“Some said ‘Hov, How’d you get so fly?’
I said, ‘From not being afraid to fall out the sky’
My physical’s a shell so when I say ‘Farewell’
My soul will find an even higher place to dwell”
–Jay-Z, Beach Chair
(everything’s okay, I just thought this was a fitting quote)
I love this blogging thing. I appreciate my commenters. I am grateful for this platform and I hope I am doing honorable things with it.
If you’re reading this you know this isn’t just your basic entertainment blog. I’m trying to do something special here.
I have no room for Thugs, Douchebags, Fakes, Phonies, or Too-Cool-To-Be-Human types. These Emo Files blogs are the ultimate in Aggressive Content. There’s nothing more “Gangsta” then standing up on your own two fucking feet and saying “This is me, and this is my life, and I’m not gonna hide anything from anyone.”
It’s my opinion that everybody is hurting and everybody needs healing. Even the snarky comments that I will allow because ya’ll are my E-Fam mask the uncomfortable feeling you get when the lights go off, the audience goes away, and you’re all by yourself, with only yourself to answer to.
Walk. With. Me.
I know I’m not alone.
So I’m back from my Upstate journey.
I got to spend some time with a real-life, functioning, married couple. Baby on the way, just bought a house, Genuine “‘Til Death do us Part” married. It was an interesting experience, one that let me know both how bad I want something like that, while also letting me know how far away I am from being ready for that.
It’s weird being a romantic cynic. Half the time I tell myself, “Self, look at how happy __ + __ are!” The other half I tell myself, “Self, look how delusional __+__ are.” It’s like, I know a few genuine couples that are on the same page. Couples that have compromised and are truly in it for each other, in it forever.
Then again, I know other couples where I wonder what the fuck the two could honestly have in common.. Where I wonder why they’re even bothering with this fake nonsense.
What I’ve come to realize is that, at some point, we all have to Face Our Mortality. At some point, we all take a look in the mirror and have this argument: What Do I Want? -vs- What Can I Have? -vs- What Will I Accept?
1- “What Do I Want?” is a fairly easy one to ‘splain. For me, I want every good thing I had with my last genuine love, plus some more lovin’ (look, I tried to find a way to finesse that, and it sounded like bullshit, so the truth gets said without any lube this time). I want to be more mature, less selfish, more giving and more able to Shut The Fuck Up and listen to what she’s saying, and then go one better and put my overly-analytical brain to good use and peep the context. I want her to be a pretty eyed brunette with a nice tummy, rack, and personality.
2- “What Can I Have?” is less-nice. Sometimes I can have a girl that seems to be attracted to…I dunno…something about me..—Whether it’s personality, sense of humor, whatever attractiveness I possess (no ego trip), or maybe that cursed buzzword, my “Potential”—who piques my curiosity, & even tho’ it doesn’t seem like a good idea, I’ll still make the move. *cough*BWM Shakira (1)*cough* —> I mean, it’s not all bad.. Sometimes “What Can I Have?” works for me instead of against me. “What Can I Have?” can also (and finally does) keep me away from Triangle of Terror (1) types, and keeps me away from girls with boyfriends or complicated situations.
3- “What Will I Accept?” is the key here. Sometimes I ignore the good way of number 2 right there and rock with the bad. Sometimes I’ll accept a girl in a fucked up situation. Sometimes I’ll accept a girl that is clearly a rhombus when what I need is a triangle. Sometimes I’ll ignore the fact that I am but a last fling, a nice guy that talks enough shit about making out prowess to heighten her interest, or a final grasp about “What could have been?” if she wasn’t with her BF, or committed to some other random bolso del douche.
See, what should happen is that we should only accept people into our lives that can actually improve said lives without doing as much freaking damage as possible. What should happen is that we should only let people into our hearts that only have love and loyalty in theirs. What should happen is that we only give our hearts to, and fall in love with, people that are selfless. People that only have aspirations of mutual ascension. What should happen is that, to paraphrase my cousin, we only fall in love with that Girl or Boy whose mere presence gives us a contact high.
—>Anything else: Is a waste of time, Is settling, and ultimately leads to “What could have been?”, which is the question that haunts me to this day, to this very moment.<—
See, Facing Our Mortality can either lead us to amazing feats of strength and courage, or it can lead us to bad places, places we should really know to avoid. It inspired Maverick to become a great man, provider, father, and friend. Dude could have looked at Patronus’ arrival and shit the proverbial bed. Instead, he did what he had to, and still does, and keeps his complaining to a minimum. He’s devoted his life to his fiance and son, and has responded honorably according to the Forever bestowed upon him.
