Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts

Merging Two Worlds



 
I realized long ago that my interests, my devotions and my heart exist almost exactly in equal depth for two discrete places—Kansas City, the place I currently call home and where my family is and all of my current investments such as school and work are rooted, and Cheyenne, Wyoming, the place I used to call home and where so many of my closest friendly bonds still reside where I grew up during my most formative early teenage years. Each place has more than its own fair share of positive considerations and factors to keep each set of emotions, interests, devotions and investments powerfully tied to them. I take a lot of comfort in this, but for that reason I find myself stuck in a perpetually awkward state of longing for whichever place I’m not currently breathing in the sweet air of at each passing moment.

So there is a kind of distance which always separates me from both places simultaneously…because this distance isn’t just the obvious physical one, for however many actual miles are between myself and one of these beautiful places, that same number of miles, manifested emotionally, always works to separate me from the other. If there was some way that I could merge the two worlds, and have forever all of the cherished variables that I so long to be a part of, all of them combined in the most wonderful way, I would tear apart the fabric of space-time with my bare hands to bring them together and I don’t think I could ever ask for anything more.

There are almost 700 torturous miles separating these two worlds. And each one has its own intense well of gravity, always mercilessly tugging me away from the other. Only periodically do I get the opportunity to cut the chains keeping me rooted here in Kansas City and let myself drift that way, over to Cheyenne. The largest of these chains are those of school and work—because only with the blessing of each of these can I make time to temporarily break free from their otherwise unrelenting grip on my focus. I can always still keep in touch and communicate in ways not so different from what is usually taking place anyway, so it’s not so much a matter of separating myself from the people I’m surrounded by here as it is a matter of separating myself from the career-oriented lifestyle I’m surrounded by. And so the beautiful fairy tale setting I can’t shake from my mind (if I even wanted to) is the one in which all of the people I so often find myself dreaming about, together in equal parts both here in Kansas City and there in Cheyenne, are here with me together at once. I absolutely cannot think of a better world than one which incorporates all of the best attributes of both of these, seamlessly combined into a true fairy tale setting if there ever was one.

For obvious reasons my most immediate concerns are those of school and work, and so there really is no question about where I need to be now…at least for the time being, in this moment. And being closer to family, both immediate here in town and slightly less immediate only a couple hours away, is a very nice thing. But on the other hand, in the place that I used to call home (and still do for a fleeting two weeks out of the year), I have some of my longest and deepest-held friendships and the physical surroundings which never fail to provide intensely treasured nostalgic feelings of their own. And although this woefully short amount of time I’m able to take advantage of each year is so relatively brief, separated by about twenty-five times this amount of time, in which I must remain devoted to more productive pursuits here at “home”, all of this time and distance that seems so daunting all the while I’m away seems to just dissolve and fade away the moment I arrive and see all the familiar faces I’ve been missing for so long. And then it’s almost as if I was never even gone at all. It’s a feeling of belonging simply without compare.

If there is ever any doubt in my mind about whether I should really be utilizing my entire vacation time to travel out there and mingle into the ongoing social network, whether I’m still going to fit in and be appreciated, it is utterly demolished almost immediately as I never fail to seamlessly blend back into the scene. It's funny, sometimes, how often people are surprised that I'd take my vacations and come out here to Cheyenne time after time. "Cheyenne, of all places?!" Yes, beautiful Cheyenne, so full of all these wonderful friendships. Truth is, there's no place in the world I'd rather be when I get the chance.

I guess I could say that I’m more physically tied to my current home, and more emotionally tied to my prior home. But this is without a doubt mostly because of the simple fact that I’ve lived here for so long and have career-oriented goals that have been progressing for much of that time. I guess I could also say that my bright future (as its prospects are currently situated) lies here in Kansas City, while my longed-for past (as its prospects are currently situated, as well) lie all the way over there in Cheyenne. There are some deep considerations in this realization, because there are many important variables which are so easy to overlook if I let imagination run rampant and neglect to consider more than sheer longing for the past and what I only get to experience briefly each year.

