A Tribute To The Old And The Dead

     I find it funny and endearing that I find myself on the same wavelength as old people and dead people.  What I mean by that is, I discover that the frequent thoughts and inner musings I create are more readily understood by much older people I encounter, and also are manifested by writers and artists as I come across some of their posthumous works.   The problem with interacting with same age peers or younger, is that old fashioned wisdom is nowhere to be found, if not, somewhat ridiculed or shunned.  Now that I approach my mid 30’s, this sense of divide becomes stronger between the former self that always felt a bit separated, and the newer self that is finally finding congruence and understanding.  Perhaps it’s because I now live in a big city such as New York, but it was funny how after church service, I ran into an old man who apparently had the same Sunday morning routine as me – attending service in the Upper East Side then making our way over to the local bookstore across the street.  I don’t know at what point in time this shift occurred, but nowadays, I find myself feeling complete disdain for shopping malls and crowded bars and instead, dreaming of future days when I would finally get past these hectic younger years chasing after “things” and “titles”, basking away in the sun on a front porch, in a rocking chair enjoying the company of my life partner and true friends.  I am so sick and tired, of being sick and tired!  ENOUGH ALREADY!

No Excuses

     Time changes everything.

     When young, you feel you have all the time in the world to make mistakes, do reckless things, to the point of destruction.  Unfortunately, when you get older, you come to a point where the same tactics before not only are inappropriate, but has far greater negative consequences.  You start to feel as if time is slipping by and you are no longer allowed to be foolish.  I have grown tired of being tired, sick of being sick, and sick of myself honestly.  For a certain period of time, I just didn’t want to be here.  Nor there.  Even more frustrating was that I didn’t know where exactly I wanted to be.  I used to believe having no aim and wandering like a vagabond was my destiny and nothing wrong with it unashamedly.  But I’ve grown weary and at some point, I would like a home base.  At some point, you accept that you really have no excuse.  We live in an era and culture where there seems to be so many options of everything at our immediate disposal.  Just because there are a greater number of choices does not always lend us happiness or even freedom.  Freedom is not to be exploited when it is at the expense of morals and the feelings of loved ones.  What binds us is not necessarily restricting, but is a means through which we can learn appropriate boundaries, that we may become refined, instructed, and guided into a life of integrity and conscientiousness.  One has to come to a point where it can be discerned that that which he chooses to commit to, that by sacrificing all other options for this very one thing, will provide enough reward and sustenance that will override all those same outputs of all the other options being sacrificed.