I’m sitting here.

I’ve wanted to write for months.

Anyway, this lady on the news is angry that they are planning to tar down a historical mansion in Teatown. The board for the estate don’t have enough money to maintain the upkeep of the house.

I feel her pain.

But my first thought was…. “fuck all that.”

Very insensitive but ….it comes from a good place.

That mansion is an earthly thing. It is preserving the past, sure. However, the past never goes away. The past is not trapped in the earthly objects you hold so near and dear. They exists as thoughts, emotions…..memories.

I’ve been throwing shit away that years ago meant EVERYTHING to me. Memories work that way: they convince you that you haven’t changed, that you still are tied to the thing that you possess.

You are not. You are a soul. A soul in body. Doing stuff. Good stuff. Bad stuff. Shitty stuff. The soul has no need for things you can touch, fold, and look at longingly when you are by yourself.

Every time I throw something out (or give something away), I feel liberated. Which makes me think did I ever need all of this stuff? I love clothes. I give them away and never regret it. I give of myself and don’t see it so selfishly. I don’t have anything to prove anymore; I never really did. It actually kind of pisses me off that I ever felt the urge to prove my worth to others.

You can see someone’s self-worth not in what they possess, but in how they treat themselves.

I’ve treated myself like shit, many a time. But I always thought I was great. No matter what.

I don’t have shit, really. But I have EVERYTHING. My life is full of love and happiness, even when I feel miserable, even when I wish things would go my way a little more. But don’t they already go my way? Don’t I get to wake up everyday? Don’t I have family and friends who love me, even when I’m a dickhead? Don’t I have a girlfriend who looks me in the eye, sees me struggle & suffer, and still treats me like I’m a king?

I didn’t always have those things. But I always had clothes. I had more money than I knew what to do with. I had women in my life who probably weren’t out for my best interests but would definitely draw the applause of peers and adversaries alike. That’s the dream. That the 20-something black male dream. But fuck that dream. It never made me feel good. It never made me feel fulfilled. It made me feel stupid.

Those earthly, empty things made me feel whole. I was empty as fuck though. I still dedicated my life to my family and my friends and just making people smile and laugh. But I didn’t have that level of dedication to myself. So I always felt stretched thin. Having the outside world think so highly of me is moving; brings me to tears. But that gripping “man, this shit ain’t right, you gotta figure out a direction” feeling didn’t go away. I always had to “prove” something. Prove I could drink. Prove I was cool. Prove girls liked me, because they didn’t for most of my life. Prove.

Nothing felt right until I had literally nothing. I was never really into material shit, but when they no longer became a regular option, everything was different. Getting your job taken away from you and not knowing what you want to do, but knowing you have talent. Knowing that if you really didn’t give a fuck about how people viewed you, it would be put to the test. I’m surviving it, I think.

I feel full, now. I still worry too much. I still have minor issues. The difference is, my problems don’t feel so large and looming. I’ve learned how to stay in the sunlight. All i need is my loved ones and belief that I will be ok. I will be ok. Every breath I take is proof of such.