Gratitude?

March 22, 2021

Today’s date should figure out which it is going to be: 22, 20, 21? I am at yet another of those silly crossroads where I have to figure out what it is I am going to be. You would think I was living in Venice, on the island, with little bridges everywhere you look. Up we go and over, yet again. Ha. I have had some interesting life experiences, some fun times, some thrills, some spills… Today, because of an ER visit on the weekend and some residual weakness/breathlessness I am reflecting on living. Ha. It is so damned fragile and so damned persistent. A human being is hard to kill and easy to destroy. Isn’t that odd?

I have been destroyed by a few words and I have survived intense medical conditions, automobile accidents, vicious dog attacks, and stupid moves that created ‘ha, ha — ya missed me’ scenarios. I was never arrested for any of what were politically popular to pursue, so-called crimes and I probably should have been. I never went bankrupt and that should have happened, at least the once. I was never beaten to a total pulp and I should have been. Oh, yes. I deserved it. I got the thrill of the near miss and I did get thumped around a bit, maybe that warned me? Hahahahaha. Being young can be so much wonderful fun. It’s exciting, just to remember it all.

In my little corner of the world..(sort of, Le Petit Prince of Otton Lane) Just three words, strung in a row can do more damage than a speeding 2000 pounds of metal. No threat of stroke or pounding heart attack can wound more than: “You can’t sing!” or “Not your key!” The longer phrases are even more damaging: “You are obviously not understanding what you are reading. It is over your head” or “No! That is not what the poem is about!” What makes those statements all the more dangerous is the core truth. No, I can’t sing very well and no, I didn’t understand the complexities of ‘The Good Earth’ (Pearl S. Buck) or anything much of Baudelaire. All true. I liked reading that stuff, I enjoyed it but Le Petit Prince is on his tiny little blue-green space, looking off into the stars and imaging he is seeing something quite different than is there. He reads and sings and writes and it is mostly under-developed mark-missing hog wash. Hahahahaha.

Most of the time, I am concerned that I am not like the others, that I don’t understand. I compare, I measure, I worry a lot. Usually. Today, it is okay. I am enjoying some lovely soup a friend made for me. He made the soup and brought it to me because I was momentarily physically askew. Isn’t that nice? Other folks have been very kind, too, concerned for my well-being. They are sincere. They are sincere in other ways, too. They pretend not to notice that I haven’t studied Shakespeare correctly. They say, “Oh, how nice!” when I post a poem on my website. They say, “Sounds good!” when I post a video of me playing piano and singing. They mean it, even though we all know the singing and playing and writing are a bit scanty on the technique. hahahaha. Sigh. They are and I am simply grateful for the efforts of others. We like our friends and neighbours. We enjoy life. Nice.

A little boy in the townhouses behind me always greets me when I am outside. He shouts ‘Uncle!, Uncle!’ and I wave. I say, “Hello!” very cheerfully and I mean it. It thrills me to hear him call out. He is just being a little, excited boy child and doing the things he just does. That’s enough to make my heart skip a little. It skips more than the atrial fibrilation could ever cause. hahahaha. He, the little boy, doesn’t seem at all concerned that I failed in two separate marriages and that I spent all the money and ate all the donuts and got fat and now have physical problems and can’t write like Pablo Neruda or Charles Bukowski or sing like Jan Vickers or Bruce Kotowich… The little boy is very selfishly enjoying life. He accidentally spreads that enjoyment just by being and doing without purpose beyond joy. He is not calculating cause/effect, effort/reward… he is not evaluating, measuring… He is just doing. He is just being. He is just living.

There will be a day when I can just do and be. I will record a new song. I will finish the books I started writing. Those things will happen, I know that now. Those things are important, they give me a thrill to do. I always will do them, even if the self-deprecation and the limiting continues. It is just a thing. It is a thing I do, like calling out ‘Uncle’ is a thing the neighbour boy does. I can attempt to do what I do well. I can attempt to eat healthy, get exercise, be nice to people. I will be successful sometimes and sometimes not. Maybe I will work hard on my arts technique, maybe not. Maybe I will go for a walk, maybe not. Maybe I will bake something and take it to a friend, most likely will at some point. Until they come for us, we will continue. There is nothing to judge or forgive, really.

Like the proctologist said, I suppose it is easier if a person just relaxes a little. Yeah. I am grateful. It’s enough.