51 Days sober.
Another ferry ride into the big city and I got lost in my own thoughts while sitting in a corner by where the pay phones used to live. Why does society have to take beautiful things and suck them back into its vast expanse with it’s terrifying undertow of consumer cycles. I own a cell phone, I aided in the down fall of the payphone empire.
Some things seem to move so slowly. Time is irrelevant in a world where my existence is ruled by my perception, perspective and feelings.
I spent my last 20 days digging deeply inside myself in such a gentle and honest way. Holding hands, holding space. Holding time at bay and waiting for the inevitable separation of two universes.
And everything gentle hurts sometimes. Honesty isn’t soft with us. Nothing in life is easy. I want to live hard, love hard and fight like hell.
So I squat on the floor of the alf house kitchen smoking and typing. I’m wondering what number this cigarette is on my count down to quitting. I wonder how close I am to finding clarity in the struggle of reaching my goal of finding the best of both worlds. I wonder if I’ll choose to call the run down poster-painted walls of this house my home? Will I buy a van? When can I learn to sail? Do I want to try and let my feelings fall where they may? Should I let the last month sink it’s teeth and nails deep into me. It’s words, ideas and dreams. It’s softness and honesty and harsh but beautiful challange.
Do I tempt myself to pack my bags and go out into the world and challange myself again?
Cam said to me today “Why not? What could possibly go wrong? Except everything?”
But isn’t that part of the charm of the challange in this fight we’re all struggling through?
Isn’t terror and fear and uncertainty part of the thrill?
How can I overcome my desire to hide from these things but still feel fearless and strong and fight like fucking hell to love and feel alive.
I know I’m growing because it’s hard and I know I’m changing because there’s no other way.