There is something to be said, of course, of the fact that my time spent in Cheyenne each year is a worry-free vacation from my career-oriented goals and that these emotions are undoubtedly heightened by this. Admittedly, by the end of each visit there is a part of me looking forward to returning to my busy, productive routine back in Missouri. I do enjoy being busy and productive, and I always have to admit that the carefree vacation really does need to come to an end, as far as my bright future is concerned. So it’s difficult to say how things would be if the situation was reversed and I was using my vacation time each year to visit friends and family back in Missouri. I think it would be strikingly similar, in its own way—I would miss family and friends, and I would try to set aside time to come visit, and I would probably feel an intense longing for such times once I returned (to Cheyenne). But I would realize that I needed to return, because I would have a productive life to continue when my vacation time ran out. The two versions are not so different. Such is my devotion to and my connections in both places.

Perhaps the most important consideration of all is that I’m really only drawn back to Cheyenne each chance I get because of the incredible people in it. I’m not particularly drawn to the place because of the place itself—although if I happened to be passing by and absolutely none of my good friends remained, I’d probably drive through and stop at a couple familiar places at least to appreciate some nice nostalgia. But my true interests lie with the inhabitants and for this reason I need to be careful not to rely too much on these people who might not stick around themselves. I must take this fact of life for all of its implications, because when all things are considered the most important thing, besides the familiar friendly faces I definitely would like to be close to, is to be situated physically where I can make the most for myself regardless of the people that have every reason of their own to come and go (the same thing applies, of course, to Kansas City). In an ideal world I would situate myself in the best physical location and have every friendly face from anywhere I could desire forever within my reach—but such is not even remotely likely going to be the case, and this is the primary reason for my wandering mind to create and hold onto this idea which shines so brightly in its potential glory for how I could possibly have the best of all possible worlds right here in the palms of my hands, at least in my idealized daydreams.

So I always find myself torn so cleanly down the center when I consider all of the possibilities that I might have any control over establishing for myself. Kansas City has its obvious physical advantages, and of course a good many deep friendships, while Cheyenne has its unmistakable nostalgia and harbors some of the most deeply-rooted friendships of all. This is the nature of my longing to merge the two worlds, because if I could remain here in this better-situated location on the planet’s surface while still having these friends (combined with my many friends I already have over here) then I would be hard-pressed to imagine a way to be any happier with the Universe.

To anyone who knows me particularly well, or even not, it must go without saying that the primary key to the happiness found in Cheyenne is one Dave Ewaliko, with whom I’ve shared most of every single one of my most cherished memories and most deeply held thoughts. And this isn’t to discount any of the almost countless other intensely-cherished friendships I have rooted in the city (both cities). These people should know who they are. I adore every single one to the utmost of my overflowing heart.

I find it absolutely incredible how intertwined my thoughts are with a place full of people that I’ve only fleetingly kept in physical contact with over so many long years. Early on, after the intense move well over eight years ago (2004), I always comforted myself with the thoughts that the “loss” of Cheyenne, or rather, "The Motherland," as Dave and I came to refer to it, would fade away in time. And of course I was right, to a degree. But there is still somewhat more longing than I had anticipated, or at least had hoped for. I guess I always knew deep down that it was going to be a “scar” for life. It’s interesting how emotional damages can be so much more excruciating than even the most severe physical ones. In the summer of 2007 I fell off a house while working construction and broke my back... fractured my 12th lumbar vertebrate. But miraculously, I feel little pain or even anything more than occasional discomfort at this stage afterwards. The only reminder I ever have is some discomfort if I stand in one place too long, and this doesn’t happen often. It makes things like washing dishes frustrating. On the other hand, I am haunted regularly by the memories of past fortunes that were left behind once my family moved away in June 2004 and the imaginings of things that might have gone so differently had this not been the case. I do see them as wonderful memories, but even the most incredible of feelings can simultaneously bring the most intense longings. And these memories, for all the times that they bring unrivaled happiness and comfort, can sometimes revive the most tragic despair for such good times which are so long gone. Such is the double-edged blade of nostalgia.

