Aiming up

I have stopped drinking alcohol. I have stopped smoking weed. I am eating very little sugar. I am aiming upwards. I do not act on my impulses to make things worse. I have the impulse, as I believe do all, to make things worse. To destroy. To dent someone’s car when they’ve parked badly next to you at the hospital.

There’s an upcoming poetry competition asking for three love poems. I will need to revisit the poems I wrote about my ex. I broke up with her because I didn’t think she was the woman I wanted to spend my life with. To this day, I do not know if I made the right decision. I left her and went travelling to “find myself” (I did, a little). What I do know is that I no longer regret my decision, as I have done in the past. I questioned where I might be had I stayed with her, had I really comitted. Now I tell myself I do not know where I would be had I not been travelling for the past few years, learning about life, and learning about myself.

I am ready, in short, to move on. Not that I am anxious to find my next girlfriend, though, to be certain, I am someone who needs relationships and a meaningful romantic relationship. It helps me make sense of the world, but I was afraid that I was making sense of who I was through that relationship. Now I know I have forged myself, and for good or ill, I did it alone. If you showed me the person I am now, three years ago, I don’t think I would have been surprised, but I would have been proud, and I am proud. I have been addicted to weed for 7 years on and off. Now I have finally decided not to drink and not to smoke weed for a year. I doubt that when that year is over that I will smoke weed, I may have a drink.

I want to write my novel in the next four months. Then I want to go travelling again. I want to go to Japan. I need money. There is a volunteer writing program I will sign up for. It is 12 hours a week for 12 weeks. That will eat into my time massively, but I think it will be worth doing. It sounds like meaningful work, and any writing work is good writing work. I hope I will learn much. However, I need a job which actually pays. This likely means working in a coffee shop or bar. That will eat into my time. I’m already working around 50 hours a week on my writing, not including the 8 hours a week I spend seeing my grandmother. I will make this work. I am young, strong, healthy, and I thrive when I’m busy. I will keep my body and my mind healthy. Though I’m still looking at pornographic images, that is the next thing to go. New year’s?

I will keep doing this. This is keeping me strong. If you are reading this, thank you. This is a release for me. It helps to know that someone, anyone, will see this; it’s cheaper than therapy. I am aiming up, and you are helping me do that. Thank you.

You read my blog?

I’ve been absent for a while. I was in a show in London. I was moving back home and painting my room. I was visiting my Grandmother in hospital.

You read my blog. Someone, out there. I hope you liked it. I suppose I’ve been living. I started writing a book. I do not know if I am able to write well, but I can experience, and I think I can translate what I experience into novel form. I hope I understand my fellow man well enough. I know I don’t know my fellow woman enough; I’m learning.

The show in London, where I stood on a stage with a celebrity. Where I was told I would be on television, if only for a second. Where I was surrounded by people I would know only briefly, and people I have known for longer, whom I am done with knowing. I don’t mean to sound pessimistic. I know that I am beyond lucky. It is not luck, my life, it is privileges that have been handed down to me thanks to my forefathers, as I discussed in my last blog.

It was, I think, life-changing. I realised that that is not who I want to be. I do not want to be the person on the stage. I do not want to be a puppet for the works of others, no matter how great.

It was The Royal Variety, I was singing on stage with many others (see if you can spot me, white T-shirt). At the after-party, I met people in the Les Misérables cast, West-End performers, people whom I felt I ought to have admired, yet when I spoke to them, I felt shallow. I have never wanted to be a hanger-on. Someone who follows a celebrity around, grabbing onto their coattails. That is exactly what I was. I grew tired of speaking to them, and was disillusioned when I realised these are not the kinds of people I want to be around. They are performers; they are some of the best musical theatre performers in the world, that is all they know. They are not my kind of people. I want to be behind the stage, writing it, making it happen. I was angry when I left the party. I was not the person I wanted to be. I must learn who I am alone; then I can find who I want to be with. I cannot know who I want to be with until I know who I am.

My best friend believes I should take work as a copywriter. As long as I’m writing and getting paid for it. I could do it. I could probably do it well. And I would probably get paid well for doing it; at least I would be getting paid something. Money is running out, slowly but surely.

I have moved back home to help my family whilst my Grandmother… I am close to my grandmother. I didn’t go to see her as much as I should have in the past few years. I went when I was home. I travelled a lot. Now she is almost gone. She has dementia. I will see her tomorrow. I hope she still remembers me. We play draughts when I go. Last week, she was beating me. A couple of days ago, we called it a draw. Tomorrow? I am afraid. I can’t speak more about her tonight. I am too tired and am not ready to cry yet. I haven’t cried about it. Not yet. I’m worried that suppressing my emotions is harming me. I refuse to cry in front of her, I will not let her know she is making me cry. Nor will I cry in front of my mother who has shed enough tears, or my father, in front of whom it would not feel right to cry. I’m afraid I’m losing a part of myself, suppressing a part of who I am that must be heard.

