Punk is Dead, but What of Lemmings

If you know anything about me, you will be well aware that “normal” is probably the last descriptor you would use. And I’m cool with that.

The truth is, I’ve never fit into a mold. There was a time that I tried. But in all honesty, we were always too poor for me to ever fit in with the “cool kids”. And quite honestly, I find that to be the shame of our society. Having to wear the right clothes, having the right toys and gadgets. This is the modern cast system. If you can afford these things, you’re in. If not, kiss the ring you peasant.

In junior high, something clicked. I came to the realization that I didn’t want to be a lemming. I didn’t want to be anything but who I was. So I stopped trying to be “cool”. My wardrobe consisted of amazing finds I got at Goodwill and I stopped thinking in terms of categories. I wasn’t a jock, druggie, skater, prep, etc. I was simply me. If I wore something, it was because I liked it. I didn’t give a shit what others thought.

This was my emancipation. I stopped judging others and stopped judging myself. I think autonomy is the way to be truly content. If you like something, wear it. If you like a song, sing it. If you like a dance move, fucking strut that shit!

Some define this lifestyle as “punk” and yet, that has simply become another label to define a style. Don’t get me wrong, our brains need to categorize in order to function efficiently so I’m not saying do away with all labels. But, here’s what I am saying. You don’t have to chain yourself to any specific label. If you create, know that someone will always be there to tell you you’re not good enough. They are liars. You are you and that’s fucking amazing! Own that shit! The only way to truly fight mob mentality is to realize that you are not of the mob. You are you, and there is no one else who could take your place. So just do that thing. Be who you are. Dance when you’re drunk. Get excited about the things that make your heart skip. Don’t let anyone beat the individuality out of you. Normal is a facade. We are not lemmings. Life is not the cliff. Punk is not dead.

When Time Moves Forward

I don’t even know what to write anymore on this day. Eleven of these days have now come to pass and my emotions towards them are always fueled with conflicting peaks and valleys. I drown in them. They consume my very essence.

I remember it like it was yesterday. All the chaos. The feeling of helplessness. The tears spilled on the floor. I remember the way my brain completely shut down as it came to terms with the truth. She was gone. She would breath no more. And I feel as though I’ve been holding mine ever since in solidarity.

Life moves forward, not on. It doesn’t stop for you to catch your breath. It doesn’t cease to bring pain and suffering just because you’ve already suffered everything. It continues forward. It doesn’t even ask your permission or preference.

I am grateful for the children that are sitting near me now. I’m releshing in the moment of Ruth currently cuddling up to me and holding my arm, pretending to read these very words. I don’t take these moments for granted however it still magnifies the truth. There should be one more voice I’m hearing. There should be one more body begging to cuddle up to mine. And this ache is a weight I feel I will never be free of.

I take all this day by day. I thank all of you who read this and encourage me. I break down when I read “are you doing ok?” I know that you know I’m not. But you know that you are asking if it has overwhelmed me yet. It has not. I’m still writing. I’m still sharing her story. Because she is still a part of me. So, one more year passes without my permission. So I will move forward with the time, but I refuse to move on.

The Windows Behind Your Eyes

Have you ever met someone who seemed to be so caring, who could look you in the eye and you knew that they saw past your mask? They seem so focused and in tune to how your feeling yet when you look at their lives, you can tell they seem to neglect themselves and probably seem a little unhinged?

Chances are you’ve met an impath. To clarify, I’m just going to assume you have no idea what that word means. An impath is someone who not only empathizes with people who are struggling but they sympathize to a point where they can put themselves in that emotional state even if they’ve never been in such a position. They can tell you exactly how you’re feeling and what thoughts are racing through your mind.

You may think, “how can this person know so much?!?” They probably make you a little nervous because these are the vulnerable parts of yourself you thought were well hidden from the world. Impaths are like the Sherlocks of emotion. They can read the smallest facial expression, the windows in your eyes, the way you twitch your pinkie finger when you’re nervous, and how you say you’re fine but you can tell that they know you’re lying. It may even make you sick.

I want to shed some light on impaths and give some insight if you are friends or even lovers with one. We are all different so I will try to use broad brush strokes that I hope will encapsulate most of us. Firstly, impaths not only can tell what your going through, they go through it with you. We can’t help it. We feed off of your emotions. This is how we can understand even if we haven’t experienced what you’re going through. We put ourselves there. We’re like emotional camelions that change color to whatever emotion you’re permeating, even if you are unaware.

You may see us as unhinged but in reality, in a given day, we’ve been through a miriad of emotions depending on who we’ve come in contact with and we end each day utterly exhausted. 

I’d say we’re quite hinged considering what we experience emotionally on a given day. Another thing to understand is that an impath can process others’ emotions with expert precision but we struggle at processing our own. We take a very long time to understand why we’re angry or depressed or frustrated. The emotion may not even be our own. It may be left over from someone we’ve encountered that we haven’t sluffed off yet.

Lastly, the impath is really good at understanding but we’re not always the best at encouraging, though we swear we try! But because we feel what you feel, we can fall into your funk fairly easily if we don’t check ourselves. I know I’ve fallen to this too many times to count. 

