There once was a boy named Bobby...

My childhood is gone—
no, not in that sense.
In my daily life:
in the things I do,
the people I see,
the places I go,
the music I listen to,
the food I eat;
those remembrances that come in a flash:
gone.
Not all of them, of course,
but far too many.
Bits and pieces, here and there, come flitting into my mind,
like dropped Polaroids purloined by the wind,
of singular moments—
snapshots of things long past—
a spark, igniting incendiary grey matter,
quickening the image to action,
playing out what had played out.
But, that’s it.
Most things are just, gone.
Most of my life before school.
Most of my life during school.
Most birthdays.
Most holidays.
Most of the time with those now past.
Most things are hidden,
unless something extraordinary stirs them from their slumber.
I did those things!
I can remember doing those things,
but often can’t remember the things themselves,
more, the feeling of doing them.
There’s a vagueness to my history.
I know I had a life.
I know I’ve lived.
Where has it gone?
Why is it hidden?
Is there something within these things I don’t want to confront?
Or have they simply left me?
My mind can feel void,
and I don’t know why,
and it's disconcerting.
The child in my head does exist:
I’ve seen him in pictures,
heard about him in stories,
and he occasionally comes to me from within myself,
but he can seem more abstract than absolute.
I want to see him, freely, again.
I want him to show me what he’s done.
I want him to tell me what he’s seen.
I want him to introduce me to those he’s met, whom I can’t meet again—
those with nameless faces, or faceless names,
or those I’ve loved, but only now have a sense of.
I want so much, but have come to expect so little,
and I don’t disappoint.

Loveless

For someone I love.

No one loves me! this I know,
for the voices tell me so,
often in hormonal throe,
blinding me from loved ones, lo—

Surrounded by a caring lot,
my mind dissolves the love I’ve got
into an acrid slurry blot,
which smothers heart and causes rot.

Thus helpless here I lie in wait,
and pray, perchance, I find a date
who’s better still than one, once great,
to make my muddled heart elate.

Yet know I not that I can’t win
until I foster love within,
which cleanses stifled heart of sin,
and quiets mind’s destructive din.

I am loved! though cannot see
the love so many have for me,
but, someday soon, this shall not be—
for one day I shall set me free.

Something's Amiss...

Something happened to me on our trip to Puget Sound.

There doesn’t seem to be a particular moment I can pinpoint as the cause, but I’m definitely not the same, and Gina’s noticed it, too.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m still the same lovable smart-ass/jack-ass (and I use “lovable” loosely—”tolerable” my be more accurate for most people), but I seem to have developed a more outgoing/amiable air when dealing with new people (and, yes, it seems to be exclusively with people I’m meeting for the first time: waiters/waitresses, cashiers, business owners, etc.). I also don’t seem to care as much about how others might perceive me. Granted, I generally haven’t cared much about what people thought of me—as long as it was something I wanted known to the few people I know—but, for the majority of the population, I want people, “strangers,” to know, and to be able to glean as little information about me as possible (says Figbert McGilly).

For as long as I can remember I’ve tried to keep the details of my life under tight wraps, and it’s not strictly confined to the nobodies of the world. Llike most people, there are certain things about my life that my parents, siblings, or wife will never know; things that I’ve freely—and cautiously—shared with others in confidence. Before you jump to any conclusions, no, my life is really not as interesting or seedy as the previous statement might imply. My personal life’s been pretty mundane and inconsequential (sheesh...this sounds like the makings of a good old fashioned mid-life crisis...let’s hope not).

My point being that for most of my life I have, until recently, done a fairly good job at closing myself off to most of the world, and, in doing so, have not only kept potentially wonderful out of my life, but often come across as curt and cold—or so I’ve been told. Yet since I’ve returned, I’ve noticed myself chatting it up, joking around, and being all-around more pleasant with people. And, since I’ve returned, I’ve also loosened up while out in public, because I’m not as concerned about what people think—yes, I am a dork and a fool, and not nearly as smart as some think me to be, and that’s okay (insert Stuart Smalley joke: here).

Yes, I’ve been told I need to loosen up for most of my life.

Yes, I know it is/was good advice.

Yes, I am/was listening.

Yes, it’s a lot easier said than done, especially for me. However, I seem to have unwittingly made a step in the right direction, and, after careful consideration, I think I know how this whole ordeal started:
IT WAS THOSE DAMNED ISLANDS!!!

Specifically Lopez and Salt Sprint islands. Those islanders were so freaking friendly, courteous, accommodating, and nonjudgmental that I think they actually wore a hole in the social shield I’d worked so long and hard fortifying. That’s when I can remember letting my guard down—and it just got worse and worse as the trip went on. I was powerless to resist; they did it so nonchalantly that I never even saw it coming, and, frankly, didn’t even notice it had been done...until it was too late.

So here I am, a changed man (man-child?), if ever so slightly, and I must confess: I like it. Part of me hopes it extends into my private life as well, but I haven’t noticed much change on that front. Maybe it’ll require another life-changing trip, which I’m all for—the sooner the better. But the best news about this entire situation is that you can “teach an old dog new tricks.” People can change, as stubborn as some can be, and that gives me hope. And, at least for me, that’s as good a thing anyone could ask for.