47

On December 29, back in 1978, I was born.

I have a habit of reflection, but what I see in my mind's eye is a fun house mirror of reality.
I hold no grudges - except I'm still pretty pissed about the SWAG black baseball cap that was stolen from me by a security guard at a Ramones concert.
There was a kid there with me that was either as upset about the situation as I was, on my behalf, or more likely, he just loved ruckus because when I told him my tale, he walked me as close as we could get and had me point him out. He then threw a bottle at him and we ran.  I sincerely doubt he was in any danger of actually being hit, but throwing a bottle at security is something I wish I'd done myself. That guy had some great stories.  Mostly stuff I'm not comfortable talking about in public, like things with naked bodies and disappearing nickels. He was also probably responsible for the German poo films I had the unlucky opportunity to see on an old console television screen in a house of a girl whose parents had once thought of either painting or replacing the wall paper of their living room, but instead decided to leave it raw wall board and provide markers and crayons and paint for people to make their own art while visiting.

Those things are real, I think.  I remember them as best as I remember anything.
I remember the time Monkey told me he'd fallen asleep at the wheel, woke when he'd hit something and he kept driving home, wondering if he'd killed a human.  He went to bed, and the next day found a downed mailbox down the street, not a big deal, but as close to tragedy as anything else.

As probably inaccurate as my memories are, they give me revelry, which I much enjoy. I wish other people were as lucky as I was as a child, despite a bit of poverty and a bit of bullying, and as lucky as I've been since despite some wounds and distresses.

At 47, the thing I spend the most time worrying about is "what is my purpose"?

Until I can come up with a better answer, I think for this year, I'll try to make my purpose JOY.
Lately I've been trying out a MUCH larger smile than I used to carry, not because I want to seem anything at all, but because I've been able to ignore myself long enough for long moments to take in a surround, to be simply a consumer of human radiation. Boy, I do love people, as much as they frustrate me.
I don't want to go live in a city.
I would likely die.

But when I am lucky enough to be in a group, not the center of it, I really do light up. I don't want anything from these folks, not love, not friendship, not companionship...just camaraderie. 

It's been five years since I last wrote specifically about my birth, my day, my event - I went back and read my thing about desiring so much more.
That was certainly me then. That was certainly true then. Today I am not five years younger. Today I have WeMailCoconuts, my outlet, my digital existence beyond work and politics and parenting.

I remember Me being different. I remember thinking I was 1 thing. I remember Wanting....just wanting.

I hope in 5 years when I read this, I will be better at being quiet and sitting still and enjoying the sounds and feelings and smells of the world around me - I'm working on it.

We as a Country certainly feel on the cusp of some revolution, and I don't anticipate it will be good or fun, and I don't want to perseverate on it too much, but I hope we get 5 more years of personal exploration before simple existence is all we can muster.