Monday, April 25, 2011
Slipping into my naked suit.
For most of my life I have had a fractured sense of self esteem. It has gotten exponentially better in the last 5 or 6 years but kept me pretty crippled for quite a long time. I tend to keep a hard outer crust along with the illusion of stability but the truth to the matter is that I can be pretty sensitive when not in my power. A few harsh words or judgement from someone I care about and you can consider me shattered. Luckily I have effectively learned the act of letting go and how to rebuild a better foundation.
There are 2 simple daily pleasures that i get excited over without fail. My morning coffee and sleep. Sometimes i will feel just the tiniest shred of impatience while in yoga practice because i can't wait to have that first taste of caffeine. So I'm addicted. What? Sometimes i will be so jacked over going to bed that i will take a running leap and then I'll beam silently to myself under the covers. Sleep rules. And perhaps I am crazy. Fuck you.
I once went a solid year or more of eating a chocolate bar every night after dinner. I'd get a little panicky if for some reason I had forgotten to stock up. Usually my bar of choice was Oh Henry but for a while there i was really big on KitKat chunky bars. Amazingly i never ballooned up to 300 pounds but i guess making yoga every day helped curb insane weight gain.
I once took an eighth of mushrooms and during part of my trip watched Final Destination 3 at home, alone and in the dark. I loved it but remember feeling particularly bummed out when the token black guy got brutally taken out. Does that make me racist?
For about 3 minutes a few years ago i pondered my sexuality. You see, i kind of get how crazy raunchy gay sex could be a good time, especially if you're all gay and stuff. And believe me if i was all gay and stuff I'd probably be the biggest riskiest man-whore there ever was, because i figure if you're going to go against "the norm" then you may as well light up like a Christmas flare and take that shit to the bank. But alas I am simply not attracted to men. At all. The idea of man sounds and man funk and man back/ass hair simply doesn't appeal to me. I don't know how you women do it, but I'm glad you do because y'all smell good and generally have nice skin and bits i like to paw at.
I used to be a pretty angry and resentful kid. Though not that typically emo kind of angry where i would rage around and blame my stupid parents for everything. Mine was more of a slow burn that came out in the form of destruction of toys and setting things on fire. Later on i discovered pro-wrestling which helped to get that aggression out a bit more effectively but not before staging hardcore wrestling matches with a couple of friends which resulted in a number of broken TV tables and sometimes a window.
(Here's a doozy) When I was 15 or so I used to cut into my forehead with a razor because i liked the feeling of warm blood running down my face. It was a small adrenaline rush that was mired in guilt and shoddy cover up jobs. I don't know who i thought i was fooling when i used to lie to my folks and say that i must have nicked myself on the headboard while i slept. I'm sure they knew exactly what i was up to but didn't know how to approach it. And i probably would have denied it to the end anyway. I don't cut myself anymore, thanks. And I'm super glad that I was never one of those folks who cut their arms to ribbons and wear the brutal scars like a shameful trophy. My forehead scars are nearly invisible. Except for that one. Maybe I'll show you one day if you show me yours.
I would run off to India and chill with the Krishna's in a hot second if I didn't enjoy living out my material desires on Western soil so much. Seriously, if I didn't have jobs and girlfriends and close friends and an adored living space and a desire to drink, eat meat, rock out, gamble and fuck I'd be reading the Srimad Bhagavatam right now and not writing these karmically dirty words with the faint egotistical hope that someone might read and be affected by them.
Instead of joining a cult and devoting my life to service in the name of blue skinned multi-limbed deities i instead keep a jewel of faith in my heart and a song of ecstasy on my tongue. I don't know if i solidly "believe" in anything, but there are certainly things i know to be true enough to hold on to through experience and practice, such as the act of chant and kirtan, yoga and simply using word, thought and deed effectively. These are not things i can explain as a feeling has a million descriptives, none of which can be rendered well through speech and written form. I just know what makes me feel happy, alive and present.
For the first time i am in a romantic relationship where i don't feel as though i am inadequate or not giving enough. Through all of my couplings I have held this idea that I'm not exciting enough or my life stories aren't nearly as cool as hers or that there has gotta be something horrible hanging from my nose and at any second it will be the deal breaker. My Britt loves me warts and all and i love her back just as much. We are learning each other as we go and I'd say we take the speed bumps pretty well.
That being said, love scares the crap out of me. The beginning stages of courting and the light hearted nature of "taking it slowly and just being chill about it" are all good with me, but when it gets into the later stages and suddenly i am considering another person all of the time or possibly having to check in before i do anything save for taking a shit is when it gets sticky for me. It's when that jealousy kicks in for either of us or i am getting the silent treatment for eating my sandwich the wrong way, that's when i start to feel ill and look for the closest exit door the hell out of there. I'd rather take white hot needles to the eyes than to give up my individuality and the freedom to come and go as i please. But I know love is a compromise and when 2 healthy individuals are involved it is a process of learning, communication and balance. Not every woman is that WAY over-protective and over-bearing mother from my childhood and my last couple of relationships have cast me out of that mode of thinking and back to a place of romantic hope. I am trying, and for the most part feeling pretty good about it. I no longer feel a desire to run.
I shamelessly would love to be fabulously wealthy and would have no problem exploiting that wealth for all it's worth. A twenty million dollar home? Sure! My own island and stupid sized yacht? Heck yes! Several months long vacations in Europe and Asia? Bring it! Don't get me wrong, i don't for a second feel that wealth would bring happiness and in fact i think it would get kind of boring after a while, but for a couple of years I'd certainly spend the shit out of my riches and enjoy every last second. Then I'd probably get a job and give a bunch away to people who need it more than i.
If ever there was to be a zombie pandemic I'd like for it to happen in my lifetime. I'd SO be up to the challenge of survival and helping others to survive. I'd be down with foraging for food, scouting for safe zones and generally running amok. Then again, maybe I just want to shoot a gun and break into department stores.
Well then, i think I'll leave it there. From my insecurities to my apocalyptic fantasies and a few things in between I think I've covered some decent ground. Do you still like me? Can we still be pals?
Keep stripping yourselves bare, friends. Every chance you get. It'll look good on you.
As always, thank you I love you!