State of

I thought I would try to be succinct and to the point about my thoughts, but this is a journal. No one is going to pay me for these thoughts and the poetry is in the bits of rambling thought I have from time to time. There's nothing to be ashamed of in that, so I will do my best not to feel that way.

I was thinking about my things yesterday. I'd put off moving a few things about, but finally got them moving and -- more importantly -- moved out of my house. I gave away the wine chiller and the bulk of my magic cards. I now have four decks and a small box of cards I find somewhat valuable. They are nearly snuggled into my closet. It's been so long since the first day I decided to jump into this whole minimalism thing and it didn't take too long for it to become my own. Actually, that day was more important to me than starting to be a minimalist; it meant that minimalism wasn't the cool, new thing I was doing, but that it had become my own. Joshua Millburn, the guy who had a big part in getting me started, blogged something I didn't agree with and I was happy about that fact. It meant that I was walking the path with my own feet and seeing with my own eyes. He still has an awful lot of cool, inspiring things to say that I agree with wholeheartedly, but it's a mindful agreement. Today, I'm thinking about some books I'm going to take along with me and donate as well while I'm out at work.

Sometimes, I wonder if it ever meant anything. That's kind of vague and that is partly intentional. I have specific things in mind. Always specific things. I move from one side to the other in my thoughts here as if I'm temporally displaced. In one moment, I'm as close to you as your skin, and in the next I'm galaxies away. I wonder if I'm just amusing; a brief bit of entertainment -- and nothing more than that -- to be returned to now and then for a chuckle, venting, or emotional high/comfort like a favorite youtube video. A solid point of safety (as I haven't moved). Some of this hurts to write and I don't know if that means I need to write it for my own good or if it is simple admission of the truth or if they are both one and the same, but there it lay. I wonder and I will continue to until I have a clear answer to that question (which will probably not be in a verbal form). Never too much, though; I have a solid undercurrent of thought that says, "Your lack of assurance that this is real is no certainty that it was not." That keeps me going. It keeps light in the tunnel. It makes things possible. It keeps me from giving up and that's hard when it comes to these things.

I wonder about these people that think themselves so individual as I see them deal with the everyday human experience. They are no different from me even if they believe themselves so. Not greater, not less. We're here and we're human. The idea that I will not run into another person like you is silly in a world of 7 billion people. You're rare and there will never be an exact copy, but that is true on a planetary scale when you get down to it. At the same time, I understand the importance you place on this and how much it explains. I can even note some of your more remarkable traits, but even this doesn't make you more than human; in fact, in my opinion, remarkable traits at the beginning of their flourishing are just the beginning of tapping into the potential that was given to us.

I miss the family; the one I was born into at the end of my teenage years. I try to understand at times what happened and where we disconnected. I want to walk in, but after being so long gone, it's as awkward as a family reunion could ever hope to be. I'm so different from all of you now. I was different before, that's true, but there wasn't any shade then. There's definitely more of that now. A lot more. With every step into (or out of) the shade, I wonder if I'll find a place to belong at all. I love them, but like so much with my earthly family, I wonder if I can be close to them. There is a difference. A marked one.

Sometimes I wonder about the spiritual man inside. He's mourning in a way. I believe that. It's a calm, "yes" feeling I get when I see something beautiful, or I have the house to myself, or I listen to a good gospel song, or I remember that I want to read things or pray or the words that just come out of my mouth or even the most random spurts of laughter even when there's nothing to laugh about. It's an otherworldly joy. This doesn't sound like mourning at all, but I know it is because this person in me wants this to happen a lot more often. I have ideas on where to start, but it just seems like a lot at once. So I simplify. I do what's in front of me. I sing aloud. I'm clearing my schedule. I'm becoming more sensitive to what's going in and coming out and I always have been, but even so I find it is a lot easier to do things that, in the long run, are probably bad/damaging to do. Like not caring. Like not forgiving. Like refusing to reconnect. I resist and I overcome, but it's harder every time I have to do it and I have an overwhelming long list of reasons to give up or disconnect.

When I walk outside with my umbrella, I think of it as a metaphor for Alessio. Namely, how it protects me from the rain. I think about how we cared for and loved each other and I'm thankful that I got to have that in my life. I miss him being here to be silly and emotional and dramatic and brotherly/fatherly/boss-like as needed. We knew how to motivate each other to be better at what we did. There was never a question about intent to each other. Never a moment where we had to wonder if the other was really for us. He did so many things (as did I) to protect each other from things we couldn't see around the bend. One of the things he left me was an umbrella. I walk out and I see the occasional person that didn't bring their umbrella. How many people are walking around this earth with no one to have their back? To care for or look out for them? Probably too many to count. So I do what I can. I share my umbrella when I'm near someone who isn't as protected. That's how it should be.

Apathy is one of my best friends at present. I just find myself getting to a point, then deciding it doesn't matter and it might never matter. From there, it passes into things ignored and eventually things forgotten. Caring is an unbearable burden when you care alone and I, in many respects, care alone. Entirely so in most cases. It's unnerving to a point -- rather, it was unnerving. At that point, the concern/care/caution/frustration/other things I felt coalesced into one solid point of focus as I looked around me. It's easier to just remove it all and not care than to beg and plead with people to care as I do, so I've stopped asking for shared concern and respect (which is all I really wanted) and have decided to simply ask people to move out of my way. This has worked out much better on a lot of levels.

A long time ago, I wrote some letters and it seems that many people appreciated them. However, not enough to write a letter back (which was the point). I suppose it doesn't matter ultimately. I will just write the people that return my letters and leave that as it is.

About two months ago, I got this job working with a content production group. I'm a project manager/whatever else is needed guy and I love it here. Not even the pay, but the people. The people, man. Bosses that appreciate your work and talk to you. People that smile and are genuinely happy to be here even when the work isn't always fun. There's always those office politics at times and some disagreeable personalities and I'm sure those things will show up, but more than that, I work in front of a large window that lets me see the traffic. We light candles and listen to music and laugh. A lot. There's always someone laughing around here. People bring their puppies and their kids and no one feels out of place. After 5, we can drink beer (they keep a keg in the fridge). It's the little things like that that could keep me in this company for forever. In reality, it might be a few years, but for now, I'm just taking it one day at a time and enjoying every moment here.

I review every word I've ever heard sometimes and it is unsettling. Some of it is flat out contemptible. In some moments, I think I shouldn't have held back so much. In others, I think I should have held back completely. Now and then, I think about things I would have done differently. You know what answer I come back with? Nothing. Not a single thing. Not even the worst of my faux pas. I mean and/or own everything I do at the time that I do because I'm fully aware of what motivates me.

Unzertrennlich makes me want to cry. It's on my "it's okay" playlist. I usually end up feeling the most "not okay" after listening to the music on this list, but that's why it has that label. It's okay that I'm not okay all of the time.

I want a hug and a good friend and a place to call home that makes sense to me.

My more recent decision to take on zero new commitments over the last couple of weeks has been so effing freeing! I can't even describe how much fun it is to say no when someone asks me to do something and I already have enough on my plate and I've given myself a minimum of a month to enjoy that. Heaven, I tell you.

I'll muse more later, I suppose.