Sounds like a memoir title. Or a song.
The online mystics say there was some sort of cosmic significance to this lunar occurrence. New phase, or such. Letting go. Stuff like that. I saw this upon my phone. Reassuring my own existence. An old habit. A bad one. Which caused a tickle of irony to overcome my mind.
But that was last night.
This morning, I rose early and spent a good hour paying attention to my body and mind. Just made a cup of tea. I’ll save the coffee for the afternoon.
I left my phone in the other room. It serves me not. And I don’t believe I’ll be serving it much anymore. There are things that be needing doing. And even if there weren’t, there are better ways to waste time.
So maybe the moon was right. We’ll see. But may never know.
One of my closest friends celebrates an anniversary today. Another friend will be married this weekend. It’s true. The rental tux is hanging in my closet.
And here, as of late, I’ve been pondering my loneliness. Recently not in a toxic way, but not so long before may have been different.
Now as an expert on the subject, in addition to having lived through much or most of being a young man, I can tell you of the ways one thinks of being alone. Just regarding the significance of romantically attracted persons.
Makes it sound sexy, right?
You will either think of that which once was, or almost was and wonder. Or worse, in this age, research. Saw a lot of engagement rings last year. I don’t know if they’ve done studies, but I imagine there might be a direct correlation to the engagement of ex’s and the sort and the increase of whiskey intake in men. Where is science when you need it?
So, there’s that rabbit hole. With all the thoughts on what if and might have been. And, if you happen to be like me- there is very little getting in the way of self-blame. Be it through recalling histories of decisions made or just the general paranoid psychosis of being a single, half a beer belly wielding dad who listens to far too much music in the age of brief, swipe romantics. Can make you edgy.
You just hear the sound of your own voice, echoing through your room, with no other ears to hear. Perhaps it is passive. Perhaps you must sit upright in bed right before you were to slip off to sleep because a wave on energy runs through you that feels of doom, and subsequently, must talk yourself calm. It happens. I won’t judge, if you won’t judge.
Yet this morning. I don’t feel lonely, as much as I just feel a sense of self.
Some say we are all one. And I know, I know, we sort of are. Because the universe and atoms and stuff. But don’t kid yourself, if you’re reading this, you ain’t that connected to the universe. Those sorts of folks don’t have computers. They are more likely to have a shaved head in cold mountains or cruise the cosmos riding shiny, intergalactic surf boards.
For the rest of us, we do our best to connect ourselves to other selves and see glimpses of that oneness that every sort of human seems to be trying to get at, but after thousands upon millions of years, very few can effectively explain.
We’ve made progress. But progress is slow.
Today is also a holiday regarding a man that many agree might have something to say about how we live societally today. But he says no more. They killed him. Long time ago now, regarding human lives.
So it goes. A thing to think about.
But no human is or was perfect. But the ones worth listening to. Worth remembering. Worth being. They all aim for something better than what is. Better than what they were, no matter how great that might be.
Not to say I will be worth much of anything when all is said and done. But I will try to be. I do strive for better. For that oneness. For that peace. And though I don’t know, and am pretty sure I will never get it- what I do might just help someone after me get there.
At least a better world for my daughter. Which looks to be a fucking doozy to tango with. This world. But I’m still young. I’ve still got some gusto and unlike when I was nothing but gusto, I’ve managed to make myself some skill sets. More to come, of course.
But after a year or writing and recording music, a strange gem of a reminder has emerged. I’ve got a knack for a bit of melody. A groovable rhythm basis. I can mildly shred, at minimum. And can use the voices of enough instruments to make up a gypsy orchestra.
And yet still, that was not the most consistent statement made upon the self-made music. That goes to what I do know, strangely enough.
If you make three solo albums entirely on your own in a year, and people make sure to stress the flow of your lyrics, it means something. When you share music and in addition to any sonic compliments, to almost always receive an honest statement on your words means something.
I’m a writer. And that will be the focus of the coming year. Exacts, still not totally determined. And once determined, they are subject to change. But it shall be a literary year.
And I have an idea where to start. It’s about time the first complete draft got pulled from the ether of years ago. It’s time.