birthday.

It’s hard to think it’s already been 8 months since I’ve tried to write that next chapter in my life. As my birthday approached, surreal as it was, I asked myself if I had accomplished or at least been accomplishing the goals I so loftily set out for myself in January.

I honestly don’t know.

I feel that I am a wiser, more mature, and more soulful person. For that, I am thankful. Am I happier? I don’t know. Something I’ve been thinking about, which I ended up saying to someone who’s become quite a good friend to me of late, is that I think true happiness lies with gaining acceptance and contentment with the journey rather than the destination. A destination, a place where you have never been before, is only as accurate as your perception and does not necessarily guarantee the kind of happiness you feel it will when you set out to reach it.

So where are you left if those dreams come true, and you aren’t happy? Are you worse off than before? Further disillusioned by the reality of wondering if all your effort meant anything? Does life feel like some form of cosmic or practical joke, where your best laid plans and endeavors end as a passing punchline that plops you back to start?

Again, I honestly don’t know.

I do know that I feel better equipped to quarrel with the rampancy of my thoughts and the peril ingrained in my journey. In these past 8 months I have had successes. I have had failures. I have aimed for the stars, and have been unceremoniously brought back to Earth. I have pulled on my slingshot to slay Goliath, and I have felt certain victory slip through my fingers.

I am still here. Just as I was last year. And the year before that.

But am I in the same place as then? Or someplace new?

I like to think I have ventured forward. That I’ve evolved into something more wise, more spiritual. More mature. And in some ways I know I have.

But at my core, do the same problems still exist? Will they always? They could be. And that, in a lot of ways, is fine. I can live with that, regardless of the choice in the matter. Living with those existential questions are a part of the quirks and idiosyncrasies that make me ‘me’.

Am I happier now than I was a year ago? Five years ago? Ten? I don’t know. I still harbor a sense of regret over some things. I still wonder if all of the decisions I’ve made have been the right ones. I still pontificate about the alternate iterations of reality that exist if only I had zigged when I ended up zagging. I try to leave those hypotheticals before I delve too far. Perhaps the past should stay the past. Perhaps not, but I have to embrace and make the most out of the present. It’s all any of us really have. The past and future are generally just interpretations. That’s something I learned the hard way this year.

I think I am a better person than I was a year ago. And not particularly because of what’s different about my life but because of the light I’ve shone on insecurities I have long since tried to bury deep in my mind. It hasn’t been easy, or even all that fun. But there’s a sense of understanding that comes out of taking time to learn more about yourself. To become curious about your insecurities, what makes you happy, sad, jealous, annoyed, or anything else on the emotional spectrum.

I could very well end up being the only person to ever genuinely have interest in that sort of thing, after all. I have a lot of lessons to learn; perhaps even to teach someday.

So, happy birthday, Albert. You sure as shit aren’t perfect, but you’re giving it the old college try in spite of that. Maybe everything you want out of life is around the corner or down the road. Maybe none of it will ever come your way. But I respect your want to find out, and to put your best foot forward as you best know how.

I don’t know how many people are capable of saying the same, truly. And I think that’s pretty neat of you. So, smile. No matter how you’re feeling. Accept your flaws. Your shortcomings. Your mistakes. Forgive yourself for them. Dare to do better. Dare to improve.

You’re the only you in this universe. And even if you’re the only one that ever ends up appreciating that, that’s something. That’s everything.

Find yourself in the abstract.

Around a year ago, I thought to treat myself to a 70 inch TV. I was just starting to get pretty deep into web development and writing code, but I felt pretty cramped in the corner of my living room behind two computer monitors. I wanted to be more ‘open’, and I thought getting a big screen TV to serve as my computer monitor would help with that.

And it has.

I ordered the TV online, and waited a grueling week before it arrived. I took the fateful day off of work to make sure I was here for its delivery, and at around 11:30 in the morning I see a truck pull up. I’m sitting there in my window, alongside Rowboat as we both eagerly watch this ginormous dude pull an equally ginormous box from the truck and carry it up to my door on his back.

The guy sets the box down in my living room, where I notice a pretty decent sized dent in one of the corners. I apprehensively sign for the TV and the guy leaves. I open the box, and it’s very clear that the TV is damaged.

