One of the things I do a lot lately is read other people’s blogs. I have stumbled upon one that reminds me that I have not lived.
I learned this many years ago when some co-workers and I were standing around discussing ‘star sightings’ at a company Christmas party. I’ve never had what I consider to be a star sighting. That somehow moved into stories of broken bones. There was a slight pause as they looked at me. “I’ve never broken any bones”, I tell them.
“What’s the worst car accident you’ve seen?” I haven’t seen any – haven’t even been in a car that’s been hit. That flowed into a conversation about being in the back of a stretch limo. I sighed before letting them know, “I’ve never been in the back of a stretch limo”. I had taken a quick ride in what was considered a limo but was basically a very nice towne car with one of the back seats facing toward the rear of the vehicle. I have not lived.
I got to thinking about all the things I’d never done. I’ve never taken a vacation by myself. I never tried skydiving.
I did bungee jump once, but after hearing about everyone’s parachuting, it seemed a little lame so I kept the story to myself.
So I’m reading this blog about a solider in Iraq who had a summer job at Mackinac Island in the upper part of Michigan. I think of every plane ride I’ve ever taken even the earliest one that I remember. I got a ‘Hot Wheels’ red dump truck from one of the flight attendants. I sat at the window and my dad sat on the aisle.
After telling this story why can’t I say that I have lived?
Mr. Blog-man counters with the fact that he’s married and misses his wife and the cold winds of Michigan. I cannot trade barbs with this man – I can’t. I have no ammo. I was not homeless when I was in my 20’s.
While my friends swap stories of travel and light I just have to stand there and keep my silence to myself, hands buried in my pockets. I laugh at the humorous stories they have with arms crossed. I turn away because I have not lived.
“I once went white water rafting”, I tell them in a desperate struggle to fit in. “I just got back from Singapore”, one of them says “and we went white water rafting down this river with category 5 rapids”. I think the highest I got to was category 3 – with category 6 being pretty much un-rideable. Not much of a story anymore.
I’m trying to find something redeeming in this but I’m not coming up with much. I’ve always thought I was a smart cookie who learned from other people’s mistakes. But as they went out and lived life – and made those mistakes – they were truly living life while I was sitting on the sidelines clapping, trying to make sense of it all.
Even at work I have serious doubts some days. I work with people who are studied to the hilt and can quote “best practices” while I stand there and admit that I’ve learned a lot of bad habits. Where before I was a big fish in a small pond I am now krill floating in the Atlantic. I spent a lot of time learning on my own and finding a way – any way – to get the job done. Those tricks don’t seem to work and most days I have to work very hard just to keep up.
And again, while I stand outside and watch the smoker’s ‘burn one’ they regale me with tales that begin “Oh, man… you ain’t gonna believe this one”. So, again, I am caught with my hands buried in my pockets waiting for the story to finish but all the while trying to think of something to add. Most of what I say gets a response of ‘yea, really’ that is just there to acknowledge my existence. I learn how much I have not lived.
I’m not like this often. It’s a heavy coat I keep in the closet – something makes me cold so I take it out and wear it every now and then. But this feeling of never having lived clings to the skin. Other realities of the day sometimes shake it but then I see it, like a tattoo that comes into view when I take my shirt off.
“I’ve been to the top of the Empire State Building”, I announce. “We stared out from the top of the Space Needle in Seattle and saw the lush green…” the story goes on. I don’t want to listen anymore.
I’ve never been to Atlantic City, nor Reno or Las Vegas. I have seen the Pacific. I have seen the Atlantic. When I was younger my family and I went to Canada: it’s like America but cleaner. I’ve ridden the subway in New York.
Most of the time I’m not honest with myself. I think honesty makes for good blogging. The fact that people bare their souls for no profit seems to make for good reading. At least it’s honest. It also seems to be compelling.
I couldn’t stop reading this blog about the guy in Iraq. It actually starts out with him in Germany with orders for the war. With each passing entry you can feel the tension building. He talks about having a pit in his stomach – well, so do I. His writing is intelligent and lovingly crafted with his images about missing his wife and the normal, everyday things they would do together. And when he gets to Baghdad it almost seems like a letdown. Yes, there are alerts and bullets whizzing past but there is also a sense of boredom. You can tell he has lived.
