Posts Tagged ‘Epiphany’


I live a life I don’t deserve. It’s beautiful even when it’s not. There seems to be an endless amount of good constantly finding its way into my life and I’ve learned not to question it. I don’t need to know why they’re present to appreciate them. I do, however, make habit of discarding them just as often as they come. Why would anyone do that? Maybe the disadvantage is the delight.

Most people struggle to find happiness or even gain a grasp on what happiness means. It’s subjective so there is no right or wrong answer, just a feeling. I’ve been handed that feeling on a silver platter. Not sure how or why, but I’m always aware of the what, when and who. The whats seem to stick around the longest, the whos never do. That brings me to my disadvantage, a strange juxtaposition I’m not sure I want to question, but will anyway because that’s what I do. (These disordered thoughts are basically a jumbled conversation in my head spread out in some sort of uniform on…paper/screen. I talk to myself. The words reply.) My disadvantage: my life is too good. There, I said it. I don’t mean that to sound pompous and shitty. No. What I mean is that because my life is so great and because there’s a constant stream of beauty in it, I become reliant on it and take advantage without appreciating what my life actually consists of. I expect it to always be good, and it always is. While that’s not necessarily a bad thing, my lack of appreciation for everything that comes my way is. I trade in dream cars for newer and faster dream cars. I trade six figure employment for higher six figure employment. I discard Armani shirts for Tom Ford suits. I replace perfect girlfriends with…other…perfect…girlfriends. And there’s my plateau. Humans. My want for something bigger and better and newer doesn’t affect possessions because they’re inanimate – they have no feeling, they don’t care what I do with them or how soon I replace them or how much attention I pay them. Humans, though, notice. They’re animate and filled with emotion and feeling and heart and soul. I love the fuck out of the human condition, but I also love that I am confident and comfortable in my own happiness. There again lays the juxtaposition – a delightful disadvantage, it seems.

What all of this rambling really means is that my life is absolutely amazing and I know at the end of each day it will continue. I’m not a billionaire. I’m not a model. I’m not a humanitarian. I’m just happy. But that ‘happiness’ is starting to deteriorate the sum of its parts. I’m not saying I’d like to be unhappy. That’d be stupid. I’m saying I love 18 year old MaCallan scotch in a Seahawk’s whiskey glass. I’m saying I let a lot of beautiful parts of my life go because I think I’ll still be happy afterward. I’m saying I push out amazing people because I know there are other amazing people to keep my life balanced. Consider Newton’s cradle: one ball hits another which sets the ball at the opposite end in motion, and the back and forth continues, equaling each other’s force, continuing in harmony. That’s my life. Picture it. That’s fucking boring. No change. Never out of line. Never off track. If one ball is removed, what happens? I wouldn’t know, I just replace them. But the replacements are lacking. They’re empty. They fill the void in the pendulum, but my heart is not a pendulum. The culmination of these beautiful messes impacts only the heart, the body remains the same.




Posted: January 15, 2012 in Insight
Tags: , , , , ,

I’m going to take you all for a loopy ride. I won’t take you in the direction you’re expecting to go. I won’t take you somewhere you’ve ever been before. I also won’t take you into a discourse on what the word dedication means and list examples so as to show you what dedication looks like. Rather, I’ll show you what is currently developing in my complicated myriad of brain waves. This will not be a political rant.

You’re sitting at your laptop or desktop in the midst of perusing through one of the 6 websites you frequent on a daily basis. Close the other tabs. They’re not going to inspire emotion. They’re not going to create a necessity for self betterment. They’re not going to make you cry. While none of the above are my intent, they are also the inevitable.

Let’s talk about dedication. To me, dedication is the never ending pursuit toward something unattained. Dedication is a selfless advancement toward a goal or aspiration. It is the relentless giving of one’s self toward something bigger or greater than the individual, coupled with a never-quit attitude until said goal or achievement is attained. It is a commitment that does not waiver. It is selflessness. It is stubbornness, sometimes to a fault. It is something each and every one of us strive to find – whether you pursue a dedication toward a career, family, significant other, empirical and tangible object – the fact remains, we are all dedicated to something. A life without would be an empty and meaningless dread.