A wave of feeling passed over me as I realized something I was waiting for and so excited about arrives DOA at my doorstop after a week. It felt very symbolic. “This is how things turn out that you’re looking forward to, Albert. No use in even trying. This is life, for you.”

And I said, “Well, screw that.” So after being bent out of shape and dejected for a day, I asked my sister to go to Best Buy with me the next day. Damnit, I was getting that TV.

And so I bought another 70 inch TV that I’m using write now as I type this.

But I still had the broken one.

I went back and forth with the company I bought the busted TV from, who were surprisingly helpful. It was the shipping company that were being a bag of dicks about the whole thing. So the TV company asked me to hold on to the TV for a while while they sorted out the insurance claim. That was fine by me. They had already refunded me the money I paid for the TV without any hassle, so I felt it was the least I could do.

Three months pass.

I get an e-mail from the company, saying that the shipping company only wanted to give the TV company $300 as insurance payment, and that it cost them $500 to ship the TV out to me in the first place, so they were pretty much boned. They said I could just throw the TV out, or do whatever with it.

Case closed.

But this is a 70 inch friggin’ TV. In a big ass box, and is heavy as all get out. I wasn’t a 6’8″ Russian dude that could lug this thing out by myself. There’s only a handful of people I know around here that would help me carry the thing out, and I struggle with asking people for help or feeling like I deserve help from people. And I didn’t know what policy, if any, my place had about dropping ginormous size things off at the trash area.

So… I just kept it. In the box it came in. Ever since.

I leaned the box against a corner in my bedroom and it just became a fixture, obscuring the Speed Racer poster I bought that reminds me of watching cartoons and action movies with my dad on Friday nights as a kid.

It was the first thing I’d see every morning, and the last thing I’d see before I turned the lights out to go to bed. This reminder that when I try for things, it’s going to show up dead in a box while I was excited for it and anticipating it. That that was my life, and the result of all the requisite ambitions therein.

And in some ways, I had truly accepted that.

Imagine having a thought like that burrow into your mind, reach your subconscious, take root, and underscore every thought and action for a year or so. Have it compound with a lifetime of self-deprecation and self-loathing. Not exactly the most healthy thing ever, I’d argue.

I woke up this morning, did my exercise routine, fixed a cup of coffee, put on some jazz and started cleaning when I froze. I’ve been thinking a lot about what I can and can’t accept these days. From people. From things. From myself.

From that fucking dead TV sitting in the corner of my room.

I decided it was time for that damn thing to go. Originally, I had decided I would wait until tonight to try to get it out. I didn’t even know if I could do it by myself, and I didn’t want anyone to really see my take the thing out at all, let alone fail in the process.

But something in me said, “No. This damn thing is going now. Like, right now. And if someone sees you, who cares? What happens if they look at you? They laugh? They point at you? Do you know them? Do they know you? Does it REALLY matter what they say? Above all that, do you realistically think they even care enough to do anything more than glance your way and get back to living their life? Why are you overthinking this? Why have you been overthinking this for so long? What happens if you keep this thing here still? You concede to everything it’s come to represent. Do you think these hypothetical people you’re worried about are going to offer anything remotely approaching comfort? Do you think they care that you struggle with these thoughts? Is it really that big a deal to them? Why are you in your own way? Why enable this?”

Fair points. Fair points.

So, I found some tape, strapped down the open edges of this ridiculously sized box, and with no small amount of effort dragged that God forsaken dead TV out to the dumpster in broad daylight.

Some dude was getting groceries out of the back of his minivan. Looked right at me as I did before going on about his business. And, surprisingly enough (/sarcasm), the world didn’t explode. I didn’t die of humiliation. To be honest, I was too busy feeling jacked because I was able to lug that damn box out a lot easier than I had thought.

I let these thoughts weigh on my mind for a year, and it took me all of 15 minutes from start to finish to get that thing out of my house.

Now that’s something worth committing to memory.

Stop getting in your own way, Albert. You’ll never know what you’re capable of if you don’t try. And stop giving a shit about what people think when it comes to you doing something to better yourself.

Write that down.

