To Touch The Sun


Always so close, I reach out and try and touch that perfect ball in the sky, but as it seems, it still slightly out of reach.  When will I be able to grab it and make it mine, when will I touch it and finally obtain perfection? Will these waxwings hold up long enough to reach, or will the sun always be meant for those who were born to touch it?

I know the notion of perfection is more of a novel pursuit than an achievable goal.  Even when I get there, I will always think about how I could have done it better or where the next bar is.  Then again this type of thinking might be keeping me from achieving my elusive desire.
It confuses me, in my humanity, I find the varied levels of flaws that make us beautiful but see the skill and determination to overcome these flaws to achieve something real.  Watching practiced experts and driven people accomplish these feats of seeming perfection only to fall short constantly myself and fall into frustration.  Like the analogous frog at the bottom of the well, wondering how much to jump before I learn to fly.

Truth is, I screw up way more than I would like.  Fall short, and never entirely getting there, this repeated failure is starting to gripe on me.  It’s frustrating me to no end that I can never get through anything without making a mistake.
Maybe it’s practice I need or patience.  Maybe it’s confidence or talent.  Maybe there is something inside of me that keeps me from achieving this ridiculous goal, and that something was embedded in my very soul. I just don’t know, and it shouldn’t bother me, but it does.  Why can’t it just be 100% right, why must there be cracks and nicks in these foundations?  How can I build if I know that at any given moment it can fall because of my mistakes?

I feel fractured, weathered, and worn, like a forgotten statue beat by the sands of times, eroding and missing pieces so its once true self is lost and all you can see is a resemblance of what could have been.  I know this is dramatic, but this seeping frustration kneads itself into my heart.

It is an unrealistic standard that will only play as a detriment to my future. If I am only worried about perfection, then the mountain of work will become sheer and unclimbable because each move will be individually meticulous. It’s always about that balance because the sky is not only filled with the sun but also the cloud. Clouds which are formless and beautiful in their own right.  I want things to be perfect but choosing where to put this effort to reach out, and where to let the wind take me is all part of life.



To St. Patrick’s Day (Late)

Dear St. Patricks Day,

You know I have always loved you. You’ve been the representation of a culture that has always opened the door for me. From the generation of my grandmother, you have shown me nothing but acceptance, even in the days of my darkest identity crisis. St. Patrick, though I know your history, you represent so much more. Each and every year you come in the midsts of the season of Fasting, but an indulgence in you feels nothing like a sin. It’s an acceptance, a proving grounds of blood ties that I know flows through my veins. It’s the unquestioning nature of this aspect of myself that I find serenity, like a cornerstone on which I can build a future.  It’s in knowing you that I know the lack of my other identities, from their sliding and uneasy nature fall away and I reach that small serenity.
Oh St. Patrick, you are called so well, the holiday of a people’s who live across the sea.  We share in that connection, we share in that praise because we know that we will be together with you at the end of our days.  We can connect, and be free, it’s what this holiday represents to me.
And here are my final words for such an important day, it doesn’t matter where you come from, or where you might be going, it doesn’t matter how much money you make, or how you might be born, as long as we celebrate together, you can become a little Irish too.

Most Sincerely,

How To Cultivate A Thought Parasite


It’s happened again, these crises of the mind and spirit.  I feel it in my bones, fear. What am I to do. The rising tide of anxiety washes over me, drowning me it’s dense waters. Leaving me gasping for air in the cold abyss of failure. Grasping for air, and hoping to get out.

This past week I was confronted by the smallest of the invasive thoughts that fed and grew in the back of my mind quickly.  It’s the lack of sleep I said, or perhaps the hunger.  I’ve just been pushing myself too hard, but that’s it’s breeding grounds.  When my mental defenses are lowered, it strikes at me, claiming more and more of my brain, consuming me and my thoughts.  There I am, battling against the creature who uses the voice in my head to try and convince me that I am no good. Trying to convince me to lay down again and begin to die.