My mom is my hero. My mom holds a level a dedication that is unfathomable. My mom is the most unselfish human being I’ve ever known. Imagine, if you will, a life that consists of waking up earlier than you want to every morning to give toward something that tires you, stresses you out, and leaves you feeling unsatisfied every single second you’re engaged. Imagine a life that requires you to give up every last thing you’ve ever wanted or hoped for yourself. Imagine a life that is consumed by giving, nonstop, to people that do not only pay you no recognition for all that you do, rather, give you shit for what you are lacking. Imagine a life that is a constant battle with those you so unselfishly give yourself to every single second of every last day you’re alive. Did I lose you? Can you imagine? For most of you, you can’t. It’s not because you’re not dedicated with the same selflessness. It’s not because these things are alien to you. It’s not because you don’t know someone who lives a similar life. You can’t imagine it because, no matter how hard you strive to be that person, the things aforementioned would tear you apart and kill you inside every single day. The same is not true of my mom. She fights. She blocks. She dedicates. She gives. And gives. And gives. Relentlessly. And it is never noticed. It is never even so much as mentioned. In fact, it is bitched about, constantly. I ask each of you reading this, what would you tell her? What would you say to her if you had even the slightest understanding of what my words convey? Would you tell her to quit? Would you talk shit to the people giving her shit about what she’s NOT doing? Would you be angry that she takes it, day in and day out, and scold her for it? Or, would you take a page out of her book that inspires that same dedication that goes unnoticed?

I’ve spent the better part of twenty-eight years being the epitome of selfish. I’ve lived out my own dreams, with limited anchors or setbacks. I’ve done what I’ve wanted to do. I’ve done whom I’ve wanted to do. I’ve gone places I’ve wanted to go. I’ve said things I’ve wanted to say. I’ve neglected things I didn’t care about or didn’t impact me. I’ve focused on things that have made ME happy, even if those things meant hurting someone else. I’ve literally lived an entire life of selfishness. It’s because of that lifestyle that I’m able to see how completely unselfish my mom is. It’s because of all of the aforementioned shitty things I’ve done and said that I’m able to see the error of my ways and want to correct them. Without her as an example for what dedication should be, I’d be complacent in my selfishness as it’s lead me to an abundance of happiness. However, it has not been fulfilling. Not in the least. Fulfillment, in my estimation, is the light at the end of the tunnel where dedication begins. It’s not dedication that I seek, it’s the fulfillment to be gained from that dedication. My mom exemplifies that. Though I told you I wouldn’t give an example of what dedication looks like, I’ve just done so. Sue me. How about, rather than focusing on that, you focus on ways to impact others for the better. I’ve struggled with that my entire life. And it wasn’t until recently, tonight, maybe, that I’ve realized I am empty without the same dedication my mom gives every single day. I’ve never known a single day of that same dedication. I don’t want it for a day, I want it to be my life.

That said, I can now unfold tonight’s epiphany – I not only want, but need a child of my own. I know, wholeheartedly, without a doubt, that I want to, and will, give and dedicate myself to a child more so than I’ve ever given to anything in my entire life. I’m ready. Not ready for myself and in my own recognizance, but ready transcended from a life that has not yet began. I want that dedication. In fact, I long for it. And the example of dedication that has inspired this comes from the very dedication my mom gives to her family every second of every day, even when it’s a losing battle and all odds are stacked against her. I welcome that same wall of defeat to battle my dedication. I’ll win. Dedication wins. Every single time.

What do you do when you come to a realization that makes you question your current path? You lay out the basics – how you got there, why you’re there, and where you’re going. After you establish what ISN’T working with that equation, you reassess and reestablish forward movement in the right direction. You get to journey through this process with me.

