Late night, listening to Man In The Wilderness by Styx and running through some heavy thoughts in my head. I wonder about the sort of man I am, who I was and who I’m becoming. I wonder about my dependence on others, my constant need to be validated by others. Let’s face it, we all go through moments where we crave the genuflect of another person, the unadulterated, undivided attention and admiration of someone special. I’m a hopeless romantic. I fall in love with the idea of someone, of the life and relationship we could have and I completely overlook who that person is or who I am. I wear my heart on my sleeve, give the shirt off my back with it still beating and watch in shock as it gets folded up again and again. Like the song says, “I’m in the dark ’cause I can’t seem to find the light alone.” It ruined my marriage. It ruined the relationship I had after my marriage. It’s going to ruin so many other relationships and friendships before I’m old because I can’t seem to figure out who or what I am.
Yeah, I hear people go on and on about the importance of finding yourself without ever saying howyou’re supposed to do it. In a way they’re right. If you can’t understand your own soul, your own process and persona then how can you ever hope to share that internal happiness with another person, to be complete with another person? Maybe that’s it? I seek completion from another person, from another half of the same soul. I see people talk online about a purported myth of human creation. That man was born with four arms and four legs, two headed and was such a terrifying and powerful creature that the gods had to divide it into two portions, destined to search forever for one another until they could again be whole. I like the story, the thought that somewhere out there is my counterpart, my soul mate.
At the same time, I’ve indulged that fantasy before and wound up with a broken heart and a shattered psyche every time. My romantic notions that this person or that are somehow a completion, a shoring up of my weakness has led me down a path of projects and resulted in me becoming a project myself. I used to dream about this girl, from the time I was eight until, well, just a few years ago. She was gorgeous, physically perfect in every way. A bit shorter than me, thin and pale with long black hair and the most mesmerizing green eyes I’d ever seen. In every dream I found myself madly, deeply in love with her and she with me. She was strong where I was weak, gentle where I was a bull running through a china shop. I studied dream psychology, mythology and some fairly far out theories and beliefs hoping, praying that there was such a woman in this world for me. In every way she was my equal and my better and I was in love with her. No one could ever live up to my green eyed girl.
And that’s where the problem has and continues to be; looking for a tailored fit in an off the rack world. I thought I was close a time or two over the years, that this spectacular muse was somehow close, would know me instantly if she saw me. See, hopeless romantic (and partial mental defective) for you.
And listening to this Styx song I keep wondering where I’ll find my light, where I’ll find that much needed internal peace to quiet my soul and help me stop seeing angels in every stone figure I come across? “It makes no sense at all.”
Heh, story of my life, right?
And it’s a problem for so many other reasons besides the painfully obvious one. As a writer I’ve discovered that my work is never better, never more beautifully penned and passionately made than when I’m in some depressive funk over lost love or missed opportunities. Honestly, if I was happy, I worry I might lose my gift. It’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard myself say, ever written in any format. But there I am, pining for lost loves and ethereal perfection in the most intangible and hopeless ways and, finding myself crushed every single time, I have nothing but my pen and my muse.
Well, moving away from the doom, gloom and desperation of a hopeless romantic fool (and maybe that word, romantic, doesn’t mean what I think it does?) I find myself with all sorts of updates. Did a couple of new flash pieces and I’m working on revising and retyping a few older ones. Undertaker is continuing to take form and not a minute too soon as Charlie and the gang fast approach their tenth anniversary in my notebooks and my heart. I know I promise a lot in these posts, especially the ones where I run on and on about these emotional issues, but I can assure you, my faithful reader, that there are some amazing things coming from me soon. Just keep reading.
Day dreaming. It’s all a writer can do some days. Find love and peace in the ideas that come out of a clear blue sky.