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.

The computer game Heroes of the Storm has changed my life.

That seems like a loaded statement, and even reading it back just now as I type makes me feel at least a little silly. And yet, in a lot of ways it’s a true statement.

In the name of specificity, I’d make it clear that the game itself has not changed my life. It’s more the social dynamic within it has offered context and wisdom to me that I’ve had samplings of in the past but haven’t really gotten a full helping of until recently.

Starting and leading a Heroes of the Storm team has proven to be one of the most challenging things I’ve ever tackled. As someone that struggles with analyzing things too much, finding fault in their own actions, coping with self doubt, and feeling socially incompatible, the act of team leadership is pretty much a greatest hits of my greatest fears.

Amplified on top of that was the objective truth that out of everyone on the original roster of this team I was probably the least experienced. It was a trial by fire that molded me in ways I had not expected.

I learned about the concept of potential. I always appreciated and respected the idea that people on the team could see past my inexperience and see the potential of a solid leader and shotcaller, even in times where I just flat out didn’t. Nearly every call I made and step I took had a ping of self-doubt and consternation. Would this be the moment people lose faith in me? When I’d lose faith in myself? Every practice and every match brought on its own unique measure of panic and anxiety. A younger me likely would have buckled under the pressure, said it was too much, and bailed.

But I refused to do that. The people on this team were my friends. They were people who I looked up to as players. If they could see potential in me, I sure as Hell was not about to let them down, so I put myself out there knowing full well that my imperfections would be on display. The perfectionist in me abhors being in that position, but I needed to prove to myself that I could do the job.

And while I have been far from perfect, I do think that I’ve managed to find confidence in my ability to be a captain and shotcaller. That’s an experience that I can take with me and apply to pretty much every other endeavor I put before myself. Life changing stuff.

Being a part of a team gave me insight to what I think a marriage would feel like. You spend enough time with a person or group of people and you start to really know them. You learn subtle shifts in their voices, otherwise imperceptible tells that speak volumes about someone’s emotional state. They make you laugh. They aggravate the Hell out of you. They get on your nerves. You are proud of their growth. You are committed to supporting them. You are thankful for the support they return to you. You begin to see a bigger picture.

You see people as human beings capable of making mistakes, being imperfect, and caring about them anyway. You see the potential in them to look past those rougher patches, and you are committed enough to work through tough situations.

The time and commitment put into the relationship have yielded results that overshadow any temporary emotional feeling from an argument or disagreement. There’s a wall of sorts that gets formed around the relationship where sometimes you bounce around in there pretty hard, but the walls you’ve all built together are strong enough to withstand it, and only end up becoming more resilient going forward. It’s hard to put a price on stuff like that.

This has been one of the first times I’ve really seen that kind of thing come to pass, and having just the glimpse I’ve managed has had a profound impact on me and the way I look at connections with people.

I think it’s helped me to not take things so personally, and I think it’s helped me to forgive myself for my mistakes; two things I’ve historically had a lot of trouble with.

Heroes of the Storm also inspired me to try my hand at casting, something I never thought in a million years I would do or even enjoy. I remember first getting into the game, watching Khaldor’s videos on YouTube or logging into this thing I never heard of called Twitch to watch some of these professional teams play. I was fascinated by the strategy and analysis. There was such personality to it all. I wanted to wade into that world.

At least the playing part. I was hesitant to reach out to Superjova to see if he needed another caster. Who was I? I had no experience casting before. I knew the game well enough, but I’m not the most outgoing person or socially expressive. I can be on occasion, but it’s generally not who I am or have become in my adult years. I don’t like putting myself out there. No one likes feeling rejected, I don’t think. I certainly don’t.

I’m glad I e-mailed him, though. I was nervous as all get-out for my first time casting. I for sure knew I did a horrible job and that I wouldn’t get another opportunity to cast again, and yet the next week another e-mail came in to cast. And then another.

Imagine my surprise when I actually started receiving compliments on my casting. It was crazy to me. I had no instruction manual. No training. No experience. I was just being me. And that can be a hard thing to convey on the internet to relative strangers. People could laugh at me for a whole multitude of reasons, but instead the response from the community has been amazing.