I can say in complete honesty that the absolute best days of my mid-adolescent teenage years were spent in a two-and-a-half-year period of unrivaled bliss over in Cheyenne, namely with two incredible friends, none other than Dave Ewaliko and Cliff Cox. In those years we had conquered the world, as it had mattered to us at the time. Yet I can also say in complete honesty that the absolute best days of my elder teenage years were those I spent with my best friends I had here in KC, with Sean Lusher and Jacob Knepper and, similarly, it feels like I had conquered the world all over again with them. The value I hold to each time period is so similar in its worth that I cannot pin down a specific route that would have played out for the better if it could have been more long-lasting—if I had stayed in Cheyenne, then those mid-teenage years definitely would have culminated in ever-increasing intensity as we aged into adults, and yet those late-teenage years I spent here in KC would have had a more powerful foundation, and in turn a much more powerful transition into adulthood, if I had arrived here sooner. The dividing line is, in all practicality, because of all of the intricacies involved in each particular case, impossible to gauge effectively. The thoughtful devotion may be an obsession, but it is an obsession I passionately indulge.

Because even still every time I hear or read about issues Dave is having over there in The Motherland, I want nothing more than to just leap head-first into my car and drive nonstop all the way there, pull into his driveway, throw him into the passenger seat, and drive to Anthony's Pizza (even though it doesn't exist anymore... but any place would do). Then we could go back to his house, stopping at the Mini-Mart for 64 oz. sodas on the way, to laugh our vocal cords sore playing Fifa Soccer or Monkey Ball or watching MXC... and I know in my heart that, at least for the duration of our game-playing or TV-watching, any troubling issues would be in the back of our minds (if anywhere at all). His dad would say hi to me in his ever-soft voice as he rushes to the kitchen to cook sausages for us, his siblings Cece and Jonah would be playfully screaming and throwing each other around the house, Autumn would be laughing at it all or telling them that they're stupid, and his mom (though she has sadly passed on since such memories were so deeply rooted) would be sitting on the couch, telling me about how “special” I am. How special is it when a few experiences easily recalled into memory can rival, or even surpass, the most impressive dream?

They say that home is where the heart is, and I say that if home is where the heart is then there is not a single homeless person in the world. But some people might be unfortunately misplaced.

Long ago, Dave and I came up with a semi-serious pact that when we're wrinkly old geezers assigned to wheelchairs we'll still be sitting out on our neighboring porches (because we will be next-door neighbors), chatting about all the insanity we lived through and all the girls we chased, cherish and loved. It sticks with me, in part because I truly want this to happen. In a way I can precisely imagine the two of us, sitting side-by-side in our rickety old rocking chairs, cracking jokes and reminiscing about all the good times (most of which are yet to come), cracking the same old jokes, Dave bursting out in his oh-so-characteristic hearty laugh (although the years will have taken their toll on it), and just simply enjoying truly cooperative company with each other as a gorgeous Vanilla Sky makes its complex interactions over the horizon.

Everybody has forever to look forward to. Life is absolutely not short, it is the longest thing possible to experience and because we have absolute control over our investments within it I feel it is of the most profound importance that we pursue those things most cherished to us. Because forever is so much more than just a word… forever is the amount of your life that you'll always know you have all such people in your life. And even when they're not around you anymore, or very fleetingly so, as unfortunate as that is, there are still so many ways to talk with them, and even visit whenever possible. Distance plays its unfortunate role in so many cases between people who would otherwise enjoy nothing more than being in each other’s company, but at the same time this same distance can help to strengthen and filter out everything but the most cherished connections of all. And you will know you have one of those true and long-lasting friendships when you can show up on their doorstep after absolutely any amount of time and distance and within mere moments all of the most deep and cherished feelings of all come flooding back as if a tidal wave was unleashed from the deepest depths of the ocean. And you'll know when that term "forever" is to the fullest extent when you see such a person after so much time has passed, and you’ve each pursued such separate paths, and yet each time your paths cross once again it seems exactly like there was no time passed at all.

It may be a fanciful daydream to imagine myself having the best of both of these worlds combined, but if nothing else at least I can collide and merge them within in my own mind, and imagine how wonderful things would be if I had all variables in my grasp at all times. But of course I cannot physically have this fortune. I can, however, relish in all the bountiful memories each holds, and pursue with the best of my abilities all of the time that I can spare to continue to make the best of each, as separately as they must be, and as intertwined as they can be, because I have the power to make it so as often as I can manage.

And so I am somewhat distanced from my current home, here in Kansas City, emotionally, and from my long-lost home, there in Cheyenne, physically. But life is complicated, circumstances are complicated, cooperation is complicated, and my deepest desires are perhaps most complicated of all. So if I seem a little bit distant at any point in time, to anyone from either location, please understand that as much as I’d love more than anything to be there sharing time and memories, old and new, with you, I might seem a bit distant only because I am.