We’ll start our journey about 3 and a half years ago, right after I had moved from Washington to Arizona. I was still sheltered, naive, and a virgin to life and most of its lusts. That changed quickly. The ex, who I’ve previously referred to as Satan, and I had broken up. I didn’t know anyone here, and had no idea what I was going to do. So I did what any early twenty-something single male would do in a city full of attractive, slutty females – I banged every last one I could. I thought about detailing my sexcapades in a separate post, but there has honestly been too many with too few recollections of names, places, etc. So I’ll keep this basic. I met the first one at a grocery store. She was older and had sexy green piercing eyes that stared straight through the zipper on my jeans, and into my sexually vulnerable needs. Three months in Arizona and I thought I had moved to Heaven at that point. This was only the beginning. Shortly after Grocery Store Chick, there was The Professor. She was taller than I normally like, but had legs that I literally drooled over (I fell asleep in class one day, woke up to a drool spot and her standing over me. All I saw was legs). She was a recent divorcee, and had a body like a 25 year old aerobics instructor. Oh man. I have to stop there, I’m already losing focus. Next, there was a bevy of younger, slutty chicks, mostly from ASU as they’re all like that. I’ve met chicks at gas stations, grocery stores, Home Goods, as I’ve posted about previously. I’ve banged chicks I work/worked with. Chicks from classes I’mnot even enrolled in. I’ve met chicks through this very blog, in fact. In 3 and a half years, I’ve almost lost count. I was sucked into whoredom and loved every last dirty second of it. And until very recently, this dirty whoredom was my lifestyle of choice and I saw nothing wrong with it. I haven’t really dated anyone since Satan, who we’ll now refer to as S. That’s a lot of time to be single, and Arizona is definitely the place to enjoy it. But I was younger then, and I’m old as fuck now. Females still fall into my lap, and I hate to sound cocky or conceited, but it is the reality of it. It makes it tough to end this lifestyle, but it’s that time. The epiphany.

I recently met this chick, who I’ll refer to as K. I was immediately intrigued for a number of reasons, but mainly because of a sexy wittiness that was like a vacuum for my eyes and manparts. Wit turns me on like nothing else. And aside from being witty, she was super tiny, quirky, and looked like she could be a Suicide Girl or God’s Girl, for those of you know what either are. GOD, distracted again. Go Google both. Anyway, I was attracted. We hung out a few times and talked a lot more than I normally talk to females I’m interested in. Talking is usually secondary to action, just saying. In K’s defense, there is more to this than I’ll divulge, but the more we talked the more attracted to her I was. This was abnormal for me, it’s usually opposite this to the extreme. More talking = less attraction. Not the case with her. Since I’m a drunk and tell everyone exactly how and why I feel what I feel, I spilled my guts to her, like a dipshit. Awesome, Ross. Idiot. It didn’t end like I thought it would. I had to put in effort, and talk about feelings, and all of it was denied. I was denied! Instead, all she wanted to do was talk about sex. Not have sex, just talk about it. She even said on more than one occasion that she was slutty. I thought this was sarcasm. Apparently not. And for the first time ever, I was turned off by this. I know, weird, since it’s kind of my thing. But I was turned off, thrown off, and not getting off. It was somewhere around this time when I realized, I had turned into a vagina and wasn’t just trying to bang her. I told K I hated her sarcastically, but I think it might have been more serious than I thought. Not just because nothing was coming from my weirdo crush on her, but because she was willing to be slutty in her own way and on her own time with other dudes, but not me. I couldn’t break the easiest (!) surface she had, and it frustrated me. She was willing to give away herself and her self-worth, and that made me hate her. In my head, she was too good to be that person. And then I realized, I was also that person.

After putting all of the aforementioned together, the obvious reason for being thrown off is because I’m no longer wanting to travel the path of sluttiness. No matter how fun it has been. And since that is the problem, per my assessment, I will subtract that part of the equation and replace it with…well, I’m not sure yet. But it isn’t whoredom. I’m over it. And disease free through the entire period, no pregnancy scares, and no crazy chicks still following/stalking me. I’ve been blessed. But it’s time to move on. And in this moving on I’ve also realized that I still compare females to S. Subconsciously. Apparently she wasn’t as bad as I thought at the time. She was loyal, the complete opposite of slutty, and breaking through barriers didn’t seem like some sort of impossible challenge, it seemed like a ‘getting to know you’ process. It wasn’t this way with K. It was just impossible. Point being, my run of whoredom was stemmed from S, and ends with S.

