In those early years, I remember the excitement of dreaming of what was to come and what I would become. It was the dream of occupation, of trying to navigate youth, eternal youth it seemed at the time. To be in love, oh so in love, and at such a young age. It was the feeling of being invincible and not knowing what was to come. Dreaming, uncontrollable dreaming. Dreams can be a blessing and curse.
In those early years, I remember sitting in a classroom, meandering through meaningless text, questioning the use of what I was reading. Was it helpful? Meaningful? It was a time where my mind drifted further and further away, challenging “authority” and what that word meant.
In those early years, I joined something that I was told I had to conform to for the good of the nation. It was an escape really, one I needed at the time. However, in those early years, I did not really understand how much of a non-conformist I was or what that meant. I shined my boots. I saluted. I cleaned my weapon, but I never, ever conformed. My original thought was too important and I refused to lose myself. What I needed, longed for, was to discover my true self.
In those early years, I would visit depression over and over. The darkness would come often, making me go on long drives, wondering if I should ever return or just keep driving until I reached a mountain and then disappear, either over it or in it. The burden I was, or at least tried to convince myself that I was. Those years I questioned my self-worth, but those years did not leave me, the patterns hung on. Breaking cycles are something I carry an ax handle for these days.
In those early years, I married her. I was aware enough that I was in love and I needed to surrender to that feeling because I needed it. I swallowed love whole and never wanted to lose it. Though, in those early years, I wondered if I was worth having love, being loved? Most likely I wasn’t, but love can conquer self-doubt, so can her eyes.
In those early years, I steered myself in a direction that I never knew I needed. I started to serve others, people, people with disabilities, people with abilities, more abilities than most, and I never stopped. I found a path, a purpose that made sense to me. It made me feel like I was doing something worthwhile, Something that I could stand tall and proud of doing. I didn’t know I would make a life out of it at the time, but those early years can be formative.
In those early years, I wrote often and tried to find my voice. I had a romantic vision of what being a writer would be, could be, and I never forgot what that felt like. I figured I’d create for a living and either take to the road like Kerouac or the high seas like Hemingway. Though, I am unsure why I would idolize an alcoholic or a womaning fisherman who put a shotgun in his mouth. I then turned my focus to romanticizing the Beat Generation and eventually ended with the depressive poetry of Robert Frost. His poem, “Acquainted with the Night” resonated well with my darkness. Eventually I found the writer I needed to emulate, and it was myself.
In those early years, I thought my body would never let me down. Little did I know it would, but at the same time, it would not. I lost something, my athleticism eventually, but I gained something more valuable, my wisdom. I gained insight and I started to understand empathy and compassion, not just for others, but myself. That made me stronger.
I now sit and wonder, as I rub on gray whiskers, where did those early years go and what did I learn? Perhaps, I was guiding myself toward the man, slightly more than middle aged, no longer in those early years, to a better place. To a place that I believed in and held true. One where I understood that a good conversation paired with a mesmerizing sunset is a life well lived. I am glad I had those early years, but I am more thankful that they have passed.
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