Sitting here during a couple hour layover in Boston. Headed to New York. Was in Cincinnati last night. Austin the day before. Dallas the day before that. Will be back in Ohio Wednesday. It’s been a crazy week of movement. A crazy year of it really. A year ago at this time I was moving from Austin to Boston. It happened so fast. Instinctively. A sudden, life-changing decision that subtly blended “seizing the moment” and survival mode.
As part of this #besomebody journey, I run into a lot of people who feel ‘stuck.’
Stuck in between what they have to do, and what they want to do. Stuck in between the job that pays the bills, and the dream that lights the fire. Stuck in between a bad relationship and the chance for a better one. Stuck between the fear of past failures and the possibility of future success.
America is a nation of immigrants, explorers and revolutionaries.
Two-hundred and forty years ago, we started as a small and scrappy pack of rebels, driven by a dream of “liberty and justice for all.” An outpost of outcasts, we penned our vision on street sides and carved our values in stone. We marched for peace and fought for freedom. And through it all, with each passing decade and each changing generation, we climbed… together.
I truly believe we’re in the midst of racial crisis in this country.
I truly believe that what’s been bubbling beneath the surface for a long time, is now boiling over into our sentiments and sentences and streets.
Floating in an ocean of unforgiving answers.
Bathing in a potion of uncleaned seas.
Staring at the surface of unsanitary standards.
Glaring at a purpose that falls far short of me.
Why do you love me from a distance?
What is it about me that you’re scared to see?
Hidden in layers of leased resistance.
Hiding in temporary states of free.
I think I get it now.
I think I understand why it happened this way.
Why I fell so hard down that hidden hole that it seemed like I was sinking into a cement sandbox. And every step was a collision between the angry earth and my stubborn soul. And every breath was a force of fucking nature. And every thought was a weapon of self-destruction.
Romance is dead. Connection is dying. Caught in the claws of this fast-paced, full-fazed, force-fed addiction we have to movement and progress and climax. This need to get from point A to point Z before the empty applause dies down from our news feeds. Trying to snap our way into a silent love story. Soaking in as little as we can before it all fades away… (more…)
Take me for a walk.
Not the perfectly paved kind, or the ones with lines and stripes on the sides.
No crossing guards or flashing lights.
No guided paths or harmless handrails.
I don’t want your picture perfect.
I don’t want your finished and flawless.
There is no color correction or auto detection that can expand or extend my love and affection.