Posted by Unknown | at 7:06 PM | 1 comments

Coursing Through My Veins

(October 13th, 2011; revised March 5, 2012)





Have you ever caught a glimpse of yourself in a window reflection or in a picture and for a split second thought you were looking at your mother or father? Or maybe you’ve looked at a picture of your mother or father and momentarily mistook them for yourself? If you are a mother or father, then you might have experienced this in your child. Maybe your son or daughter has reminded you of yourself from some time, or of your own father or mother. And maybe you haven’t actually been so fooled, but perhaps you have noticed a striking resemblance, especially from certain particular angles or expressions or mannerisms or done something or said something that in hindsight you recognized as their likeness. I am perpetually amazed by this idea and find it to be one of the most beautiful and powerful connections in this world, those you have with your most immediate families, your parents or children or other relatives.
And I recognize that the idea of evolution is extremely controversial, but even when not considered as a basis of “creation” it nevertheless stands strong in analyzing where various physical (and emotional) traits come from. I think that, despite any strength of claims refuting evolution as a theory of origination, every rational person must agree that evolution is playing its perpetual role in the progression of human diversity even if only as far as generic traits such as (to list an inadequate few) eye and hair color, height, and body and facial shapes are concerned. In this sense I don’t think that any person can truly argue against the overall concept of evolution, because it fundamentally shapes who we are, regardless of how far into the past one is willing to consider it. In this regard it doesn’t matter in the slightest whether one believes that humanity owes its existence to ape-descendants or to a supreme being, or any other theory for that matter—this miracle is no less incredible and awe-inspiring. You owe absolutely everything you are to your parents, and them to theirs, and so on entirely down the line.
Physical attributes are undeniably the results of the interactions of your parents’ traits through conception. But it also seems undeniable to me that certain emotional attributes are also the results of the same interactions. I’ve seen so many people who exhibit such similar habits and desires and emotions as their parents, and this aspect of the whole idea fascinates me even more than the physical similarities do—because this connection is so much less obvious in its formulation. That the unimaginably intricate workings and combinations of parent-traits into the development of a new life from so little should incorporate not only the above-mentioned more obvious physical traits (incredible on its own!), but the emotional ones as well, is just… mind-boggling.
I guess the underlying reason for this fascination is that physical traits are so relatively simple, because we really don’t have much control over them. Over their natural state, at least… surgery or various other methods could of course alter this appearance, but you will remain, genetically, as you were conceived. But to me an emotional trait seems so much more complex. That a person should be quick to anger in a manner so similar to a parent’s, or appreciate the same sorts of intellectual pursuits, or indulge the same addictions, or enjoy the same types of music or movies, is so much less obvious and so is much more deeply, meaningfully telling of a person’s heritage. A given set of physical characteristics, such as eye and hair color and a pronounced jaw line and a certain build of body could, on its own, be enough for a person to, without any other knowledge than knowing your parent(s), draw the conclusion of whose offspring you must be—sometimes even multiple generations’ worth! But if you exhibit these traits and various other “emotional” ones then a person is much more likely to independently realize whose offspring you must be, based solely on such outstanding and recognizable characteristics.
Of course the primary factors involved in establishing a person’s emotional characteristics must be in their upbringing, because most such traits are learned simply by being taught by and observing them in their idolized parents. But what about those people who were raised mostly, if not entirely, apart from one or both of their biological parents? Such a case is where the deepest appreciations of this idea are nested, because any such identifiable emotional traits which develop on their own in such a similar manner just emanate the deepest beauties because they could not have been established by direct learning. That a person might not ever lay eyes on one or both of their parents, let alone communicate with them, and yet still exhibit some shred of any of their most characteristic traits, is incredible.
It’s so fascinating to me that, once the seeds have been sown, then (mostly) left to its own devices a life is gradually formed, nourished, birthed, and grown into an entirely separate, unique-yet-strikingly reminiscent being, ready and capable of making and understanding its own remarkable mark on this crazy and beautiful world of ours. For the most part, we all share the same fundamentals—we grow, we develop a body, we have arms and legs and faces and brains and the rest, and we learn how to function with these parts of ourselves in order to interact with the world we come to familiarize ourselves in. Everything else is details: what specific colors our skin and our eyes and our hair are, where we live, the sound of our voice, the language(s) we speak, the things we like to do, the things we like to learn, our friends, our jobs, our tastes in music and movies and the rest of everything that could possibly be used to describe what constitutes any single person. So much of that is passed directly into us by our parents, into the very code of our being, before we even experience our first conscious thought upon the world. And so much of the rest is heavily influenced by our interactions with those parents and help to strengthen what genetics alone is not quite powerful enough to shape independently. You exist and are who you are deep down within your core because your parents are coursing through your veins.
I have come to some very deeply-cherished feelings about where some of my own characteristics have come from. In so many cases the observational evidence seems so abundantly stacked in neat, orderly fashion that it’s almost unreasonable to question their origins. There is little doubt in my mind that I got my senses of kindness, gentleness, patience, honesty, integrity and compassion from my dear mother. She is without a doubt the single person in the world that I would trust, above all others, to tell me how she really feels about something, and to listen to how I really feel about something. I remember, years ago, during junior high after just moving another time (we were an often-moving military family), I felt so alone and discouraged in myself and among my peers. And I remember realizing, after a time, that there was a powerful correlation between “good” and “bad” days which hinged strongly on whether or not I simply got the chance to see and talk to her, however briefly, each morning before leaving for school. It was her kindness, and her empathy and, perhaps most of all, my utter familiarity with her, that simple yet complex identification with her through so many years, that motherly bond, which instilled the positive energy I needed to feel just that little bit extra of in order to better enjoy and appreciate my day. I’m not sure she was ever made aware of this at the time, but if possible I would somehow go and make it known how valuable even the most fleeting exchange was to me during those times in the dark, lonely, troublesome mornings of adolescence.
This trust continues still to this day, and sometimes when I find myself sharing with her an exceptionally deep feeling of mine, or vice versa, before I know it there are tears appearing, forming out of a depth of emotion so intertwined with hers inside me and I am so touched by so powerful a connection as if there is a tangible link of empathy between us just effortlessly ferrying the thoughts and feelings to and fro. I realize in a moment like this that there is an invaluable treasure here, in this bond between two separate human beings which allows for an understanding to be shared so much more deeply than any combinations of words alone could ever fully portray. I realize that I am sharing my feelings about something in this world with one of the people that created and instilled into me the very capacity to do so. I realize all over again that this wonderful person in my life is coursing through my veins, and I share this incredible amount of depth of wonder with no one else in the world.