It often follows those highs of experience, I know mine does. This one came after a let a small daydream free, and it became a nightmare.  The thoughts in my mind surging after this mental parasite to stop the spread but it was already too late, it implanted itself in my insecurities of the past, fertile ground for a thought so sweet. A feeling of grandeur turns to ash as my capability comes into question.  “You will never be good enough to get this far,” it says,  “Turn back, collapse, you know your just setting yourself up to fail.” I don’t know what to do, the foundation I build for myself feels more and more like a house of cards teetering on the precipice of collapse.  What is this, will it be good enough. My path once more becomes obscured and dark.  How far will I be able to go, and even if I give it my all, will that be enough?

I realize I’ve invested now, that was my mistake.  I am invested in a future I want so bad that my heart cries out to me as I speak it.  This is where I went wrong, didn’t your childhood teach you not to do this. Not to invest in one way or another because you will be let down again and again. I can’t help myself, I want it so bad that I am willing to give all away for a second in that world.  A passion that erupts and drives me forward, that want’s to turn into the crazed obsession of a madman with a purpose and a goal.

“You just are strong enough” it retorts, “You never have been, and you never will be.”  This thought, drawing back blow after blow to strike at me is right.  I feel like I’ve had so many chances and through these chances I have successfully squandered my dream in the pretense of comfort and mediocrity.  I just hope, time after time, hour after hour, that I will wash away these inadequacies and show the world that I am someone. I don’t know though, my guard is down, and my weakness is revealed, my self-esteem takes a blow. All I am is human, and maybe I am not enough.

Truth is I am weak.  I am weak and at times incapable.  I am an emotional creature who waxes and wanes on the mood of the day. At times unable because of the wall of inability that rises up ahead of me. I’m loud and think before I speak.  I sometimes say some funny things and do even weirder ones. My brain fills up sometimes, and I feel like an idiot because I don’t understand what is going on.  I know this, this is just what it’s like to be human. I know this limitation, and that’s okay because that’s all we all are. Being human, and together we can actually do some good and make life beautiful. As long as I know that, I will be okay. As as I know that, I can get rid of the parasitic thought in my brain.

Plane Musings


Time. Here I wish the day stretched one more hour, to have moments perhaps that will slow down and stop. Remembering to stop and breathe has never been so conscious to me before. I find these moments in the cracks of disroutine. When I deviate from my ordinary plan to step into the present and not live in the constantly unfolding future. What I need is a little time, little time to remember to look at the sky and remember how lovely the cloud look.

I’m sitting on a plane when writing this, a plane that is crossing the United States for the distinct purpose of transporting 100 people with all different lives and intentions to its destination. Intention fuels this plane, pays for its gas, keeps the employees employed, an intention that can’t be touched but malleable like the air I float on. I am on this journey in an attempt to move closer to my dream. A dream that remains unrealized, but finally appearing within reach. These next few days, though not critical in the fulfillment of my dream will drive push me to exhaustion in an attempt to extract every last ounce of potential form it. It’s here, 30,000 feet above the world staring down at the clouds below that I know that I have to make the most of these little moments, to make it possible for me to be successful in the big ones.

I wish I had more time to stop, and breath to be honest. Everything feels so crucial essential right now, though I understand that I have a type of tunnel vision of my goals. Even if I did have an extra hour in the day, I don’t know if I would be using it to rest, more likely, I would be using my energy to push myself even harder than before, with proportionally less time to recover. I know this is problematic, but I finally feel like I am where I should be and doing what I should do. My endless hope is that at the end of it all, with all the work I put in, I will finally get what I want. If not, well, I guess I will figure it out then.

One day I want to be that person everyone looks to surpass, the milestone that people look to exceed. I want people to see me not just what I have done but how I inspired others too. That I know is something that will only come with time. I hope one day I’ll look back at this moment and smile because that’s exactly what I did.