Another Year, Another Lesson
I'm going to try something different. With this post, instead of some long, winding beginning that will serve as an eventual on-ramp to my main topic, I'll just jump right in, thereby getting straight to the point, without having to get into a detailed, seemingly random and initially pointless ramble on whatever inanity of life that's taken my fancy at the moment, while trying to incorporate it into my current theme........wait, I just did that. DAMN.
Oh well. Let's try again. Monday was my birthday. I turned 29. Some have pointed out that it is one year shy of the big 3-0. Some have even mentioned that it would officially make me either a young man or an old kid. Some, thought I won't mention who, have even gone so far as to imply that I'm......growing up (perish the thought).....or at the very least, growing old. By the way, to the person who e-mailed me that lovely forward of how I'll look when I hit 60, ha ha, I'm very amused.
I suppose one might be inclined to ponder the concept of one's mortality and what have you, but I've decided to take a different route on this.
For a while now, I've been pondering queries about myself, questioning aspects of my identity and personality that, frankly, would give anyone cause for concern. So, for an admitted pessimist, such as myself, the idea of such free-falls of thought is quite.....overwhelming.
This dive-into-insight was paused while I spent the weekend prior to my actual birthday celebrating with friends, attempting to forget the seriousness of this and just focus on having fun. And it was fun. I was with people I loved. I enjoyed the company of people that, in reciprocity, enjoyed mine. I even managed to cook a meal or two. And despite my repeated claims of how pathetically sad it was, I actually enjoyed making my birthday cake for my friends, hereafter referred to as NBC (Norwegian Blackened Cheesecake).
However, the care-free nature of this get-together was to be short-lived. While out in the city with my friends, I stepped out for a moment, engaging in conversation with one of my closest friends, who has always displayed a certain wisdom that, despite my beliefs, is not acquired through age or experience. His gift to me, aside from a few timely drinks, was simply four words......talk less, listen more.
Initially, and against my better judgement, I took some offense to that, insulted that he would imply that I was a chatterbox. But, then something weird happened. Something that I preached, but had rarely followed on, due to my own vanities or what not. I gained a perspective on myself. One that is the point of this entry.
I need to listen. To others. To signs. To myself. The spoken word is irrelevant without the capacity to understand and appreciate it. And sometimes, a steady leash needs to be put on our words. And while this may sound seemingly elementary as a concept, in hindsight, it is often anything but. But, who am I to speak of others.
I learned that I need to listen. I learned that I need to choose my words. I learned that these are my tools of trade, my weapons of choice, my hearts in a bottle.
To those who call me friend, though I know I don't need to explain myself, I shall. Though I may appear to be wild, I am but a kind soul. Though I may sound insensitive in my speech, there is never any malice behind my words. I'm just a guy who has something to say. But, you all are the ones I choose to say them too. And while they may not always be the kindest or the wisest words, they are mine and are said with nothing but the most honest & harmless of intentions, despite the occasional perception to the contrary.
So, as I embark on my final year before my 30's, before the era of absolute adulthood, before I'm officially a man, I guess all I can do is make the most of this year. I can't say I have any actual goals to fulfill before the year is up, but I can say that I'm still on this ride with the same aim I've always had. To wake up everyday a better man than I was when I went to sleep the night before. I don't know anything beyond that. I suppose it's just something I'll have to continue making up along the way.
But, if anything, I've learned one thing. I'm no long a pessimist. I'm not officially a pessimistic optimist. Definition? It means, no matter how bad a day I have, I will go to sleep every night, hoping that a better day comes tomorrow. And I will wake up every morning, hoping that tomorrow has arrived.
On a personal note, thanks to all for the birthday cheer. Despite the triviality of it, you seriously made my day worthwhile.
Oh well. Let's try again. Monday was my birthday. I turned 29. Some have pointed out that it is one year shy of the big 3-0. Some have even mentioned that it would officially make me either a young man or an old kid. Some, thought I won't mention who, have even gone so far as to imply that I'm......growing up (perish the thought).....or at the very least, growing old. By the way, to the person who e-mailed me that lovely forward of how I'll look when I hit 60, ha ha, I'm very amused.
I suppose one might be inclined to ponder the concept of one's mortality and what have you, but I've decided to take a different route on this.
For a while now, I've been pondering queries about myself, questioning aspects of my identity and personality that, frankly, would give anyone cause for concern. So, for an admitted pessimist, such as myself, the idea of such free-falls of thought is quite.....overwhelming.
This dive-into-insight was paused while I spent the weekend prior to my actual birthday celebrating with friends, attempting to forget the seriousness of this and just focus on having fun. And it was fun. I was with people I loved. I enjoyed the company of people that, in reciprocity, enjoyed mine. I even managed to cook a meal or two. And despite my repeated claims of how pathetically sad it was, I actually enjoyed making my birthday cake for my friends, hereafter referred to as NBC (Norwegian Blackened Cheesecake). However, the care-free nature of this get-together was to be short-lived. While out in the city with my friends, I stepped out for a moment, engaging in conversation with one of my closest friends, who has always displayed a certain wisdom that, despite my beliefs, is not acquired through age or experience. His gift to me, aside from a few timely drinks, was simply four words......talk less, listen more.
Initially, and against my better judgement, I took some offense to that, insulted that he would imply that I was a chatterbox. But, then something weird happened. Something that I preached, but had rarely followed on, due to my own vanities or what not. I gained a perspective on myself. One that is the point of this entry.
I need to listen. To others. To signs. To myself. The spoken word is irrelevant without the capacity to understand and appreciate it. And sometimes, a steady leash needs to be put on our words. And while this may sound seemingly elementary as a concept, in hindsight, it is often anything but. But, who am I to speak of others.
I learned that I need to listen. I learned that I need to choose my words. I learned that these are my tools of trade, my weapons of choice, my hearts in a bottle.
To those who call me friend, though I know I don't need to explain myself, I shall. Though I may appear to be wild, I am but a kind soul. Though I may sound insensitive in my speech, there is never any malice behind my words. I'm just a guy who has something to say. But, you all are the ones I choose to say them too. And while they may not always be the kindest or the wisest words, they are mine and are said with nothing but the most honest & harmless of intentions, despite the occasional perception to the contrary.
So, as I embark on my final year before my 30's, before the era of absolute adulthood, before I'm officially a man, I guess all I can do is make the most of this year. I can't say I have any actual goals to fulfill before the year is up, but I can say that I'm still on this ride with the same aim I've always had. To wake up everyday a better man than I was when I went to sleep the night before. I don't know anything beyond that. I suppose it's just something I'll have to continue making up along the way.
But, if anything, I've learned one thing. I'm no long a pessimist. I'm not officially a pessimistic optimist. Definition? It means, no matter how bad a day I have, I will go to sleep every night, hoping that a better day comes tomorrow. And I will wake up every morning, hoping that tomorrow has arrived.
On a personal note, thanks to all for the birthday cheer. Despite the triviality of it, you seriously made my day worthwhile.
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