My father is, for complicated reasons, not so clearly defined in my eyes and, in turn, in myself. But even so there are many characteristics whose source I cannot deny as his. His sense of humor, for one, perhaps most obviously, is most definitely a trait embellished within me which absolutely could not have come from my mother. Growing up, my siblings and I used to make our own comic books and sometimes would leave all captions blank in order to let him fill them in with us. And the things he would write, while making all four of us howl with laughter, would send my mom gasping and running to another room. He had a love of sports, which I share to some degree, but most notable of which was his interest in the numbers, the statistics of the various players, which even to this day I find myself looking for when devoting some interest into the competitions. He was very neat and organized, very detail-oriented, which I see in myself. I find myself similarly obsessively alphabetizing all of my books, movies, games, and CDs and such on the shelves, and I seek a specific spot for remotes and controllers even if I have perhaps too much of an excess of other random things, like my mother, occupying the spaces of my rooms to make them stand out so neat and orderly. But the order is there, and it reminds me of him, and so I feel him coursing through my veins.

I respect her, my dear mother, above all others to do the right thing without hesitation. She is very driven, always wanting to achieve success and make a positive impression on others, desires which I admire and feel I also have in abundance. She is logical and careful in her considerations, admirably patient, other things which I relate to and have worked to establish to a high degree for myself. She is very deeply rooted to her family, always striving to help them when they are in more troublesome times than she is, even when it sets her back from her own goals. I feel this is compassion in all of its glory, and I can only hope to continue to develop my own character to continue to fit such an ideal. But I think I’ve gotten it right so far. I have high hopes for myself with such an incredible role model to look upon. There have been so many times that I’ve felt something, or said something, or done something, and afterward thought to myself, this seems like the sort of thing my mom would have done. If the half of me that is directly descended from her can be worked into just half of the incredibly caring and successful person that she is, I will feel deeply and prideful that I have done well for myself. And so it is, without a doubt in my mind, in every single decision and every single motive and every single moment, my mother coursing through my veins.
My mother once told me, many years ago, that I have a way of looking over my shoulder which reminds her exactly of the way my father would have done. She was picking me up from school one day, during my junior high school year, and I had gotten bored sitting around waiting and was just casually walking up and down the sidewalk along the street that passed by the school. I was listening to my CD player, and so wouldn’t have heard as cars were approaching, so I looked back every minute or two in hopes of seeing her approach. When she eventually arrived and I got in the car, she told me about how vividly she was struck by the image of my father in the moment that I had turned slightly to look behind me. As trivial as it is, this comment struck me powerfully and has always stayed with me. I think it’s one of those little things that I’ll never forget, as long as I live, that for a moment—on the surface—I so closely emulated my father, who himself hadn’t been around for several years.