When The Goat faced his own mortality, he–IN MY OPINION–chose to run. To throw in the towel and decide the most important thing in his world was keeping up with the Jones’. Rushing into a situation that his family, his in-laws, and his GF thought he should have. I do not believe that he’s doing what makes himself happy. He saw his own mortality and got scared. He’s racing towards the finish line at a million miles per hour, ignoring all the beautiful scenery, tourist attractions, museums, oddities, exchanges, and relationships life has to offer.
My baby brother saw his own mortality at his GF’s family reunion. He saw his forever. He caught a glimpse of himself in khakis and a polo shirt.. Or jeans and a neat t-shirt chasing around my nephews and neices, and he panicked. Nooga wants “adventures”. He wants “excitement”. What he should keep in mind is that a Jedi craves not these things. Instead, he’s choosing to run and hide about a bajillion miles away from Maverick or The Goat. He covers up the pain with hostile blurts and rebellion and is sloowwwlllyyyy sabotaging himself in a way that I recognize and subsequently fear.
My own mortality is very literal. I’m gonna die at some point. It makes me scared to my core for a minute, but then something comes to my attention and I feel better. Now, in terms of happiness, success, and the future, I’m not really sure if I’ve faced my own mortality. Heck, I still feel like 17–or maybe that I still wish I was 17.
I guess the good thing is that I feel like I haven’t reached my POINT OF NO RETURN. I feel like I have yet to actually come to my crossroads. Of course, when she was still BMBM Shakira (1), I saw my own mortality——-and I ran from it. I got mad. I went back into another funk about ol’ “Amy”. I took shots at everyone and anyone whose fate wasn’t determined. I hated that I couldn’t be selfish anymore…and then I hated myself for wanting to be so fucking selfish in the first place.
Heck, I bashed the kids I knew for being kids and going to the Nutty (a bar with a dj and coverband) and being on MySpace and shit.. and Now look at me!! I’m on MySpace all the fucking time! I’m at the Nutty every fucking weekend! and Ya know what?? IT’S FUN! I bashed it cuz I’m petrified to try new things, and because I hated-fucking hated-the fact that I can be so scared and so shy and so fucking afraid of anything and everything, and that when that Baby came I wouldn’t be able to fix all that shit and have myself some new experiences. Soooo, I had to take out Ye Olde Sledge Hammere and pound away [||] at something I didn’t understand, something I was afraid of, and (in my opinion), would never be able to grow into.
I have yet to Face my Mortality, and I guess for that I am grateful. My life isn’t set, my life isn’t made, and despite how fucking heavy handed this entry has been, that’s still a good thing.
Mind you, I need to get my act together.. Stop being the Grasshopper and maybe start being the Ant.
I suppose there comes a point where you stop fighting the current and just start swimming with it. There comes a point where you stop being pulled under water and you start avoiding the big waves instead of diving head-first into them.
I suppose there’s a point where, when you finally do make it onto the beach, you either lay down in the sun or build a sand castle, or maybe you buy yourself a fuckin’ boat and you pick when you go back into the water.
I suppose there’s a point where you burn the High School Journal, You archive the video taped Shenanigans of you and your friends, and you get on with your life.
I suppose there’s a point where you stop living in the past because it creates unfair expections..and even tho’ I don’t think wanting to have adventures and make your mark and DEMAND TO BE FUCKING SIGNIFICANT is so bad…
Back then was much, much sweeter than right now…but:
A- I’m saying that because I had a flippin’ girlfriend back then, and no matter what I do, or how many blogs I write, I always land back on “If I had a girlfriend, life would be so much better”…
B- At some point, TODAY will become BACK THEN.
I just hope that when TODAY does become BACK THEN, I will be able to do what the great ones do, and that’s say: “That was awesome, but I’m glad things turned out the way they did.”
Facing My Own Mortality scares the shit out of me, but I can’t wait for my real life to begin anymore. My real life began the very first time I made a decision that could have negative ramipercussions .
Real Life doesn’t begin when you get married, or have kids, or get a fucking degree, or a new car, or an apartment.
Real Life begins when you make a choice that you might regret, a choice that just might hurt you…damage you…cripple you…or kill you.
My real life begun a long time ago and, girlfriend or not, I have to quit fucking around
Call Reynolds, Cuz It’s a Wrap.
I’d like to thank everybody for reading this long-ass post, and for continuing to support me and everything I’m trying to do here at It Ain’t That Serious.
Feel free to get a little philosophical in the comments.
(1)- Long story. Not sure when I’ll get into it. You can ask tho’. Short version: Baby Wasn’t Mine, and Baby Might Be Mine.