For Carolyn
My friend Michael is one of those people that is always doing something. I am pretty sure he has never sat in front of a television for more than 5 minutes; never woke up on a Sunday morning, fixed a pot of coffee and read the paper until noon; and certainly never slept past 6 AM. He has a pottery wheel in his basement and has made every piece of dishware that fills his cabinets. As Christmas presents he has given not one, but a set of poker tables that he fashioned in the woodworking shop in his garage. He has spun bowels, mortar and pestles and hundreds of other little knick-knacks out of the exotic hardwoods that he collects and frequently gives them away as birthday presents. He makes his own wine, is an expert archer, and probably one of the best young finish carpenters within a 500 mile radius. He survived a near life ending motor cycle crash and not even a year after the screws were removed from his leg, he bought another Harley and rode it to Florida where he married his long time girlfriend.
The other day I was at his house and I saw this little motivational query written in blue marker on the mirror that he looks at every morning as he comes down the steps:
What am I? What do I want to be?
Normally I look at little quotes like this and imagine that any person that needs to have stuff like this around is obviously in need of serious help; far beyond anything a poster of Mt. Everest can provide. But seeing this in the house of one of the most motivated and ambitious people I know has made me believe that even the strongest willed of us can use a little something to keep us focused-- a small reminder that we must be in a constant state of evaluation and reevaluation lest we wake up in 10, 20 or 30 years and wonder where the hell our life went.
What am I? I am a 28 year-old man that still takes his dry cleaning to his parent’s house. I live payday to payday and sometimes even payday to next day. Every woman that I have ever gone after has broken my heart and left me a dribbling mess for months on end. Conversely, I have pushed away every woman that has ever chosen me—most of whom any man would be extremely lucky to end up with. My “apartment” is literally a bedroom with a tiny, en suite kitchen and bath. I store the stuff that I can’t fit in my closet in the trunk of my 1994 Camry that only has three functioning doors (unfortunately none of which are on the driver’s side). People that are smarter and more talented than myself cause me to think that if I open my mouth, I will just come off sounding like a developmentally disabled baboon. There are many other neurotic thoughts that I have on a daily basis but I shall spare you the drama and just say that I actually am a pretty confident person. I am not a genius but I am pretty smart. I am a hard worker and I enjoy too many hobbies (several of which I am fairly good at) to list here. I am not ugly and I have been told that I have a great ass. So what the eff?
What do I want to be? I want to be successful in life. I don’t have to be rich but I do want to give my children every opportunity that my parents gave me. I want to meet someone that has as much love to give as I do, and wants to give that love to me as much as I want to give it to them. I want us to have beautiful, well-adjusted children and I want them to honor us as much as we honored our parents. I want to live amongst great friends. I want to provide shelter, warmth and nourishment for the people in my life that depend on me. I want to be remembered as genuinely good person. And on the day I die I want to be surrounded by my entire family; my grandson holding my hand as I held the hand of my grandmother as the last breath slipped past her lips; filling the room with tears of joy.
