Upward Over the Mountain!

I had a thought while in the shower today…and no, it wasn’t anything that had to do with anything, with being naked and soapy or happy to be naked and soapy or anything, but I did have a thought, and the thought was this: I really need to let go of the past.

I mean, I have claimed to “let go” of things past many times, only to realize further down the road that no, in fact, I have not let go of said past, but rather I have only tightened my grip on it, and in doing so systematically shoved it down into a deep dark corner of my heart, or soul, or wherever the poetic place to suppress my emotional/physical/meta-physical magna cum baggage is these days.

So, there I was, in the shower, enjoying my refreshing Axe body scrub, Jeff Buckley is playing on the radio, and his song, “Morning Theft” came on. Now, “Morning Theft” is a great song—tragically beautiful in the way that Jeff Buckley could be, with lyrics such as ‘time takes care of the wounds, or so I can believe’, as well as, ‘I miss my beautiful friend, I had to send her away to bring her back again’, and so on and so-forth.

Unfortunately for me, “Morning Theft” is intrinsically linked to an abundance of over-active romanticism I once felt back in New York, before the Dark Times, before the Cornfields. Long story short, the world back then was full of a sense of promise, of love, of hope, blah blah blah, and even though every little bit of moxy and optimism I felt back then was certainly real in the moment, I have sense come to look back on those days of wine and roses and think, “Madre de dios! What was I smoking?! Where can I get some more?

Yeah, back in the day I was in love with a girl, this aforementioned love made me believe I was an indestructible God of Possibility, and when life showed me its just yet cruel hand and said girl went into the ether, I buried my embarrassment and shame in many pints of beer and many miles of running through Central Park, and eventually I was back to my normal Dark Prince self.

Then I got into grad school here at the good ol’ land of the Illini (which isn’t a real Indian tribe and all of you who think it is should be shot out of ignorance—okay, okay, maybe not shot, per se, but at least given a thorough education on racial stereotypes and all that lovely post-1492 brough-ha-ha we have to deal with). How’s that for a rant? Let’s go back:

Then I got into grad school here in the good of’ land of the Illi—um, the good ol’ LAND OF LINCOLN (better), and began to systematically live each moment of NYC like it would be my last. Which was fun…although somewhat exhausting and somewhat cruel and misguided for those in the city who wanted me to stick around…I should have been more, well, something. What that is, I’m not sure. I’m losing ground here. Let me regroup.

Okay, officially regrouped now.

Once I got to U of I, I went into survival mode, and life became pretty much about my work, with a dash of partying on the side. Unfortunately, I was continuing to bury every single regret, wound, et al that I never dealed with in New York, as well as every previous bit of angst from my “unconventional” childhood.

I started to consider therapy…but…where would I ever find THAT kind of time?

So, here I am today, on Friday 23 of March, and after a shower and a bit of Jeff Buckley, I have realized the following: the best to just let it all go, the past, deal with things like a man, and move forward. Because where I see things going in life right now is far more exciting than what’s happened in the past.

We’ll see how that works.

Angry Welshman, signing off…Excelsior!