The fog has lifted off my mind. I once spoke of a relief sculpture that I picture in my mind that is me. I slowly chip and brush away rock and dust to reveal what is beneath. At times, it is clear to me what the next step is and where to gouge away next, to strike pieces away without fear that I could remove a critical part of me or worry about what is to come next.
There are times when my path feels so obvious, and what is required of me next is so clear. To reach the grander summit, I know the appropriate place to camp and how to ration my supplies if I want to reach the peak. I know when to rush and when to rest, and I feel at peace in efforts that keep my whole soul occupied. There is so much peace for me in a path, no matter how difficult, that is unclouded. Knowing what I need to do and being in the midst of doing it keeps my conscience clean, and I am so much kinder to myself in turn because of the ease it brings to my typically unruly mind, hahahaha.
All this is to say, I struggle so much to decide what trail is mine to blaze or to retread after many before me. In either case, I can attack my path with unparalleled vigor, but when it comes to choosing, I am lethargic to the point of stagnancy, to the point that I start to grow moss and turn green. Such water is not safe to drink!
I have such a fear of choosing wrong that my whole life, at times, seems to be trivialized by unfortunately great ideas that pull me one way or the other. Every day, I think of a new concept for my already half-done sculpture. I can’t even decide if the top half is done, or sometimes I flip it on its side and start to think that maybe it’s better if I work from left to right instead, when at the inception of the endeavor I had intended to start with feet that have now become wings but are starting to look more like two arms.
Every day, I think of a new idea for what I should be, and each one is beautiful to me in the moment, but on the morning of the next day, I am appalled at what I had believed to be my future and new passion. About every fifth idea is something about going viral or even doing man-on-the-street interviews, proverbially the lowest of the low. I am obsessed with the idea of going viral for some reason, and it feels like it has to do with the fact that I see so many idiots do it and that if they can do it, then so can I. That’s a thought for another time.
For a while, I wanted to start a page called The Irish Menaces. I am not Irish, but I will let you fill in the gaps on that one. I have such a hard time committing to any one idea because, to see something like that through, you have to commit all of yourself at times, and then you become the Irish Menaces guy. Without meaning to, you become just X guy—fill in the blank. Even now, I am often referred to in public as Backhand Guy or Guy from Backhand. I’m not ashamed of that at all, but I might be remiss someday to find myself as the Irish Menaces guy or the like.
So now I find myself, more than anything, as the guy who is referred to as the guy who is constantly in a state of choosing and then never finishes anything—one of the worst guys you could be, in my opinion. It’s the last guy I want to be. So I guess it’s time to commit to something, because that is better than being the guy I just mentioned.
I am always the guy who can do anything, but you have to make a decision to do anything, or to chase your dreams, you have to know what the dream is. It is such a strange feeling to believe in yourself more than anyone and then never be sure what your dream really is anymore. Even as I write this, I can’t tell you what my dream is, but I can tell you what it feels like. I’m lying—I can’t tell you what it feels like, but I know what it feels like, and I am chasing that feeling, or trying to chart my course to a place that will take me there.
But on the way to the top of the mountain, sometimes you want to climb a tree because you think it will be about the same, because you are still climbing something—but it doesn’t really work that way. And you drink a lot of your water because climbing the tree took more energy than you expected. Then you wonder if you should just try to climb the mountain another time, or just jump out of the tree and try to kill yourself, because the mountaintop is so far away and doesn’t seem like it’s worth going to, but you know that’s a lie.
But I can feel what my dreams feel like, and if you guys could feel it too, you would probably be driven mad just as I am. I am not totally crazy or anything, but I do feel crazy at times. I feel like I have the mind of a genius—an absolute, generational mind and capacity for creation and doing good—but that I have been turned into one of those Floop guys from Spy Kids. I am singing that song about “Floop is a madman, help us, save us,” but I am the madman who has turned me into the strange beast, and only I can save myself.
But maybe I can become Antonio Banderas, and I can save the day, because in this version of the movie, it is just called Spys. There are no kids, and Antonio Banderas saves the day instead of the kids. I have something like that going on inside of me, and I need to save myself, and I am constantly seeking the answer.
And I know it is like I am in the movie Spys, and I am Antonio Banderas, and I am in a room that I have snuck into. There is a shelf of books on the wall, of all sizes and colors. I am pulling on the books in the way that they do, where there is a secret door behind the bookshelf, and I am trying to find which book opens the door. It does feel like time is running out, though, because some of the Floops are on guard and could check the room at any time. That is how I feel, I guess.
I am mostly just frustrated with myself, and when I am frustrated, I have a propensity for the dramatic. I have made a few decisions, though, and I am starting to feel better. Soon, I will be on my way to the top of my mountain, and I will know from there what my sculpture is supposed to look like, or at least which side is the bottom and whether those are wings or arms.
And also, who is to tell me that I can’t have wings and arms on the sculpture? It is my sculpture. Antonio is sure to find the secret latch attached to a book at any moment.
AMEN and good night!