So, if you have an impath in your life, don’t be afraid. Most of the time we are fiercely loyal and will not betray your trust. Give us grace when we read too deeply. We’re not trying to be intrusive. We just absorb your energy. And if you feel you need to confront your impath friend, just be up front and honest. We can tell when you’re lying but will pretend we can’t because we cherish the relationship more than we cherish even our own integrity. We will fall on our sword over and over for you because that is how much we want you to avoid harm.

I am your ally. I wish to be understood. I hope this helps.

I Am Jack’s Sense of Purpose

We’ve all heard the phrase, “anything is possible”. It’s been drilled into us since childhood. “You can do anything if you’re willing to work hard enough.” It sounds nice, even motivating. But the harsh reality is that at best, it’s simply untrue and at worst, it’s psychologically damaging.

What about someone who is wheelchair bound with a brain injury. What if this person’s dream was to become a sniper in the Marines? What if this person was continuously told, “anything is possible.” Granted, laws and rules could change but as it stands, anyone with a disability involving  lack or limited use of limbs can not serve in this prestigious branch of the 

military. This is a true story of someone I know. And the psychological toll placed on this person is hard for my heart to bare. I can’t imagine how it feels for 

him. 

So back to the “Anything is possible” mantra. I think we should ditch it. This doesn’t mean we’ve given up. It simply means we have come to terms with the idea that what we are able and not able to do doesn’t have to define our success or even our contentment. 

The most well rounded people I know are the ones who don’t expect things to happen but are able to roll with whatever life brings. This is who I aspire to be. Life doesn’t always pan out how we plan. Often times it is out of our control. 

In this manner, I follow the philosophy of the Stoics, set aside that which you can not control and put your energy into what you can control. I believe that is where contentment and purpose stems from. I am Jack’s sense of purpose amidst the anarchy that is life.

Shotguns and Rottweilers

Sometimes my heart feels like it’s going to explode. I wish I could turn it off. I see others do it. I watch them laugh and move on and I stand in a cave of envy where the stalagmites and stalactites are constantly stabbing me as I walk.

When I say I wear my heart on my sleeve, what I mean is that I have taken my heart in my fist and with a sawn off shotgun, I’ve let it explode all over my arm. I used to think this was a detriment. But I’m realizing more and more that the ones who are uncomfortable with it, are the ones who need my attention the most.

Their discomfort stems from the fear of vulnerability. They’ve had their hearts crushed. And their hearts aren’t as resilient as mine. Mine takes a beating on a daily basis because I allow it to. They’ve guarded theirs with Rottweilers! 

Those who are uncomfortable need someone who will be there even when the dogs bite and will be there after the carnage is over. 

I’m not ashamed of wearing my heart on my sleeve. I know there are many who appreciate such honesty no matter how uncomfortable it may make them feel. This is who I am. This is my heart. This is my sleeve. And hear that?... that was my shot gun.

Finding Myself in a Sandbox

Self discovery is a sandbox. It’s the seeking of lost items that fell out of your pocket while you were pretending to be an excavation crew pushing sand from this side to that. It’s daunting. But you need those items back in your pocket.

Here’s what self discovery is. It’s uncomfortable. It’s the quirky things you do when no one is watching. It’s those weird moments when you’re by yourself and you suddenly get the urge to sing “Whoomp! There it Is” at the top of your lungs and try your best running man.

That’s who you are! Because you had no expectations on you. No peer pressure. No one to impress except yourself. And that’s who you should be ALL THE TIME! Forget the labels. Forget the perameters. If you want freedom and liberation, when the urge to sing Spice Girls hits you while your standing in a crowded elevator...you fucking sing like a ZIGGA-ZIG-AH! After you die of sheer embarrassment and resuscitate yourself, there will be an overwhelming feeling that just takes over. That feeling is finding your quarter in the sandbox. That feeling is you finding yourself within yourself. THAT feeling is true freedom.

Beaten but Not Broken

It was the kind of warmth that surrounded you like a soft blanket. The sun was shining. The scent of worms was wafting it’s way to my nostrils. I was where I wanted to be. I had a pole in my hand and beside me were my sister and my dad just enjoying the quiet moment we had the joy of sharing together. This is how it always starts. Then I fuck it up. As my dad was baiting his hook with his pole on the ground, my wild, ADD laden self ran across the pole and I kicked it as I passed by. I knew instantly I was screwed when I heard the growl from my dad’s throat as the hook pricked his thumb from my blunder. Instantly he rushed me and with his muscular hands, he threw me to the ground. Fight or flight, this is what our low brain instantly retreats to. So of course in such fashion, I folded into the fetal position and squeezed my eyelids shut just as I saw his foot cock back to deliver what was sure to be a breath taking blow to my center mass. As I clenched in anticipation, I heard him walk off, muttering to himself. The rage was drained from his face but I knew those eyes. That resentment for having a son that was so uncoordinated. Why couldn’t I just be normal? Why did I have to remind him constantly what a fool he had for a son? Why couldn’t I make him proud? Never enough...