Little Bill

I’m having much trepidation over going home for the upcoming Christmas holiday. Perhaps we’re all too stubborn — I know I can be — and even belligerent at times, but we all love each other. It just seems that we put it to the test when everyone congregates the one time of the year we get together.

The drama got so bad that I wanted to pack up and leave, except my car was in the shop and I’d have nowhere (or nobody?) to turn to other than a hotel. Or back to New York.

If the drama comes my way next time, I’m just going to walk away. I really have better things to do than air my grievances about family members which — in the grand scheme of things matter not one iota — only to further perpetuate the nonsensical dramatics everyone takes to when the night begins and the drinks come out.

I have better things to do like live my life. To make something of myself, to follow my dreams. To stay out of everyone’s way and get stuff done. I just wish I wouldn’t have to do all that and still not look forward to going home for the holidays. It’s horribly depressing.

Considering how somber this journal’s taken since turning thirty, I wonder who reads it. Come and say hi and comment! Or offer me distractions when I go home next month.

I’m not very good at being out of control, and that’s how I’ve felt the last few months; the last few weeks especially. There’s been a lot on my mind and I think I’ve finally let it all out; layed it on the table and what happens next, happens next.

I have high hopes.

I find myself in a general malaise tonight, sitting the house I grew up in, trying to write this. Old sounds from my childhood jump back to life. The natural creaks of the house; the distant rumble of the cable factory a few miles away; the train rolling through town on its way… somewhere else.

Somewhere else. That’s the place I was looking for when I left this town for New York. I was looking for a new beginning, and I found it. However each time I return here and smell the air, see my hometown friends, and visit loved ones I might have at one time take for granted I’m reminded of a lesson.

It’s not where, but who you’re with that really matters.

This message came to me twice in as many days. Once from a song that I’d not heard in a long time, and the other from a short film viewed on YouTube.

That said, Thanksgiving is coming up and I have to admit. I’m thankful for you. All of you. Especially you, perhaps. Turning 30 has really had a profound effect on me, and those who see me regularly can attest to that. Things are changing, I am making strides towards personal growth and finding success. I couldn’t do it without those who love me; who stick with me and fight for me. And even some who don’t.

Thank you. :)

Yesterday: 9:45am.

It was a brief moment, and the day continued…

I was walking up Broadway towards the Flatiron Building on my way to work. New shoes on my feet. Brown leather. Flat soles. No tread. I’m walking across the subway grates — for those who aren’t that familiar with NYC, there are vents from the subway up to the street. From the sidewalk they are metal grates.

A few blocks along my way I make eye contact with a woman about fifteen feet in front of me. Ten feet from me my shoes slip on the grate. Not even close to falling, but I recover gracefully. Our eyes lock. My eyebrows raise, she smiles. Mutual acknowledgment.

We keep walking.

It proves, in the span of ten seconds that — although we all wear masks along our subway rides, that we wear our sunglasses to avoid eye contact; to anonymize ourselves — a brief moment can bring forth the notion that we’re only human. That we can, in a brief instant, share a moment and the continue on our paths reminds me that underneath our facades, this city full of millions are really just people. With emotions and insecurities.

I connected with a stranger for all of two seconds, and it was wonderful.

I got my hour back that was stolen from me in the springtime. It was nice. And after the crazy week I’ve had it’s proven itself quite welcome. I feel like I’ve been on-the-go in one form or another for the last two weeks and the weekend’s reprieve was more than welcome.

It was a weekend kicking back and relaxing with my kitties and savoring my home. I cleaned, I cooked, I read, I drew. I drew! It was great.

I feel recharged, ready and willing to go and I’m gonna need it. The upcoming weeks don’t seem any different. It’s good to be busy. It’s good to be making progress.

It’s good to keep moving.