For the people who read this, and for me in the future, here’s an update on my life and my brain.
Part of me hopes that people do not actually read this. It’s very personal, and contrary to how I had hoped I’d be by now, I am very shy about stuff like that. But, I’ve made a lifelong habit of keeping a personal journal (read: diary) every few years or so, for no reason other than to get what’s in my head out of it, and to hopefully be able to check on it later, just to see.
I did that tonight. I read myself from 4 years ago, and 5 and 6 and so on. It’s weird. I was weird. And less grounded. I don’t know.
Maybe later I’ll read this and think something about that last paragraph.
I wrote about myself, and my mind, and who I thought I was. I was sometimes a dick, but at least I was honest. I remembered as I read, what I thought, and how I thought what I wrote would be read. I didn’t read it that way, I think.
I told myself, and the world, that I am here to distract. I still think that. I have no great life goal. I have goals, but none of such grandeur as to define myself by, yet. I do want success, but I don’t want to live as it. I just want to live, and write my success down on paper and move on. Is that bad? Probably not good, but I don’t think it’s necessarily bad.
I’ve done things to my life that past me wouldn’t be very proud of. That’s bad. He wouldn’t hate me though. He would just tell me I shouldn’t have done that, and now future him, which is present me, wouldn’t enjoy having those regrets. Oh well. He’s right.
I never wanted to live a rote lifestyle. I feel that anyone with enough time and energy could copy what I do and do it for me, or as me. At least a good majority of it. I sometimes feel worthless in that sense.
I don’t feel terrible about it, nor am I depressed. I just notice it sometimes, and keep going. I also sometimes still feel that pang of optimism. A great feeling that everything I am doing is more than just a step - it’s a few steps toward the best me I can be. That’s good. I am not worthless, I just haven’t accrued much worth. Yet. Yet?
I can still think. I can still imagine. I can still pretend. I can still act, and play, and run (although not for very long periods of time - the running part). I have hands that work, and legs that stand. I have a heard that still beats that hard, chest throbbing beat when I’m anxious or excited. I have a head that hurts sometimes because of stress, but that head still thinks. I can still think.
I work too much. But I want to. I also need to, but I want to, too.
Most people don’t see me, I think. I make myself visible, but as someone who isn’t very young anymore, being visible isn’t as important as being valuable, and I’ve learned that. I learned that tonight especially, reading what past me wrote. He was visible. He made himself visible, with the same techniques that, more often than not, fail me today.
He was genuinely nice and kind. I can be that too, but more often, I am just polite. He loved everybody, even when he disliked them. I love most people, but I feel like I’ve learned to enjoy disliking people more in my (not so old) older age.
I work with kids out of coincidence or happenstance. I think. I love kids now. That’s something past me would be confused or surprised about. I love kids. They are more genuine than me. They are more fun than me. They are everything that every (or most, or some) poets claim them to be in their romantic writings of kids (not romance as in lovers’ romance, but the kind of romance that proclaims authenticity in things usually unnoticed). Kids are awesome.
I also work with adults. It’s a strange dichotomy, my usual work day. My mornings are full of genuineness and fun. My evenings, tan and old and mostly boring. Should I be so entitled to get to pick between them? Apparently not, because I get to have both. That’s not bad, it’s just true.
I (and others) started a business. It is a wonderful mix of the two jobs I deal with most days. I get to work with adults at home. Adults at home have it figured out in a way. They get to be kids in their own regard. They make messes (I help with that part), but they are also fun. They are genuine and inviting. They point out their flaws, and ask for help. Granted, it’s a part of my job, but it’s important to me beyond that just to understand that at home, these people are still alive inside.
Past me would be proud of that fact.
I hope future me is still proud of it. And I hope he reads this in good times. I want him to see this as a chronicle, but also a reminder to continue the work that a younger me started a long time ago. Not just to write and read more about myself, but to act more like myself. To be connected to people and continue to love people. To acknowledge his flaws and choose to live with or without them. To renew himself.
I want to renew myself now. I want to love everything I do, and I know that I can’t, but I will still strive to do it anyway. I want you to do it too (thats for future me, I decided to stop referring to him in the third person - shit, I mean you).
Anyway, I think I started this too late. There’s a window where I can translate what’s in my head into words very easily and fluently. I think that time frame just ended for now, so I will have to as well.
Damn, and I feel like I was on a roll too.
Oh well. Here’s to you, future me. Please, be kind with your self-consciousness when you’re done with this (and subsequently, the older material as well). You are not weird, nor ungrounded. You are everything all of these old blogs say you are, and more. You are better than me in some ways, and worse in others. Let’s hope its more of the former than the latter, although I’m not there to judge.
Enjoy things more everybody! Goodnight!