I’m learning who I want to be. I look forward to telling you. You. There really is a you. Maybe it’s only bots reading this. Or someone feeding it into an AI machine for some reason. At least something has read it. I’m using this as a journal more than anything. As a way of keeping track of my life. I feel grounded. Knowing this will exist for a while. An imprint.

Today was a good day. I am experiencing life and have decided to document it. Tomorrow I will do my best to give it my all. Can I give everything I have to tomorrow? I must save some for my grandmother 6pm-8pm.

My grandmother is beautiful. My grandmother lived a good, long life. My Grandmother is dying. I will miss her.

Responsibility

‘Meaning is found where responsibility has been abdicated.’

I’m currently living in a hostel in Edinburgh. About a week ago, I decided I should live in Edinburgh. I would find a place to live and find a part time job. Rent would cost around £700 a month, on minimum wage, that’s 14.5hrs of work a week. Any extra money would be spent on food, car payments, and books.

This morning I walked from the hostel to Edinburgh Castle with a coffee from the Milkman outside the hostel. I went there to send a message to my Dad. In the message, I told him I love him and that I appreciate him and the way’s in which he’s supported me and how much he helped me during the last few months when there’s been conflict between me and Mam.

As I was walking to the castle, the thought came to me that I should be living at home and caring for my grandmother. My mother is almost seventy and is looking after my 92-year-old grandmother almost single-handedly. My grandmother has cancer and dementia. I do not know how long she has to live. I do know that the strain on my mother must be quite great, never mind the fact that she is having to watch her mother be in pain and deteriorate mentally.

I know if I go home and help my mother care for my grandmother, then it will at least lessen the suffering of both my mother and my grandmother. I do not know what other good things might come of it, but at least that. I know that I will find it difficult. I am afraid. I am afraid of having to watch anyone suffer, let alone my grandmother, whom I love. Twenty hours a week helping my grandmother would be a better thing to do than working for Starbucks or serving alcohol at a bar.

I will not meet as many people. I will not be able to go to salsa classes. I won’t meet as many women or be able to have as much sex. I won’t be living in the vibrant city of Edinburgh. I will be sacrificing all the benefits of living in a modern-day city. I will have to live in my childhood home. Sleep in my childhood bed. I will be in my father’s house.

I will strengthen my family bonds. I will be able to spend time with my father. I might be able to repair the relationship between my sister and me. I will lessen the suffering of my Grandmother and help my mother. I might be able to fix the bonds between my cousins and me. I will have time to write my book, do yoga, and exercise.

I will sacrifice to the future.

I’m worried I’m avoiding leaving my father’s house. The dream I had the other night told me explicitly to go out into the world and leave my father’s house. But, doesn’t leaving my father’s house mean not being dependent on my family anymore, not relying on their support, not having the same son and parent relationship I had when I was a child? If I go home, that will not be what my relationship with my parents will be like. I am not going home for my sake; I am going home for their sake. That, somehow, might make it a different place altogether. Not a place in which I am hiding, but a place I am going to fix. It is a place which is a part of my life which needs support and is in need of repair. It is not the place I grew up. I am not going there to grow under its shelter; I am going there to prune the leaves and water the soil.

Am I taking the easy option by not finding a place to live and a job in Edinburgh? No, I can keep volunteering at the hostel if I want, until I find work at a bar, then I would be able to find a place to live. I don’t think it would be all that difficult; at most, it would take two months. I am afraid of being alone in a room, in a city where I don’t know anyone, trying to write something profound. Going to help my mother and my grandmother gives me something meaningful to do, and I might be avoiding writing something meaningful because it’s painful. Maybe I think I can get away with not writing if I go home. Maybe I think I can fall back into my old habits, my old routines. Am I looking for meaning? Is this an easy way to give my life meaning? Can I justify not striving to find meaning because I’m helping people? Is that fair? This is the best thing I can think to do right now. This is the most meaningful thing I can do right now that is open to me. It is more meaningful than working at Starbucks. I will have the same amount of free time as I would if I worked at Starbucks. The thing that I would be looking for in Edinburgh, which would make my life meaningful, would be a relationship, because I want a family, because helping and providing for my family would give my life meaning. Well, there is a family that needs help and support now.

The fact that I made plans to leave my father’s house, to move into a house of my own, maybe that was enough. Maybe it was enough mentally that I showed myself that I was ready to move out, that I don’t actually have to; not now that my family needs me.

I think I might be catastrophizing, but maybe not. My 92-year-old grandmother has cancer and dementia, and as far as I can tell, it is almost entirely my 67-year-old mother who is taking care of her.

Going home does not make me a coward. I do believe it will be more difficult to go home than to stay in Edinburgh. Does staying in Edinburgh make me a coward? Or, is it reasonable that I look out for my own well-being and not put myself in a position where I might be miserable? ‘When you do profound and difficult things, perhaps your life becomes more difficult, but it also becomes more profound.’