Whoredom, it’s been fun. You’ve treated me well. You’ve never left me hanging. You’ve kept me company. A LOT of company. You’ve made me smile, kept me in shape and given me plenty of workouts, and made me aware of a life that I absolutely do not want to be a part of. At least, not anymore. I’m going back to my old fashioned roots. That’s who I really am. A small town kid who is crazy in love with his grandparents and family, and has a few close friends who enjoy a weekend of fishing just as much as a night in Tempe banging slutty females. I’ll trade a hug from my grandma over 75 sex adventures any day. No idea how I interjected thoughts about my grandma into a blog about whoredom. Weird.

Whoredom, I bid you adieu.

This blog was originally intended to be a political rant. An ongoing, never ending, continuous bashing on all things political I disagree with or feel passionately enough to take the time to write about. Fragment. Though I’ve mentioned a couple few political issues in the past few blogs, that means nothing. They’ve been spread over a period of months and have been a few sentences to a paragraph at best. I’m not apologizing, shut up. I’m just setting up a segue into another political-lacking post. We’re going to discuss challenges. Did you just get a minor anxiety attack that felt like heartburn?! Yeah, me either. Some find the word itself to be…a challenge. I don’t. I love it, sexually. I honestly, absolutely love everything about the word challenge. I love what it stands for, and I love conquering it. How many words do you conquer a day? A week? A month? A year? I tally mine…on my bedpost. Jkmybedpostlookswaytoonicetoruinwithconquestmarkings.

I’m not sure why these random thoughts come by way of inspiration via alcohol consumption. I’m not an alcoholic, but I do find a lot of creativity spewing mainly when I’m drunk or drinking. Since I’m a lightweight they’re essentially the same thing. Some people stumble upon life changing epiphanies while on the toilet, or the subway, or while cooking dinner. I find mine while drinking and thinking over all of the things I accomplished during the day. I do this not as some sort of feel-good-about-myself-self-help agenda, rather as a way to remind myself why I did everything I did throughout the day. The end result is always the same. I find that I overcome a lot of challenges on a daily basis, and I bet if you thought about it, you’d find the same. For those of you who are cocky and self-assured, shut up, no one cares. For everyone else who has sporadic moments of doubt – try it. Given the amount of shitty drivers and inappropriately changing stop lights during your daily commute, getting to and from work and home is a challenge overcome in and of itself. Here’s my dilemma: I’m bored as fuck. Happy, but bored as fuck. I don’t mean this to sound cocky, but anything and everything that’s been set before me I’ve overcome. Good, bad, ugly and indifferent. All of it. I can’t detail all of the challenges I’ve overcome in my lifetime, but know that they’ve been many and often. On one hand, I feel like I shouldn’t be complaining about not being able to overcome challenges in my life. Some people would kill for that. On the other hand, it’s realistically my only challenge – that I can’t find enough, or one to suffice as an actual blockade.

I’m not necessarily saying that I want to end up sick with a terminal illness, or find out that I can’t have kids, or be on the wrong end of a car wreck and permanently in a coma. What I am saying, is that I need a new challenge or challenges. Something that pushes me beyond whatever limits I’ve already extended myself, and causes me to step outside of my comfort zone and be someone or something different that I’ve never uncovered. Yes, I realize that sounds lame as shit. But I’m serious. I like me. I like who I’ve become and I like who I am. But I know I could be better, for whatever that means. It’ll mean something different to everyone of you reading this. For me, it would mean taking on a challenge that tests me and causes me to reevaluate my livelihood, stance on an important issue, religious views, etc. I’m not going through a mid-life crisis, so buying a Ferrari won’t solve this problem. Sky diving is too cliche, and still won’t push me to my limits. I want to do something original, creative and outside of my realm of normalcy. I’m writing this blog because I don’t know what that challenge is. Whether you know me or not, I would like to hear your ideas. There are no right or wrong answers, but keep in mind that if your idea sucks, I’ll tell you. Again, the point of this is to challenge myself. I don’t even know what that means fully. I just know that I need to be challenged. My life’s almost too perfect, and I’m almost too happy. And I’m starting to feel guilty for it. I need a change. Life’s all about the adaptation to changes and the journey they create. My journey’s been smooth sailings…where’s my challenge? This summer I plan on studying for and taking the LSAT, so I suppose that could constitute as one challenge, but that’s not for a few months. I’m impatient, I need something NOW.

Good, bad or indifferent, let’s talk challenges. I want to hear all of them, no matter how minute they might be. Stop reading, start thinking>>>>>