The More Me I Become
Reflections from a man on borrowed time.
Each night I have woken up over the past month, a strange notion or feeling has come over me. The feeling…. is this is me? This is not the me that found himself on the beach at 3 a.m. with a gun, intent on ending the pain. Not the me who sought late-night flings in crazy, public places to make sure he was still alive. Nope. This me likes himself, hell probably even loves himself, and is becoming more and more aware of his flaws, purpose, and power. Truth be told I like this guy.
One of the things I used to think about, and maybe even tussle with, is the fact that a lot of people seem to meet this version of themselves early in life and I couldn’t seem to find that me anywhere, even if he was standing beside me in an empty room made just for two.
Maybe it was insecurity I created out of rejection or the fact that I couldn’t yet be the hero of my own dreams, but this guy, this apparition — well he wasn’t anywhere where to be found. I looked for him for 20 years. I looked in war, love, sex, fistfights. I looked in stupors, plane tickets, and even a few shady places. Turns out all I had to do was get Lost, open a book, write a few words, get honest, grieve some losses and make all those mistakes we haven’t talked about. Otherwise, chances are I would have never met me in the way that I actually liked.
The older I get, the more of a romantic I become. Not a romantic in the sense of bringing flowers before dinner, but more of a romantic in the fact that even though I helped carry more than my fair share of caskets to a grave, I still find sex appeal in ordinary life. It entices me, flaunts her charm to me, calls my name, and shows me a peek and says I’ve got much more to show you.
And let me tell you, as a man on borrowed time, I purchased the ticket and I am here for more. I am a romantic in the sense that with every heartbreak, I know there is a love out there waiting. Some might say that’s just me looking to suffer and I would gladly tell you if I can do one thing right, it’s suffer.
I’ve been called an emotional cutter. I’ve been a woman’s salvation and her mine. I’ve been the doomsday clock for others. In the end, now that I tend to like myself…well, I just want to keep tasting life, but this time with a bit more love and a lot more humanity. Now, I tend to recognize the reflection in the mirror after the mask is removed.