It’s made me privy to the notion that there are people in the world who may just genuinely like me for who I am, flaws and all. The kind of friendship, warmth, and acceptance people in the community have given me really brings a tear to my eye when I sit here and think about it.

When someone thanks me for casting, or tells me they’re looking forward to me casting more, or anything along those lines I’m so thankful. It’s very humbling. Casting is not like a job, where I just complete a set of tasks and that’s it. You can be thanked for that but there’s a certain disconnect involved. When someone says, ‘Hey. I like what you’re doing. I like your personality and what unique qualities you have that you’re putting out there’ it has a much more resonating effect.

It’s hard to explain. All of it is, really. I just know that I am a more mature and ‘aware’ person than I was when I started playing Heroes of the Storm. A better person, I’d say.

So, yeah. Heroes of the Storm has changed my life.

Without any real studying or research past my own life experiences and what I might have gleaned from the internet, I think that human beings are by nature social creatures. Even the most introverted of people strive for some form of interaction with other people, however brief. On the surface, I think that people are more in love with the outside perception of themselves than who they really are underneath.

And I think we all feel a need to belong somewhere.

For pretty much the entirety of my life I have felt like I don’t fit in. The best way I’ve ever been able to describe it is that I feel like a special guest star on a sitcom. Sure, people may like me being around and may even outwardly say they want me to be around, but there isn’t a true place for me. I show up for a few episodes a season, but I never am a part of the main cast.

There are moments like now where I look around and it feels like I’ve lost at musical chairs. I don’t have a place to sit. Everyone else does, and are off doing their own thing and living their lives. And I’m just here. On an island. Alone.

In the past while, I have been trying really hard to find validation and acceptance in myself. And in a lot of ways I am proud of the progress I’ve made on that front. Still, though. There’s this nagging feel that it’s just my lot in life to end up alone. That my principles or ideals effectively equate to dividing by zero, and that I will never have all of the things I want in the way that I want them.

I wonder, sometimes, if other people out there that I might perceive on the surface as being happy, feels like I do. Like maybe I’m not crazy. Maybe other people I know are dealing with similar feelings. But probably not.

It’s made me think a lot about family. Some people may be able to escape this sense of loneliness in knowing that there are people out there that are your flesh and blood. In some ways, those people are obligated to be there for and with you to remind you that it’s not just you on your own on the planet. That you’re a part of something, somewhere. As great as my family is, I don’t know if I’ve ever truly embraced them in that way. I don’t know if I’ve ever truly embraced anyone in that way. And I don’t know if anyone would ever want to embrace me in that way.

I thanked my sister yesterday. We went out for pizza. Just kinda hung out and talked. It was the closest I’ve come to actually talking about my feelings in a while. Perhaps a long while.

Sometimes, I feel like I have progressed miles. In others, I feel like I’ve only progressed inches, or even have fallen back.

I wonder if it’s possible to truly have all of the things you want in life and to be happy. I’m trying to embrace the proverbial struggle of how I’m feeling in hopes that down the road I can look back and appreciate the better times that much more.

But sometimes I worry that those better times will never come, and that there will always been this hollow feeling inside where I feel like I could disappear and people would not care.

I’ve set myself down a path of loneliness, knowing what it would do to me. The gamble was that in the long run it’d leave me in a better place.

There can’t be ups without downs. Light without dark. Good without bad. It’s the balance between that’s important. But man am I tired of feeling down.

I think in the past few years I’ve really grown as a person. I hit some pretty serious milestones. I’ve tackled and overcome some serious hurdles. Done a lot of introspection, though I’ve always done that. I like to think I’ve made a significant amount of progress. Some days, though, I feel like perhaps I haven’t moved at all.

I liken it to running on a treadmill. I feel the burn of my lungs, my stamina increase, each footsteps. I set my breathing. I get into the ‘zone’ and I feel like I can run longer and longer distances, but then I stop and I realize I haven’t actually moved anywhere at all.

So while, yeah, I’ve increased my stamina and resiliency some, if I haven’t actually moved anywhere, have I really made any progress at all? How do I make sure I am actually moving, and that I’m not just on a treadmill?

I know it’s been a while since I’ve written anything here, not that I really expect anyone to look at it. It hasn’t been for a lack of introspection.

