No, I'm not dead.
I don't post here really. With very rare instance I browse through the ideas in my mind to find the purpose of what to do next.
A lot of my writing somewhat separated and became sides of the same coin, one personal, one professional. My poetry blog has hundreds of little ideas on it that actually serve as reminders to the abstract way I felt
One of those creative pieces is below. It has always brought me back to it even years after I wrote it. I don't know why, but I've added several like minded moments to my life sense then when I know I've reached a fork in the road and life has taught me a new wisdom. In hindsight I don't actually like knowing some of these lessons of life, but regardless of my personal interest in like or dislike of something that has occurred- I still get to wake up each morning with breath in my lungs and not taking the day for granted.
One day it will all make sense. Until then, I'll enjoy the ride.
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Events that have shaped who I am. Thoughts on very specific instances that altered my way of thinking-
So here I was. She knew my name. She knew so much about me. When I watched the flow of her body, the way she moved was enthralling. The sight of watching something so simple as a walk across the room was shear elegance in action, as if she had l practiced the steps a thousand times before. The mere thought of how perfected the simplest action was, the beauty of her pace and the steady movement was simply indescribable.
I find the smallest traits to be the best.
One day a year ago, I went down a dark city street. I knew I shouldn’t be there. But I was. I walked calmly into the darkness yet my heart slowly became tense. The sounds of the city echoed in my mind as a sign of life couldn’t be seen nor heard. Just the mindless rustle of nothingness. My heart panicked. It skipped a beat. Then another.
This is what I feel when I am alone.
I had once traveled to a high peak in the mountains where the air was so clean it spoke to my soul. It told me how long I had lived in denial of having something less than purity. Each breath I took pumped vibrant life into my body. I could feel the cool air push through my chest and down into my arms, then my feet, and finally rise into my head. It was incredible. It was everything I had never known it could be.
That is what she smells like.
I was sitting on a park bench eating my lunch when I saw a small boy a few paces away. He was on his knees crying, grasping something as if he had broken a favorite toy. I smiled trying to give comfort without disturbing him. My smile went unnoticed, so I moved closer and gently touched him on the shoulder. He moved slightly and I saw the small puppy he was grasping so tightly. It was motionless and without breath. The boy looked into my eyes and I saw the despair he had for his best and only friend.
That despair I challenge in myself each day.
I had just watched my rope slide through my climbing harness and I fell. Five. Ten. Fifteen yards. Then the ground met me. It hurt. More than I imagined it would. My face fell into the dust of the canyon floor. My hands pushed my body up again and as I did my eyes rose to see this perfect sunflower next to me. I paused. I was fixated on it. It said hello to me. A thousand perfectly arranged shapes within this flower all by itself in the canyon. The only perfect flower I have seen nearly being smashed by my almost dying body. Ironic.
I find this irony in everything.
Once when I was little I punched my best friend in the stomach playing with him. It nearly killed him. We never spoke again as friends. I miss him. I question why I decided to comically punch him that day. Why I had been sick myself that week and stayed home sick. Why he had an intensive surgery to his stomach that no one told me about when I came back. I question that action again and again in my mind. Such a simple act of friendly schoolyard play costing me a valued friend.
I question the simplest action everyday.
I never understood life until I held my daughter in my hand. She was so small. So motionless. My heart felt like a clamp tightening against my whole body. Regardless of everything I had done in my life- the lives I had changed and the lives I had saved, the only one that mattered to me was gone. I knew her death would destroy the best parts of my life and that my life would have to be rebuilt. I hated myself for failing her.
I will never fail someone again.
I was sitting at work one day and training a friend to learn some of the steps I did. The phone rang. I didn’t answer it. I couldn’t. It rang again. My friend said I should answer it. My hand touched the phone and I knew; my mom was dead. Before I heard my sister’s voice I was already crying. The words she said weren’t needed. The feeling was absolute and inescapable.
I hate feeling loss like that.
I saw my son walking around my backyard and he tackled a clump of grass. He stayed motionless for a second, then stood up with his hands clasped around a centipede. He was so proud to have caught this little monster in his backyard. He valiantly showed it to me and said monsters don’t get to come in his yard.
I was so happy he could fight his own monsters.