I remember as a kid waking up sometimes in the middle of the night and realizing that my dad was sitting, by himself, in the dark of the living room, slowly rocking in his favorite chair, singing along to his music. Sometimes I would get out of bed and sit in the doorway, close enough to hear it somewhat better, and just listen, out of sight. He was good, he could really sing, but to my knowledge he only sang during such times when nobody was supposed to be listening. I always felt like he must have had a deep appreciation of the music he enjoyed. He sang with soulful emotions to, I’m assuming, songs he really identified with. And this is another trait which I recognize I share with him. I imagine he must have identified with his emotions along with his music, appreciated the depth of the efforts put into their creation and formation and how this could relate to his own feelings, and he indulged this passion in his own time. Looking back, I realize that this was a depth to his character that he didn’t really outwardly express—I am only aware because of those disappointingly few times I happened to wake up and find him expressing himself when he thought he was all alone in the world with his appreciation. And so when I find myself doing the same thing, oftentimes sitting outside on the back porch just to enjoy the fresh air and darkness of night with my headphones or going for a late night walk or drive so that I can isolate myself from everything but the music itself, I get this deep, powerful feeling as I realize that he is coursing through my veins.
There are even some characteristics which I can identify as apparently originating from both of them. They are both skilled and effective writers. They are both logical thinkers, analyzers. They both have this powerful way of speaking their mind, of establishing the ideas they want to share, of portraying their thoughts into vivid arguments. They are both genuinely kindhearted. They share a deep capacity to feel, and empathize. I like to think that these traits, and so many others, that are common between them are the ones most deeply rooted in my own self. It is definitely both of them, simultaneously and cooperatively coursing through my veins. And what a beautiful mindset they have created, so well-set to admire and appreciate such a glorious world it was brought into. I’m just overcome with wonder when I consider this all and relate with them.
This idea is portrayed wonderfully in a song by Richard Marx called “Through My Veins” in which he reflects on having seen his father in his own reflection in a café window, and then delves into the many wishes and desires, and appreciations, he has felt since his father passed away. It’s so beautiful, and I wish that everybody would listen to it, and feel so inspired to really take time and consider how valuable and precious a connection with a parent really is… because of how much unimaginable impact they have had on your life, on the very fundamental composition of your existence. There is a particular line in the song which goes “I guess there’s not a lot that you forgot to tell me.” And I like to take this as meaning that, even though there may not have been certain things, certain thoughts and feelings, shared, especially if the parent was gone most (if not all ) of the time, they are within you just the same. Anything they may not have gotten the chance to share with you could very well yet be within the fabric of your being regardless.

And so your parents, to whom you owe your very existence to, deserve your every recognition and your highest regard, even despite the most unfortunate negative circumstances that may exist between you. They at least deserve this, and I hope deserve every single bit more that your overflowing heart can muster. Nobody else can place themselves into your very being like the ones who are coursing through your veins at this and every last moment. No matter how far from them you travel, no matter how many other people come and go in your life, nobody else can possibly have that same influence. They will forever be inside of you, and no amount of sharing or lack thereof, no amount of good or bad relations, no level of animosity, will ever change this.
And perhaps even more striking and beautiful, though I can only yet imagine, is the same idea turned around and applied toward your own children. To look at your child, and truly understand that half of what makes up everything about this child is directly descended from the foundations of your own genetics, and not only this, but the other half of them being directly descended from the foundations of the person with whom you created this magnificent miracle of life, must be absolutely beautiful beyond compare. It is one of my deepest and most longed-for desires to witness one day. I want to see half of myself, and half of someone I’ve come to truly love and appreciate for her deepest and truest qualities, come together into a separate human being, and grow into the wildly successful and worldly-prepared life that I know I could pour my devotions and wisdom into. I can hardly even imagine, though I try sometimes, but perhaps one day I won’t need to, and I will have a child that I can look at, and hold, and play with, and share my thoughts and feelings with, and witness the perpetual growth of and the boundless success of, and feel my soul overflow with pride and admiration as I recognize deep down in these depths of my soul that it is me coursing through those precious veins.

