The Good Things in Life

There is an expression about good things coming to those who wait. There is another expression about good things being worth waiting for. These expressions were likely coined by the same person, who doubtlessly made a lot of enemies is his life. I suspect the first time he said it, someone punched him in the nose. Hard. But he kept saying it, and someone took note, and now they are common expressions that teach the virtue of patience. But they also extol a kind of laziness. To follow these adages is to do nothing for one’s self and leads to no real accomplishments. Those who disagree with them may live by an opposing theory, that being to go out and find good things in daily life. They believe in taking life by the horns and living it to the fullest.

I am neither of these people.

Don't get me wrong. I have had a lot of good things in my life, but I have chased many of them away over the years, some for good reasons, some for selfish reasons. I have regrets about many things and people I have chased away, and I suppose it fuels that depressive side that strikes me every now and again. And when that mood hits me (like an anvil wrapped inside a pillow), it makes me wonder if I haven’t used up my allotment of good things. What if life’s great plan only allows for a limited amount of good things and if a person doesn’t use them properly, there are no second chances? Like the three wishes a leprechaun grants, the good things must be carefully nurtured and respected, but if they are taken for granted, you end up in a right mess of shit.

Twenty minutes ago, I told myself that maybe it’s time to be the other guy, to be the extrovert and take what I want. Time to get behind the mule, right? That idea made my muscles hard and my goals slightly less vague, but within moments, I shrugged it aside. It’s ain’t me, Jim. It just ain’t me.

This isn’t to say I don’t believe I’ll never experience any good things again. Of course I know that’s not true. But the good things only come occasionally, and not nearly often enough. Last night was a prime example, entertaining a handful of guests, playing music for people, laughing about old times, trespassing on state property in the dead of night and stripping off my clothes on the beach, wading several dozen yards out into the water with one of my oldest and best friends, each step reclaiming a relationship that had faltered due to the bad influence of an old love, and while that friendship has been properly rekindled for a good many months now, it is actually blooming into a better and stronger friendship that it ever was. These things, all of them, are good things, but they don’t happen as much as I’d like.

I take a moment here to contemplate the scar on my shoulder, rubbing the phantom itch, each time a reminder of how I received it, the story of one broken shoulder such a metaphor in itself. That scar is the perfect example of reaching out for life’s good things, and look where it got me: deeper and deeper and deeper into a mess there seems no way to escape.

I walk away to start “Darkness on the Edge of Town” for the second time, an album where every line seems directed at me. “Don’t waste your time waiting,” sings the Boss on “Badlands.” He’s one of those, you know. One of the “go out and grab it by the balls” people. So many people I admire or appreciate seem to be that kind of person. Put me on a stage with an instrument in my hands or with some well-written lines and a decent character to play, and I am not this me but one of them. Off stage, I am back to the real me. Could I just take one of Shakespeare’s famous lines (or the title of a Rush album) and reinterpret it for my own use and just imagine all the world as a stage?

That’s pretty optimistic, and probably slightly out of my grasp. In theory, I like it, but in practice, I’d annoy a great many people. Or maybe that’s just the residue of the relationship that led to this scar.

Most of my life is a performance. In public, I am not afraid to have fun and act like an oddball when the moment is right. I have no problem embarrassing myself in front of people. At home, alone, I write, I play music, I have imaginary conversations, often aloud, looking for the right words to get my point across in these potential situations. These encounters will never come to pass, but I would be ready if they did. Or so I think in the heat of the moment of these completely pointless exercises.

At this point, someone will step up and say, “Well you should be thankful for what you’ve got, or at least for what you get when you get it.” Oh, please. I am, okay? I am one of the most grateful people you know. You’d be hard-pressed to find anyone who doesn’t appreciate life as much as I do, the good and the bad of it. Everything is fuel for my writing. Everything is worth observing and acknowledging, and I think few do it with the appreciation I have for it. I am all about the experience, whether it’s good or bad. No one will ever be able to say that I didn’t experience enough of life. Oh sure, there are times when I get agoraphobic and sequester myself in my rooms and listen to copious amounts of music, to write stories or poems or songs, to go in the kitchen and experiment with a new recipe, but I also certainly acknowledge that these moments are experiences of their own. The perfect meal is as good as any sex or any conversation or any piece of art. I find fulfillment in painting, being stripped down to my boxers and sitting on the floor, speaking to no one but myself, running the oils together on the canvas. Of course I also enjoy having company in these moments, as there is nothing quite as fun as getting nearly naked with a fellow traveler and painting together, or writing together, or making music together, the latter two of which generally include clothing.

I have had many souls share parts of my life with me, some good, some bad, but all worthy. They have all had a hand in making me who I am, for better or for worse. That is a blessing too, each of them more of those experiences that make life worth living.

I get up to start “Darkness” for the third time on the compact disc player. "Badlands, you got to live ‘em every day." Damn right, Boss. And now it's time I go live some more of this one.