The Veil Nebula is something that, along with a seemingly unending parade of other things, has come to my mind lately. It’s an absolutely breathtaking display of what’s possible in the universe; the result of a supernova explosion that released  untold amounts of energy into the universe, as far back as possibly 6,000 BC.

It’s a mesmerizing construct of ionized oxygen, hydrogen, and sulfur. It’s just out there, larger than our minds can really piece together or understanding, some 1,400 light years away.

I have a picture of it as my wallpaper.

There’s a range of pictures of the Veil Nebula, taken through different lens and methods but this one has always stuck out to me. Maybe it’s because it’s kinda orange-ish.

But tonight I was winding down after my podcast. This generally involves some jazz music, lowered lights, and some time piecing together my thoughts.

I ventured back towards perception. The other day, someone told me that they would have never guessed I was an introverted person. They’ve only ever seen me in this lively, social context where I legitimately am extroverted so it was an understandable shock to learn exactly how introspective I am and can be. On the other end of the spectrum, I’ve almost always been told that I’m too much of a hermit. That I close myself off. That I need to get out of my own head and my own way.

I kicked my feet up on my coffee table and had a sip of whiskey to Miles Davis while I thought on this. By the way, sipping whiskey is a first for me and it officially makes me feel like an old man and an old soul. I should have done it sooner. You gain such a better understanding of a drink’s flavor when you choose quality over quantity sometimes.

But anyway.

As I’ve written here, I do struggle with introversion. It’s easy for me to get lost in my own thoughts, and to separate myself. While I could stand to have some moderation on that front in some instances, being that deep thinker makes me who I am. And in spite of my gaffs and missteps, I’m growing to really like myself. Love myself, even.

I think I’ve started to game the system as far as this whole introspective thing goes. When I take one on the chin figuratively, it probably hits me harder than most people. I sit and think about it a while; a good while. But when I finally emerge from the depths, I feel so much better and knowledgeable. To the point where the last couple of times I’ve even started to feel excited in those moments because I knew I’d ultimately come out of it a better person.

And I wouldn’t have that without my introspection. Really refining this way of thinking is how I feel I get to a place of possessing unshakable confidence in myself. And that’s not something I’ve ever really had.

I’m okay with having quirks, with being unusual, and with not being everyone’s cup of tea. And I haven’t always been, but the more I am the happier about myself I feel. I guess I just hit a realization of wondering why the Hell I’ve ever looked at my quirks as things that were ‘wrong’ and needed to be worked on. I don’t need or want to become someone else for anyone’s approval, particularly my own. The whole Independence thing at play.

But damn is it freeing to embrace who you are and what you like about yourself. I suppose the grand irony or practical joke is that once I’m able to hone and master that sense of self confidence and adoration the more outgoing and extroverted I will end up being. Which has been a quagmire I’ve been trying to ‘solve’ for most of my adult life.

But maybe it doesn’t need solving. Maybe it never has. I am not like many people. At all. And that’s something to celebrate, if you ask me.

So I’ll continue being that weirdo, thanks. That suits me just fine.

But yeah. Veil Nebula. Miles Davis. Whiskey. Confidence. Weirdo.

I’m sure there will be valleys ahead. This is far from some happy ending. I think the happiest days of my life are ahead of me, but there will be plenty of dark ones too. But this moment is why I write this blog, so I can look back and see the catalog of my thoughts through the rise and fall that is my introspection. To enjoy the highs, understand the lows, and chart the progress of someone I’m growing to like more and more each day.

And that’s pretty flippin’ cool.

Now, I’m not sure if you’ve been looking around in the interpipe or if you’ve read any local periodicals, but a few days ago there was this day people call the Fourth of July. Independence Day. You heard it here first. You’re welcome.

Most years, the holiday represents just me getting a day off from work; which ain’t half bad. As I am one to do, I took a good amount of time over this extended weekend to really think about things and have yet another deep dive into my emotions and thoughts. It’s a vast, endless ocean where the deeper I go the more pressure and separation from the surface and the world at large I feel. I dove in pretty hard this weekend.