Over the past couple of days, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking in an outward sense. Usually, my mind is racing about some introspective thought or attempt at personal analysis. It helps me grow, I feel. But of late, people I know or know of have been doing things that really make me scratch my head and feel confused about the drive behind people’s actions.

I know someone who I will call Gustav. Gustav separated and divorced his now ex-wife two years ago. A few months back when he went to renew his custom license plate tags, he found out that his ex was contesting the ownership of said tag. This tag is something he came up with to describe the car he drove, was intended for him, and kept after their separation. So why, after two years, would this person still try to antagonize him?

I don’t have any ex-wives, so maybe I just don’t grasp the depths of hatred possible for another human being, but I feel like the more I didn’t like someone the less I’d be inclined to do something like that.

I think about the festering thoughts this person’s carried over Gustav for the past two years. It had to have consumed her. It has to be something that rules her day, even now. I wonder if people who try to antagonize and hurt someone else realize exactly how much power they are giving to that person.

Gustav doesn’t think about his ex at all. He’s moved on, and moved forward. He’s got his whole life to live. When someone tries to make a nuisance of themselves after so long, it’s really difficult to say they’ve done the same. Which, to me, is sad and laughable at the same time.

It’s laughable in that this person, by their own actions, have equated themselves to some mustache twirling villain that’d throw the damsel in distress on the train tracks. They’ve turned into caricatures of what a whole, complete person should be capable of being. They’re Rita Repulsa, looking down on Angel Grove while these kids go on with their lives not caring about her at all while she’s spending every waking moment trying to hurt them. Is their life so uneventful and empty that they even have time to spend on someone they don’t like? It takes some effort to contest ownership of a license plate, or to do anything to really try to hurt someone or get in their way. It’s a commitment. Don’t they have their own lives to live? Something better to do? What are they even trying to get out of it?

I think the answer to that last question is why I find it so sad. I actually pity people like this. I look past whatever barbs they have to throw and go straight to feeling bad for them. Think about it. Cindy thinks Susie is a bad person for reasons X, Y, and Z. Cindy, because of this, will do M to Susie to hurt her. M takes some concerted effort, and Cindy is sure to do it under the guise of anonymity in order to not receive any blowback. They have an image to upkeep as being someone above this kind of cowardly and childish behavior, after all.

By simple logic, Cindy is at best making themselves out to be as bad as their perception of Susie is, and more than likely they are worse. If Susie’s never done anything to Cindy and goes about her life not particularly concerning herself with Cindy’s life, isn’t there a disparity there that speaks volumes? Cindy is just sitting off on the side so moved and affected by Susie’s actions that have nothing to do with her that they get the inclination to do something to hurt them. Susie’s become that big and important in Cindy’s life.

Cindy can’t be happy as a person. They may have a facade that says as much, and they may deny it as much as they want, but I just don’t see how someone completely happy with their life bothers taking overt actions to antagonize someone.

I’m pretty happy with my life. I have a great job that pays my bills and lets me buy pretty much anything I want that is 10 minutes from my house by way of my convertible. I have family that loves me, a handful of good friends, and am in a relationship with one of the most amazing people I’ve ever met.

If I didn’t like someone and there was some way I could hurt them, I just wouldn’t bother. The time spent doing that, no matter how small or insignificant, is better spent living my life and enjoying my happiness. That person isn’t in my life. No matter how good or bad their lives are, or what they’re feeling, or anything about them they are not worth the effort of consciously acknowledging to that extent. I have better things to do and better people to do them with.

Cindy or Gustav’s ex just can’t say the same thing. They need to try to pull other people down to their level and make them hurt as much as they are. They need to find enjoyment out of something negative, because they don’t have much to enjoy that comes out of something positive.

When I was thinking about all of this, two questions really came to mind. Could these people tell their mother about what they’ve done in full detail and not feel completely embarrassed?  Could they tell their children about what they’ve done in full detail without feeling ashamed? That’s been a metric of mine lately. If I would be embarrassed or ashamed by something if it were placed in front of some of the most important people in my life, chances are I probably shouldn’t be doing it.

I imagine Cindy as a mother. They sit there and explain to their 7 year old daughter how they went out of their way to harass Susie and try to hurt her feelings. How she sat there and waited, literally months, and checked every day for the opportunity. I just imagine how that kid would feel about their mom. Or how Cindy’s mom would feel about her to find out that rather than living her own life and bettering herself she’s trying and failing to hurt someone else’s kid.

