It’s Wake-Up Time

It’s okay.
There’s something about these words.
And there’s something to it. To be, “Okay.”
What a concept, right?

There are times that come along though and I swear these times are the hard ones. There are times when nothing seems to work.
There are times when “Good God!” it’s a frustrating world. People suck. Life hits the tripwire and the landmines in your head blow-up in explosions one after another.
There are times when all you want to do is rest or be fine. You want the people you love and care for to be “Okay” and dammit all, sometimes, it’s just not okay. You feel as though your grip is losing strength and it’s hard to hold everything together.

There are times when I want to break everything and throw it all in the trash. There are times when I want to quit. Nothing makes sense and there’s no point anymore. It hurts and when I say “It hurts,” obviously, this language means the pain would be specific to me. Someone reading might ask, “What hurts?”
What does the “It” mean? I could tell you and you might get it. You might not but either way; it’s me.

I can explain what my “It” means. . .
I can tell you what it feels like to be up in a loft, every morning, almost always before 4:00 a.m.
I can tell you what it’s like to have meeting after meeting. I can tell you what it’s like to get so close, but then right when I think the opportunity is about to open up: BAM! The door slams shut. I’ve been down. I’ve had to go back to the “Drawing board” more times than I can count.

I can tell you all about catastrophic thinking. I can tell you all about catastrophizing every detail, waiting to hear the worst of it. I can tell you about the impending doom. I can tell you about the fear inside that all will fall and that somewhere, somehow, there’s an exposure coming my way; a weakness, an unveiling of vulnerability.
I can tell you what it’s like to work for hours or write something with all of my heart and have it go nowhere or be rejected and criticized or ripped to shreds.

I can tell you that my “It” comes from experience with rejection. This is the second grader who was made fun of in the school cafeteria. This is the young boy who liked a girl, told her, and then had her make fun of him in front of “EVERYONE” or so it seemed. This is the voice of a bullied kid.
This is the person who struggled in class. This is the long haired kid who was told he was “A bum,” or a “Loser,” or a “Joke.”
These are the thoughts of a person who specifically remembers being told, “I can’t wait to see you die.” from a person of authority in a supposedly trusted environment.

This comes from the emotional mind of a person who lived in self destructive circumstances; therefore, when the means met with the ends, I self-destructed. And this was habit. This was my life, at least for most of my life. If that makes any sense.

My “It” stems from years of confusion and frustration or wait, no.
Better yet; my “It” comes from an association with disappointment in which case; my math is off. I’ve added myself to the wrong columns and accepted deductions that did not belong to me.
I’ve allowed myself to be both divided and subtracted when in fact; all I want to do is add and multiply and be better each day, one step at a time. 

There are times when quite honestly, it’s okay not to be okay. It’s alright.
It’s fine. It hurts. Life took a turn. You lost or you fell.
Or wait, what about this?
Did you ever set yourself up for defeat?
Did you ever quit before you started? 
I have . . .

But where does this come from?
I suppose the best answer is fear:
Fear that we won’t “Get it.”
Fear that we won’t be “Enough.”
Fear that we won’t “Make it.”
That we are “Less than” or “Imperfect.”
And do you know what this is?
The answer is ego.
It’s our fucking ego!
That’s all it is.
What a crippling thing this can be.

By the way, ego is that porcelain image of ourselves that we look to protect because we don’t want anyone to see the flaws or the cracks in our story. We don’t want to be picked apart or “Weak” or seen as a person that is gullible or easy to take advantage of.
We live in historic times; yet, we live in sensitive times as well. We live in a time where people are easily stirred and easily insulted. Everyone is offended.

I was not raised in either a sensitive time or sensitive atmosphere.
In fact, I heard things like, “You got a problem?” and if I answered, “Yes,” I was told “Then go put an ‘H’ on your chest and handle it.

I was told, “You don’t like it? Too bad. Do something about it!!”

The truth is, I am not writing this for any other reason than to act as a personal statement. This is me. This is my mission statement because no matter how weak I feel at times; I did, “Put an ‘H’ on my chest” and I did handle it. I did do something about it. 

It’s okay.
It’s okay to need rest. It’s okay to want to scream. It’s okay to be so goddamn frustrated that you want to yell and shake your fists. It’s okay to want to pull your hair out. It’s okay to have ideas that come along and get you so angry that you want to break something. It’s okay. 

There was a young woman on a television show. It’s a talent show of some sort but shows like this are not for me. But this show stood out. This amazing, inspiration of a woman came on stage and sang a song: It’s okay.
She has terminal cancer. Let those words resonate for a second.
She has terminal cancer and she was up in front of the world singing, “It’s okay.”

I am human. I am no better or worse than anyone else in this world. In fact; I am humbled to know that I am here on this huge conveyor belt that I call Project Earth and whether I am privileged, lucky, unlucky or otherwise; I happen to be part of this thing we call humankind. But sometimes, angels are upon us. I choose to seek them out. I need this. I need them.

Sometimes, there are people in our life who come along and they’ll tell us, “It’s okay,” even if it’s not; somehow, it is okay because someone loved us enough to remind us that it’s okay to not be okay.

I think of a child, fresh from the womb, swaddled and warm.
Sleeping, eyes closed and safe as ever.
This is what we want.
If we scale down to the honest minimum, this is what we want; to be warm, comfortable, safe and coddled. And that’s okay.

I think I will close with this for now.
My words might fall short but Nightbirde says it best.