In my introspection, I thought back to 1776. I imagine a group of men and women, living in the British colonies and finding themselves increasingly irritated by the pressures of a distant government. Feeling like their own hard work is not really benefiting them, and that life would be better if they could live free of Britain’s influence.

These people had to know what they were signing up for when they decided to declare their independence, right? They knew, more than most, about the might of Britain and what effectively going to war with them would mean. These people could have probably continued to live on under British rule, and even felt instances of happy and normalcy for it. I’m no historian, but life probably wouldn’t have been that bad.

I’d imagine it’d have been better than going to war for freedom, and yet they bravely chose the hard way in pursuit of happiness and freedom.

Something one of the best people I will ever know tells me often enough to never settle. That that’s not how we roll. It’s a doctrine I’m a firm believer in, and yet in retrospect I can see instances where I waivered and accepted less than what I felt I deserved or was fair. I didn’t declare my independence.

And what does that even get you? The two options I can think of or have experienced are that I make some concession in some attempt to play the ‘long game’ and I end up without what I was playing for anyway. So then I feel like a jackass for the concession on top of whatever feelings come out of not getting what I was after, which is something depression loves to prattle on about.

Or I actually get what I want, but it feels a little hollow; like it came at an unexpectedly great cost. Am I really the person I strive to be if I sacrifice core parts of myself in some bid to bargain for something? Something I’ve told a friend of mine is that if you try to force a square peg in a round hole with enough force, it’ll go in there. But some parts of the peg are either shaved off or bent in irreparable ways. And that round hole then becomes a point of resentment than whatever you perceived it to be.

It’s a fool’s errand, basically. I’ve found myself too often on that sort of errand lately across a different range of topics. And I do believe the proverbial buck as stopped as far as all that goes.

Give me liberty or give me death. This is not the battlecry of a people that are cool with 60% happiness. Now, I don’t write this to suggest I’ve somehow adopted this rigid, inflexible mindset where I expect the world to bend to my will. Because I don’t feel that way.

But what I am saying is that there is a baseline of principles and ideals that serve as the foundation to the kind of life I want to have, and I’m no longer entertaining things that undermine them.

I’d rather walk away with nothing and stay true to who I am than to become something I’m not to settle for part of something.

For the land of the free, and the home of the brave.

I was surprised the other day. A friend of mine casually mentioned to me that they read my blog. This isn’t someone I had really expected to, but I suppose I don’t really expect anyone to. I started this as a means to work on my ability to express and process emotions, which is what I told this friend somewhat nervously in response.

There’s an unusual sense of vulnerability when you venture back to the days of MySpace and quasi-emo online journal writing and someone actually reads it. Mind you, I don’t feel that this blog is some attempt to be emo, and to anyone that does I’d assure them of the contrary.

But it did make me think.

My friend told me that they didn’t realize I was that deep. While I do consider myself something of an old soul, I think what I took away from the comment is an interesting thought on people as a whole.

We meet people in specific contexts. We meet only one facet of who they are. Everyone, to an extent, has a guard up. Only when those layers are peeled back do you really see into what makes them tick. My innermost thoughts and feelings may as well be locked away in a vault forever when it comes to talking to anyone directly, but in truth they’re only a GET request or two away.

Vulnerable.

But there’s something cathartic in this for me. I’ve been surprised and humbled at the times someone, even someone who I’ve never directly talked to before, reaches out to me unsolicited and says they read my writing and it resonated with them in some way. I’ve made a few friends like that.

I wonder if all of us are ‘deep’. Old souls with thoughts and emotions held within or suppressed in exchange for something more easily understood.

I don’t know. It was just an interesting revelation for me.

Another revelation I stumbled across in the past few days was after assessing how I’ve been feeling lately. It’s not something I openly advertise, but depression is something I’ve dealt with for pretty much my entire life. The best way I could think to describe it is imagine having someone standing behind you, making commentary on your every thought and action about how whatever you try will fail, or how no one likes you, or insert comment here about how much you suck or something like that. And they’re just there. Almost always.

You know what it is. You understand that it’s not ‘real’ and that you objectively have merits, but after a while it just wears you down. The mental energy spent telling that voice to shut up leaves you ill prepared for other unfortunate turns, so when that proverbial dam breaks the impact is all the more resonating.