Perhaps I am just overanalyzing things. I have a habit of doing that, but to me the logic is pretty sound. I get a good chuckle out of people like Cindy or Gustav’s ex-wife, and then I feel bad for them.

The makers of Grand Theft Auto V were probably looking to evoke a lot of things from the game’s players throughout its single player story. The game has no shortage of crime, vulgarity, grit, and juvenile humor. I wonder if they meant to convey such a resonating notion of friendship and loyalty. It could very well be my ability to pick up things that probably aren’t even there at play, but you never know.

There’s a part of the story where one of the supporting characters has gotten themselves into trouble, again, and they subsequently need saving. At first, I hated the idea of going to help this character. This character’s screwed up so many times and seemingly just didn’t want to learn, so why should the character you’re controlling at the time bother helping them? They’re just going to get themselves in trouble again. It seemed like a waste. It, to me, logically made more sense to just write this character off and move on.

But you don’t get that choice, so you have to go over and help this character out. Gunfights and calamity ensue, but you’re able to save this character. Instead of offering much in the way of thanks, the saved character almost starts criticizing the character who saved them. Accusing them of forgetting where they came from and only looking out for themselves. There’s a bit of wounded pride in the subtext, like this character felt abandoned and had to make due on their own.

I wanted my character to just shoot this character in the face right then, but again it wasn’t an option. Later on in the story, the saved character needs to help the main character, and he offers up his services without a moment’s hesitation. All squabbling was put aside and he was ready to stick his neck out at a moment’s notice.

Before, I had so heavily focused on the lack of intelligence and efficiency this character had in going about things that I could not see the concept of friendship and loyalty. In that, I got a lot of insight into how I look at the world. After the supporting character helps the main character, there’s a mutual sense of family and unity. There’s even an ‘I love you, bro’ thrown in there which was somewhat surprising.

It made me think that maybe it’s not about how many times people screw up, or how often they’re prone to screwing up. It’s more about being there for each other when the other needs help. The logical side of me can only push this idea but so far, but it’s really brought to light my track record of not being the most forgiving person ever.

I’ve, historically, been pretty quick to write people off. It’s not something I’m particularly proud of, but it’s true and I wouldn’t be growing as a person if I flat out ignored it. The scenarios and situations all vary, but some are more arguable than others. All of them, however, probably could have lead to salvaged relationships had I only stepped back from my position on whatever the topic was. It’s a curious realization to make.

I hold such high expectations for myself. I’m kicking myself for not having set up asynchronous client updating based on SQL database changes for the website version of the DM RP system I’m writing, and I don’t allow myself to realize that sites like this are usually developed by TEAMS of people who have YEARS of experience and that some might find it to be pretty remarkable that I’ve gotten as far as I have in the time that I have. But I don’t feel any comfort or pride in that. I want to be able to figure this stuff out. Now. And anything less than that is a failure of some extent.

And that sense of being a perfectionist and having what are most likely unusually high standards have bled over into my expectations of other people. Looking back, there have been times where I’ve flat out expected someone to read my mind and that’s not fair. There have been times when I, even now, still feel like someone made a pretty big mistake, but I didn’t do much to offer forgiveness or understanding. I either walked out of their life or I let them walk out of mine without much resistance over either outcome.

And that’s really not a way to live. At least, it’s not the way I want to live going forward. People make mistakes. I sure as Hell have made my share. Some people have lapses in judgment. Some people don’t see other perspectives. Some people don’t see the extent of the damage their actions can cause. I’ve been one of these people in every instance, so who am I to feel like others can’t be?

I think the emotional wall I usually keep up has done a lot to bar me from showing that kind of forgiveness or understanding. Sometimes I’ve leaned too heavily on pride when I should have just said, ‘Hey. That hurt my feelings’. Again, not something I’m really proud of. I’ve lived so much of my life looking at things with this logical lens with a firm barrier up between me and the rest of the world that it’s hard to have any other perspective. This whole ‘letting people in’ thing is pretty hard for me. It’s something I may struggle with for the rest of my life, but that’s a struggle I want to take on.