                                                                                                                                                                                                          

Posted by Unknown | at 9:53 PM | 0 comments

More Precious Time With You

(August 16, 2011)


So many of the deepest friendships I’ve ever had are all the way over in Cheyenne, Wyoming.
Others are all the way over in Oregon, Europe, Kansas, Florida, Australia, and simply other parts of Missouri.
Some of them joined the military or are otherwise all over the place.
One of even them lives in the same household I do.
And to every single one of these treasured connections I want to say, “I wish I had spent more time with you.”
“I am going to love you. For what we’ve shared I will love you.”

Most of my immediate family lives only a mere few miles away.
My mother lives only a mere few miles away.
Other, more distant family members live mostly in other parts of Missouri and in Massachusetts.
My father lives all the way over in Massachusetts.
And to every single one of these cherished blood ties I want to say, “I wish I had spent more time with you.”
“I am going to love you. As simple as that, I will love you.”

Most of these people I see only occasionally, sometimes woefully fleetingly, always regretfully out of my control.
Some I see only in multiples of years, some every year, as distance takes its toll on short-lived opportunity.
Some I see every few months, some every few weeks, as opportunity takes its toll on aching desire.
Some I see practically every day, but not necessarily see, as desire takes its toll from unfortunate circumstance.
And to every single one of these valued visitors/visited I want to say, “I wish I had spent more time with you.”
“I am going to love you. For better or worse I will love you.”

The only true romantic love I’ve ever known is thousands of miles away.
In fact, as lame as it sounds, the only true relationship I’ve ever known is thousands of miles away.
Perhaps the hole that has been left inside of me was left so deeply and so abruptly it’s kept its shape.
Perhaps only the same piece will ever fill it up again. Perhaps the best is yet to come.
To this forever-loved and remembered person, I want to say, “I wish I had spent more time with you.”
“I am going to love you. Even when it hurts I will love you.”

And so, to every last person who’s ever positively touched my life, I just want to say,

“I wish I had spent more time with you. And I hope I get to spend more precious time with you.”

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Posted by Unknown | at 10:33 PM | 0 comments

Slipping Through My Fingers

(Originally written on January 22, 2011)

 


I feel like the relationships I've had for so long, with close friends and family, have had their frameworks gradually weakening. What were once strong, unyielding foundations, like monuments of reliability, are decaying and loosening in structure. These solid, almost tangible constructions that I could always depend on, always feel, always lean on and hold on to as tightly and for as long as I needed, are now dissolving around me. If I lean I fall. If I try to hold on, they slip hopelessly through my fingers. And I worry that the harder I try to fight it, the harder I try to hold on, the quicker it oozes through. But maybe, just maybe, there has been some recent progress. What I need more than anything is wholehearted effort reciprocated. Mutual understanding. Cooperative perseverance.

The problem, above all, is distance. In most cases physical--all my friends in Cheyenne and elsewhere, and friends who have moved from here in the past couple years, and even one that still lives here in town, a mere few miles away, but it almost might as well be hundreds. If only teleportation was a possible solution. And with some, it's emotional distance--the ones I still see, even now, all the time, but with whom there is just some persistent complication. These ones are the most difficult of all, right here staring me in the face.

There is much work to be done. I hope everyone will bear with me.

I have this ideal, shining so brightly and hopefully in my mind, that the rewards of some endeavor are directly proportional to the difficulty with which they are achieved. And so, with so many of the goals I have in mind as of now, I believe I have an extremely vast amount of happiness to look forward to… if I can just manage to overcome these challenges. Near-infinite difficulty should yield near-infinite treasures.

I could very well become the happiest man on Earth.

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Posted by Unknown | at 5:18 PM | 0 comments

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