It’s not particularly fun.

I think it’s what makes me such an introspective person. I contend with thoughts like these, reason my way around them, and it forces me to really process myself and the world around in a way other people probably don’t have to. In that, I’m almost thankful because I don’t think I’d be the person I am today without having to work through that so often.

But anyway. If someone was asking me how I was feeling right now, I’d say I was inconclusive. Perspective depending, things are really great for me right now or subjectively unfortunate. And with a second opinion like depression constantly wanting to throw its two cents in finding an objective viewpoint can be difficult.

I wouldn’t say I was happy, or sad. And yet I’m not indifferent or void emotion either. My mind’s gone in a circle of logic that’s kinda lead me to a place where I am ultimately thankful, if a bit lost.

There’s a good chance I’m not explaining any of this well, and that’s the other point of this blog. If I can build up experience in talking about my feelings through this, then I only stand to become better at it down the line somewhere.

There’s a frustrating sense of separation when you have feelings and thoughts in your head, but you find yourself unable to really express them. It’s like trying to communicate to someone in a different language. It can be alienating, and it leaves you with a sense of loneliness.

Social interaction, feelings, and depression will likely always be things I struggle with in some capacity. And I’m okay with that. But I’m committed to continuing to try, in spite of whatever rejection or road blocks I run into. Or the mistakes I make, which I’m sure my depression will have a thing or two to say about.

I’d go into how my depression’s turned me into a perfectionist, but this would be much longer than the novella it is. Maybe another time.

I went out to happy hour tonight. A coworker asked if I wanted to go, and initially I had grand designs of going home, faceplanting, or working on some web development stuff. Ultimately, I decided to go. I can be something of a recluse or a hermit, and I would like to get out of the house more, so. Why not?

And I had a good time. I decided to head back before too long. I wanted to make sure I had some time to decompress and relax before the games I had to cast tonight. I had time to take a bit of a walk back to the office to get Mary Jane.

Today was, in a word, perfect in terms of weather. The morning air was cool, crisp, promising. A hint of a breeze reminded me of Tampa. I imagine this morning is what it feels like there in the winter. Must be nice.

Another relatively restless night educated me in the habits of some of the local birds around here. 3 in the morning is pretty damn early to start chirping, but there they were in the dead of night well into the morning as I tracked across the street to my car.

But anyway. The weather was pretty nice, so I decided to walk back. Nearing my office, I had to cross the street. There was about 7 seconds left on the crosswalk signal, and a car was waiting for a couple ahead of me to walk across the street before taking the turn. The light turned yellow. 5 seconds left, and the space between 5 to 4 felt like an eternity.

Throughout my life, I’ve consistently felt a need to be passive, timid even. Not make any waves. When I’m a guest at someone’s house, I wanted to make sure I didn’t get in the way or that I was more or less invisible. I’m ultra-conservative in the capacity of expressing romantic interest, dreading the idea of being too forward or making someone uncomfortable.

I stopped at the corner. I had more than enough time to walk across the street, but my initial thought was, “Well. I don’t want to hold whoever’s in that car up. I can just wait.”

I felt very small in that moment. At what point in my life did I allow the default thought be a notion that my time and place in the world is automatically less valuable than someone else’s?

In that single second, I thought back on all the times I held my tongue, chose not to stick up for myself, chose not to walk away from a situation I didn’t like, where I willfully made myself the expense of someone else’s benefit, and where I did not assert myself.

And I said to myself, “Fuck that.”

I walked my ass across that street, and I didn’t give a damn whether that car had to wait an extra second or not. I have just as much a place in this world as anyone else, and if I don’t value that then no one else will be particularly inspired to.

I’m just sick of being timid. Sick of shying away from compliments, from feeling good about accomplishments. I’m sick of withholding my feelings, and acting like I need to frame myself in such a way to be accepted in some way.

I get so nervous talking about my feelings. About what’s on my mind, and about what’s important to me. It can be extremely uncomfortable to put myself first in the presence of other people, and all it ever leads to is some kind of reservation or regret.