I want to give a damn about people, and I want people to give a damn about me. The people who are worth giving a damn about, to be specific. I’m not trying to gather everyone’s favor.

I think about some of the people I don’t talk to anymore sometimes. I don’t really see myself reaching out to any of them. They probably have formed solidified opinions of me for one reason or another, and in their mind they’re completely right in having it. I think about whether I’d be willing to mend some of those fences, or if it’d even be possible. I’m honestly not sure. Whether or not I speak to them again, the time I knew them serves as an experience I can grow and learn from.

A game about senseless violence and destruction taught me that it’s more about weathering storms with the people who care about you than it is to be right or wrong.

Tonight, I did something I haven’t done in a long time; play the guitar. I remember over the summer when I bought this new guitar. Nothing fancy, by any stretch of the imagination. It was supposed to be a means to an end. If I learned how to play the guitar, I could learn how to write music. At the very least, I would be able to halfway know what I was talking about to musicians who could put the sounds in my head into something that actually made sense. No more feeling like a jackass humming notes whose names I don’t know.

Playing the guitar itself had benefits on its own, though. There’s something rewarding about looking at this relatively alien piece of hardware, picking it up, and getting some kind of sound out of it. In some ways, singing has been an expression of my soul. Playing the guitar is another kind of expression.

When I sing, there’s an audience there. When I’m really, really getting into singing it feels like it’s just me in the room and I’m just letting everything go, and out. But I know that when it’s over there are going to be people there. I hope for, if not need, some form of positive reaction from the bearing of my soul. I’m not the greatest singer by any stretch, but it’s one of the few things I’ve ever put my all into.

With playing the guitar it’s different.

When I play the guitar, I am alone. There’s no audience. There’s no one’s positive reception I’m looking or hoping for. It’s just me. I don’t close my eyes like I do with singing sometimes. It’s a different kind of concentration and muscle memory. Instead of breath control, it’s trying to be mindful of the next jump on the fret my hand has to make, and what shape my fingers need to be when they get there. There’s a certain rhythm and dexterity that’s unlike anything I’ve ever done before.

Mind you, I am not good at playing the guitar. But the effort in trying to play the guitar connects with my soul in a relatively profound way.

Tonight, playing the guitar felt very symbolic. In a lot of ways, I compare the guitar to my soul. At least tonight I do. My guitar’s been right where I left it, in the corner collecting dust in my living room. Sealed away in a bag with all its connecting parts boxed away and rolled up. It was something of a chore to get everything untangled and organized once I got it out of the bag. I felt a certain nervousness. I hadn’t touched the guitar in a long time, and as poorly as I played it back then, adding a few layers of rust could only make things worse.

But there was a familiarity in hearing those pieces click together and lock in place. The guitar connects to the foot pedal. The pedal to the amp. That low buzz of feedback when my crappy little amp cut on. It took me back to a time when music was a more prominent part of my life.

Tuning each string built up more and more anticipation and anxiety. Taking up the fret and strumming the strings to make sure everything was tuned felt like hopping back on the proverbial bike.

I surprised myself with how much I had remembered, but wasn’t surprised with how out of practice I had become. That fact was apparent in the sound. Missed notes. Inaccurate hand placement. The residual stinging in my fingertips that reminded me that any callouses I had developed from when I played consistently were long gone. I was starting over, I had been here before, and I never left all at the same time.

The sound from my guitar tonight, my soul, was extraordinarily far from perfect. In fact, the perfectionist in me cringed and felt its usual share of disappointment in my inability to instantly master something and move on from it. But therein lies the notion.

Connecting with my soul is not something I can just perfect and be done with. And even when I stray from it, it’s there to welcome me back. It never left. It’d just been sitting there waiting for me all this time.

I could see it everyday in the corner, but knowing it’s there is a good deal different than taking it out, connecting with it, and really embracing what it has to offer.

I’ve missed the expression of my soul. And it’s missed me.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ha65hL2zxt0

“Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again but expecting different results.” -Anonymous

I think about this quote sometimes. It has a profound resonance for me as of late. Before long, I keep finding myself back at the same place. The path there always looks and feels different, but I wonder if there’s something I’m missing. Life is funny in how progress can be made in some steps, but you end up feeling like none has been made at all.

Sometimes, you just have to pick yourself up and keep moving forward I guess.