30. Random Words

29. Garnett's Cafe, Park Avenue, Richmond, Virginia

September 2014

To You,

I am almost 35 and completely uncertain about who I am supposed to be. I feel like I've always been searching for myself, never sure footed in my path. Lately I find that I have been thinking about my biological father, who I never had the chance to meet but heard was an excellent man. When he was 34 my father was a successful salesman, providing well for his wife and two sons. However, he had what's been described as an epiphany, realizing that he didn't want to be salesman. What he really wanted was to be a teacher, specifically a teacher who worked with autistic children. He enrolled in a Master's program and became a special education teacher. Three years later he laid down on the sofa to take a nap, had a stroke, and died. Today, I examine my current state and consider how my dreams don't quite match up with my reality. I think about the honorable decision that my father made and I hope that I can be that brave. The one lesson that I my father left me with is that I would rather falter, fail, or die doing something that I want to, than falter, fail, or die doing something that I don't.

Your Friend,
A

28. Lucky's Bike Shop, Meadow Street & Broad Street, Richmond, Virginia

September 2014

To You:

My job is moving boxes.

I lift them.

I carry them. 

I stack them.

It requires no mental acuteness

just force and motion.

I am a workhorse.

Once this was a source of shame.

A downfall.

A disgrace.

A disappointment.

A failure not exclusively my own

passed with bread at the family table.

But I'm not a simple beast.

Untaxed by trade my mind is free.

It's a resourceful explorer

wandering like a wild creature

not a broken brute.

Your Friend,

A

27. Diversity Thrift, Richmond, Virginia

September 2014

To You,

There are 1,013,913 words
moving in a current between my ears.
When I close my eyes to see inside myself
they spill out from my mouth
and are ejected from my fingertips.

There are 1,013,913 words
but sometimes there are only 3
Love
Hate
Fear
and in those times those words
each grow inside me like a child.

There are 1,013,913 words
but sometimes there are only 2
You
I
and in those times those words
seem to be enough.

Your Friend,
A

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To You,


In the foreword of Brave New World Aldous Huxley writes:

Chronic remorse, as all the moralists are agreed, is a most undesirable
sentiment. If you have behaved badly, repent, make what amends you
can and address yourself to the task of behaving better next time. On no
account brood over your wrong-doing. Rolling in the muck is not the best
way of getting clean.

As someone who has behaved badly, I felt great relief when I discovered this passage over two years ago. It was as though I had finally been given permission to stop pummeling myself, something any guilty person with a conscience would celebrate. However, I have found it surprisingly impossible to abide by Huxley's recommendation. I feel guilty for trying to cast off the guilt accrued for my collection of wrong-doing. It is as though there is an on-going debate between my past, present, and future selves. Past Self wields guilt in self-flagellation, arguing that my penance is my suffering. Future Self argues for change, suggesting that I can't be useful if I'm crippled by guilt. Present Self is humbled by confusion.

Your Friend,
A