Thirty-one

The first song I heard as a 31 year old: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qn5IHOi-vII

Appropriate, I suppose. It's not a song I'm very familiar with, but listening a little more intently while I write this, it's relatable.

I kind of wish I had written this a few days ago. I was looking forward to 31, I really felt like it was a refreshing number. 30 held the end of so many things; it was a year of moving on. 31 appeared to be promising, I feel as though I've done a lot of changing in the last year. I'm proud to say I feel like me again. I've rediscovered my creative side, for real. I'm exploring things I never thought I would. I've become more content with my best effort, more accepting of imperfect results. I've found a sense of deep pride from the things I've created, regardless of how they are regarded by others. I've found a self confidence I always pretended to have but never did. At 30, I was defeated. At 31, I've learned how not to fight. At 30, I was stagnant, at 31, I'm flourishing. At 30, I was uncomfortable, at 31, I'm finding a familiarity with myself.

I want to thank the powers that be for this week's reminders that there is no time other than now. I didn't know Jessica well, but I can easily recognize the depth of the tragedy. Her poor daughter, losing innocence at 2. She'll never get that back. This girl's family will bury one of their youngest members. None of us expect to outlive our siblings; I know I don't. I knew Mr. Nuthall. When I moved to West Valley, I made the choice to take British Literature over American Literature, Am Lit is so stuffy and British literature is so...fun! Chaucer? Shakespeare? Yes, please! My class was myself and 3 other guys, 16 or 17 and Mr. Nuthall was our Robin Williams in Dead Poet Society. I had a difficult time relating to the males available to me at the time; we did not see the world the same way, and so we didn't really discuss the kind of things that needed to be discussed at that time. In short, I lacked a mentor. The members of the English department at WV were exactly that. Mr. Nuthall and Mr. Sortore were some of the most inspirational people I've known, without even trying. They were true leaders of men; patient, malleable, wise, intelligent. They had a way of expressing how they viewed the world that was captivating, but at the same time, they had such a thirst to understand how we viewed the world.

The loss of these two people, Jessica and Mr. Nuthall is very striking. The frailty of life is terrifying. The difference between life and death, what is and what was, is nothing more than a moment. As each moment passes, we come closer to that defining moment. I don't know how many moments I have left, but I truly want to make sure I take full advantage of them. 30 dwelled on what was. 31 will be spent on what is, and what could be.

On Selfishness?

Of all of the things that humanity suffers from, why is it that I am so selfish that I can’t get my mind off of the one thing that I think will make my life complete? The betterment of a fellow human is far more important than whether or not I can get a girl (woman. I’m over 30 now.) to go to a bar to watch a hockey game with me. And you know what will happen once we get there? Nothing. Sure, I’ll have 1 beer too many because it lowers my defenses and I can be comfortable being me. When I walk her to her car, I’ll try to kiss her. She will or she won’t, but it won’t matter. Maybe she will and then I’ll call her then next day. We’ll get breakfast and start to talk. I’ll tell her that I find it interesting that since the dawn of man, humans have had an intrinsic desire to believe in a higher power. She’ll tell me that the new Taylor Swift album is really deep, or that Bon Jovi is a good band. Maybe she won’t let me kiss her. I’ll send her a text; she’ll ignore it. I’ll send her a message online; that will get deleted. Finally, I’ll get the picture and leave her alone and wonder if it was the fact that I’ve put on weight since school started or it was the fact that I have funny teeth, or the fact that I was critical of a Sabres player who isn’t really that good, but she thinks is ‘hot.’ Back to the drawing board.

Couldn’t my time be better spent? How about instead of cruising free internet dating sites, I volunteer for a couple of hours at a soup kitchen or halfway house? How about I pick up my nephew and take him to a park? How about I volunteer at the Boy’s & Girl’s Club? How about I become a Big Brother? How about instead of wasting my time meeting yet another potential disaster, I go for a run? Work on music for the songs I’ve written?

The problem is I know what (who) I want. Further, the problem is that it doesn’t matter what (who) I want. These girls that I meet could be really awesome, but I will spend a whole lot of time comparing them to the 1 or 2 people who I think are perfect for me. If they were truly perfect for me, wouldn’t I be perfect for them?

In short, I think I give up. I don’t know what that makes me. I don’t know that I care. I was given the advice that women on online dating are inundated with messages; even if they see someone they may be interested in, they easily forget by the time they’ve checked their messages. I don’t have the humility to continue to send messages that aren’t responded to. It makes me feel foolish, it makes me feel desperate. I’m not desperate. If I were desperate, I’d settle, I think.

I am desperate for one thing. I want a baby so badly. I want to hold my child. I want to protect my child. I want to see the wonderment in their eyes at every new experience. I want to put awful art on my refrigerator. I want to scrub crayon off of the walls. I want to have this being curl up in my lap to watch Star Wars for the 3rd time this week because it’s the middle of winter and it’s a lazy week. I want handprint turkeys. I want construction paper pilgrim hats. I want 1-2-4-5-7-6-8. I want elemenohpee.