It may be that my family do not need me as much as I think they do, but I cannot know that until I go home. I’m also worried that: It might be that my family is coping just fine, and they don’t need me. But if I come home and start helping, they might decide they like that and won’t want me to leave again. They might try to make me feel guilty about leaving, which I probably would. It is my mother I must worry about doing that. That is a snake that I must keep my eyes open to.

Having just read back what I’ve written, I have made my decision. I will go home. I will help the only family I have the best I can. I will watch for signs and put measures in place against my own resentment, which may well rear its ugly head. I will make my life as good as possible whilst at home. I will hopefully get work one day a week at my local bar. That means three days of work a week, one at the bar, two with my grandmother. Four days a week where I can spend the whole day focused on myself. Free food and rent. I will beautify my room for the time I am home. I will ask my family to spare me some room for an office or workspace where I can learn the piano, paint, and of course, write. I will do my utmost (my most extreme, most dedicated, greatest) to make this the most positive experience it can be, not just for myself, but for my entire family. If I do this properly, if I make the proper sacrifices, if I look after myself and structure things the best they can be for me and stick to that structure, then I can give my mother two days of help or relief a week, I can build my relationship with my father and maybe even my sister. I can see my cousins. I can give myself the best opportunity to write and grow.

Commit. Do it. Make things better. Take responsibility.

Mama mia!!

I’ve got an idea for a short video. It’s about a man going to eat at an Italian restaurant. I need permission to film in an Italian restaurant for an hour. I’ll be the man, my Dad will be the waiter, unless one of the waiters is okay with it.

I’ve contacted my favourite local Italian restaurant. I told them I’d tag them, put their restaurant sign in the video, and give them a credit at the end of the video. This is the first step I have ever taken in making a video, and I am thrilled and proud of myself. I am putting myself out in the world. I’m doing it. I’m actually becoming a film-maker and an author, and probably a bartender or a barista to pay my rent. If I make more videos, I will find a local theatre group and go scouting for some people who are willing to act for free.

Jamming away to Italian music! Applying for jobs as a pizza chef. Going for an interview as a bartender and moving to a house in Edinburgh. Deciding to commit to life. Making videos, writing blogs, writing my novel, and reading instead of watching TV. Tonight I will dress up and go to a Jazz bar and maybe kiss a pretty girl.

I am proud of myself and happy that I have made a decision. Make the decision. There is no standing still. You hesitate and cringe because you’re worried about making the wrong decision, and you end up never making a decision at all. No waiting. No hiding. Move forward. GO!

Get thee out of thy country

And from thy kindred, and from thy father’s house, and into a land which I shall show thee. I dreamt last night that my Dad was casting me out of my childhood home. I had to fend for myself. I could not share in his food nor hide under his shelter. I had to go out into the world on my own. He wasn’t going to provide me with food or comfort or money to live. If I wanted to live I had to do it alone. I had to survive alone. In the dream I was anxious. I was afraid to do it on my own, life. Unsure how I was going to support myself or where I was going to turn now I didn’t have a home.

In the dream my father was the spirit of my ancestors, from whose work I have lived in comfort my whole life. My comfort is a direct result of my grandparents and my parents’ sacrifice. The sacrifice even of generations of men and women before me who eventually bore me. I am comfortable, enjoying my unearned wealth. It is time I start sacrificing.

It’s time for me to leave my father’s house. To commit to myself and to the future. Stop hiding. Go out into the world. No more hiding. Leave my father’s house, leave my kindred, and go into a land of divinity. Into the unexplored land, the land of divine growth.

Curious that I should have this dream the day after I start my blog. My ancestors are calling to me through dreams. I am doing the right thing; I am finally on the right path. Leave behind the safety of my father’s home. Get going. Go!

Remember, Remember.

The fifth of November, gunpowder, treason and plot. I have been living a life of imagination. Now, finally I’m attempting to breach the real world. For the longest time I have imagined my success. I have imagined being a published author, a film-maker, a musician; hoping that one day these things will come to me. Hoping that one day I will make the moral effort to put myself out there and have an adventure. So, I will show the world how much of a fool I am, in the hope that I will grow and learn.

I always thought: in the future I’ll be flexible. In the future. Something will happen in the future that will make me flexible. It’s me. It’s all me. Everything I want is down to me. I want to be an author, I must write. I want to make music, I must learn to play an instrument. I want to be flexible, I must stretch. I want to marry a beautiful woman whom I love, I must go out and talk to beautiful women. There is no waiting. Waiting is decay. There is no being handed things, as I have been my whole life. There is only going and doing. Go and do!

I am 26 and I often feel like a boy. That is because I often behave like a boy. I don’t take on the necessary responsibility to improve my life. I don’t sacrifice my time and leisure for the work that will progress me into the world I am afraid of but must enter into. I will sacrifice. I will work and write and post blogs and make YouTube videos and post things on Instagram. I will face it.

Now will I fight. Now will I grow. Now will I make manifest my potential.

I will become the man I know I can be.