About two weeks ago, marked a decade that I've been writing this blog. I have somewhere around 1,400 posts and most have been read, or simply seen, by less than 30 people. I've had a number of comments over the years, mostly from strangers, or simply online acquaintances, and very few from people I've known personally. Of course, the comments from them often occur via forms of social media, but most of the comments have been positive. One thing that has always struck me is when the comments come, but I'll save that as not to blur my message here.
Over the last few years, I've gone from living in a tiny 180' sq foot apartment, to living with my father, briefly living in a motel room, to renting a room in a couple's house, then moving with them, when they bought a new house. I now have two additional roommates. To say my home life has been tumultuous would be an understatement. To say it's been happy would be a lie. For most of this time, I've had nobody to come home to. Nobody to talk about my day. Nobody to touch or simply connect with in person. The reality is, most people don't actually care if you had a day, despite wishing you one and telling you they hoped you had a good one. Most people only care about their day. As someone who seems to be living life in reverse, aside from chronological age, my days have not been as good as people's empty wishes. I'm to blame, so don't think this is coming from a place of naivety.
I may have touched on this before, but before I moved out of Westchester, I was going out, anywhere between three and five nights a week. Usually to one of four local bars, visiting friends, and acquaintances, spending nights, sometimes until the sun came up. This was my social life, as my personal relationships have been pretty poor during this time. When I moved, I was flat broke and could barely walk. MY social life completely disappeared and I relied on social media to keep me connected. Thanks to a handful of people, I kept my sanity. They know, but most of you don't realize just how down I got. I always have a smile, much like the Smokey Robinson and The Miracles song. That smile has faded, but I have tried to have some semblance of social life and have connected with people I can hardly call friends, but simply other "regulars." I am not a regular though, as finances restrict me to going out when I can, not when I want. I am to blame on this too. I guess my health thanks me, but the inability to make friends, because I don't have the time to get to know people is tough. I realize there are other places than a bar, but sitting at a coffee shop for two to three hours isn't going to attract much more than college kids where I live.
I will be moving in August and right now I'm open to the suggestions. I have this strong feeling my life will continue to roll on by, keeping me trapped where I have no ties, but a measly paycheck for which I am vastly underpaid, slightly underappreciated, and recently, alienated. I could be to blame for this too. I have dreams of living elsewhere, but trying to coordinate a job change with new housing, moving expenses, and finding a safe haven for me and my boy, Swag, is much more difficult than simply staying put in this area. I realize my two part-time jobs are not a career, and at some point I'm going to have to give up what I love and do what I can to get ahead, or, as I've been fortunate to have done for the first 44 years of my life, get lucky. Not real luck, but lucky enough to do what I love, with very little stress, and just get by. Well, just get by and have a social life.
It's a tough pill to swallow to know that you're good at something, but financially a failure. It wasn't always this way, because the worry wasn't there. Stress has taken its toll on me physically, mentally, and without a doubt, emotionally. I'm not the person I was five years ago, and definitely not the person I was 10, 15, 20, and especially 30. Stress used to roll off of me like water, but now it's a weight. I know all of you out there battling to raise kids, keep a marriage intact, and support a family are feeling less than no sympathy and I don't really want that. I respect you more than you know and I remind myself often that I have it easy. There are people in my situation with mouths to feed. Luckily my only responsibility is to a 15-lb cat, who eats a lot less than a toddler. I am lucky in most people's eyes, but there's so much more to life than having stuff; even money.
This could go on and on with lists of bad or selfish choices, lack of desire, lack of ability, lack of a degree, lack of motivation, desire, or even care. It could be pulling at the heartstrings of anyone who reads it, but that's not what I'm going for. I know each day I work with kids, I make a difference in their lives. I've been doing that for almost 30 years and I remind myself and I'm reminded by them, that I'm good at this. That it may not change their lives, but it makes their day, even if just one, a little better. I often think about those who have done it for me, and I'm beyond grateful. I too know that those acts and support create moments that are fleeting. It does not change its power. At the end of the day, I want two things. I want the intestinal fortitude to be selfish enough to do something that makes my days better, not just one and I want to be able to go out and share that happiness with others, without worrying about if I can afford gas money, to get where I need to go to do it.
Did I mention that I also started this blog as some form of self-therapy?
As they say. Good Talk!
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