I know objectively I could have saved myself from a ton of emotional stress and heartache if I just asserted myself, but it’s hard for me. Maybe it’s from not having the highest self esteem ever growing up, but whatever it is, it’s a weight on my chest that I’ve gotten tired of carrying.

I’ve had two separate ideas for blog posts to write here over the past week, but I opted not to because I started to wonder what people would think about it, if they decided to read it.

Fuck that.

I, so often, relegate myself to the nice guy that finishes last because I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes or make waves. I make myself uncomfortable in the pursuit of not making anyone else uncomfortable.

Why?

Why do I do that? Why is that my job? It’s not. I’d rather be myself and not fit into places if it meant the places I did fit in were where I was at my most natural. I think that’s what I deserve. I know it is.

I’m going to write about those other two ideas when I have the time. I started this blog to expand and grow. I’m not about to change that now.

I’ll never forget it.

I was in middle school, sixth grade I’m pretty sure. I want to say that was it because of the social uncertainty I felt. At that time, I was leaving elementary school and going to Orchard Valley Middle School. It was close enough that I could walk to school, so there was that much but I felt uneasy about having to go to different classrooms, meeting new people, going into some unknown environment.

I wanted to get away from it all. Be somebody else. I remembered using a hall pass every now and again to get out of my seat and enjoy some time to myself. The school was a pretty much a long rectangular with two floors, and a long hallway splitting the classrooms.

I remember dragging my fingers along the lockers, looking down at a corridor that seemingly went on forever. I’d daydream being like Sonic the Hedgehog of all things, that I could run fast enough to run along the walls themselves, jump through the window at the end of the hallway, and run away from all the anxiety I felt about being in a new environment. But, sooner or later I had to go back to class and stall my imagination while I watched other kids form social cliques and friendships.

I had some friends too, but it just never felt like I fit in anywhere. I wanted to get away.

I’d dream about becoming the Scarlet Spider when I grew up. He was the clone of Peter Parker, and he wore a costume I thought was so cool. I’d close my eyes and imagine what it felt like to swing from one street lamp to another. The momentum, the rush of wind, detaching from a web at the height an arc just long enough to float freely before the Earth pulled me back to the ground. Back to a reality I wanted to escape from.

Looking back, I’m somewhat surprised I didn’t also fit in what it’d be like to be some kind of vigilante in with the loftiness of acrobatics above the streets of New York City. Getting beat up, risking your life on a consistent basis for strangers who may not even appreciate it. The thoughts I have from that time feel so nostalgic, and yet comforting.

For me to not have thought about the brutal reality of what it’d take to actually become a superhero meant that as some point I really was a kid. That I didn’t have this hyper analytical sense of perception. Something about that is a comfort to me.

It may surprise someone to learn that I did not end up becoming a crime fighting vigilante, but I do remember cutting up this blue turtleneck after my sister fell asleep one night and fitted it over this oversized red long sleeve shirt. My very first superhero costume. I don’t think my mom ever found out about me doing that, but I kept that bootleg costume for a long time, long after I was old enough to give up the idea of becoming a wall crawler.

I find myself reconnecting and identifying with that kid, so enamored and mesmerized by the positive aspects of a goal that the reasons to think it’s crazy don’t matter. As misguided as it was, there was a lot of bravery and determination in that kid.

Maybe that bravery stemmed from just wanting to get away from everything, and maybe he was afraid of ridicule if he shared this dream with anyone at the time, but in his heart that kid dared to dream of something more for himself someday. He hoped.

And that’s a concept I’ve been reconnecting with lately. I have hopes, goals, and ambitions. Maybe I’ve always had them, but I feel like they’re more poignant and meaningful to me now.

Pairing all of that with a renewed sense of confidence and assurance I think I’ll be swinging through the air soon enough.

Thanks for reminding what it’s like to dream, kid. We haven’t talked in a long time, and that’s on me. Thanks for sticking around. Let’s hang out sometime. There’s probably plenty more I could still learn from you. But, if I could tell you anything, I’d say that it’s going to get better. And you don’t have it nearly as bad as you think.

What you go through makes you stronger, and no one deserves to take your happiness and self-confidence away. Don’t give anyone that kind of power. It’s a choice you make.

And keep your Nintendo.

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.