Okay, admittedly I’m a better writer than speaker. I get that. I still want the ability to tell a joke without messing up the ending. I want to be able to explain a simple situation with the fewest number of words – without losing my way in the middle and trying to come at it from a difficult angle. I just want to be able to speak but a few failures in my life and a speech impediment as a child have taken that away.
So I try and live my life as best I can. Some people have highs and lows in their life. Some people need that drama or ‘fight’ in their life. My life has been lived on a pretty even keel. The highs don’t seem so high and the lows snap back to the middle pretty quickly. It’s been said “The mediocre are always at their best”.
I’m 40 years old – are you telling me this is the best it’s going to get? There only seem to be a few glimmers of hope. “Yea, I’ll fix you up with this girl I know”… yea, right.
This is about as honest as I get: I have existed in this shell, I have not lived.
I learned this many years ago when some co-workers and I were standing around discussing ‘star sightings’ at a company Christmas party. I’ve never had what I consider to be a star sighting. That somehow moved into stories of broken bones. There was a slight pause as they looked at me. “I’ve never broken any bones”, I tell them.
“What’s the worst car accident you’ve seen?” I haven’t seen any – haven’t even been in a car that’s been hit. That flowed into a conversation about being in the back of a stretch limo. I sighed before letting them know, “I’ve never been in the back of a stretch limo”. I had taken a quick ride in what was considered a limo but was basically a very nice towne car with one of the back seats facing toward the rear of the vehicle. I have not lived.
I got to thinking about all the things I’d never done. I’ve never taken a vacation by myself. I never tried skydiving.
I did bungee jump once, but after hearing about everyone’s parachuting, it seemed a little lame so I kept the story to myself.
So I’m reading this blog about a solider in Iraq who had a summer job at Mackinac Island in the upper part of Michigan. I think of every plane ride I’ve ever taken even the earliest one that I remember. I got a ‘Hot Wheels’ red dump truck from one of the flight attendants. I sat at the window and my dad sat on the aisle.
After telling this story why can’t I say that I have lived?
Mr. Blog-man counters with the fact that he’s married and misses his wife and the cold winds of Michigan. I cannot trade barbs with this man – I can’t. I have no ammo. I was not homeless when I was in my 20’s.
While my friends swap stories of travel and light I just have to stand there and keep my silence to myself, hands buried in my pockets. I laugh at the humorous stories they have with arms crossed. I turn away because I have not lived.
“I once went white water rafting”, I tell them in a desperate struggle to fit in. “I just got back from Singapore”, one of them says “and we went white water rafting down this river with category 5 rapids”. I think the highest I got to was category 3 – with category 6 being pretty much un-rideable. Not much of a story anymore.
I’m trying to find something redeeming in this but I’m not coming up with much. I’ve always thought I was a smart cookie who learned from other people’s mistakes. But as they went out and lived life – and made those mistakes – they were truly living life while I was sitting on the sidelines clapping, trying to make sense of it all.
Even at work I have serious doubts some days. I work with people who are studied to the hilt and can quote “best practices” while I stand there and admit that I’ve learned a lot of bad habits. Where before I was a big fish in a small pond I am now krill floating in the Atlantic. I spent a lot of time learning on my own and finding a way – any way – to get the job done. Those tricks don’t seem to work and most days I have to work very hard just to keep up.
And again, while I stand outside and watch the smoker’s ‘burn one’ they regale me with tales that begin “Oh, man… you ain’t gonna believe this one”. So, again, I am caught with my hands buried in my pockets waiting for the story to finish but all the while trying to think of something to add. Most of what I say gets a response of ‘yea, really’ that is just there to acknowledge my existence. I learn how much I have not lived.
I’m not like this often. It’s a heavy coat I keep in the closet – something makes me cold so I take it out and wear it every now and then. But this feeling of never having lived clings to the skin. Other realities of the day sometimes shake it but then I see it, like a tattoo that comes into view when I take my shirt off.
“I’ve been to the top of the Empire State Building”, I announce. “We stared out from the top of the Space Needle in Seattle and saw the lush green…” the story goes on. I don’t want to listen anymore.
I’ve never been to Atlantic City, nor Reno or Las Vegas. I have seen the Pacific. I have seen the Atlantic. When I was younger my family and I went to Canada: it’s like America but cleaner. I’ve ridden the subway in New York.
Most of the time I’m not honest with myself. I think honesty makes for good blogging. The fact that people bare their souls for no profit seems to make for good reading. At least it’s honest. It also seems to be compelling.
I couldn’t stop reading this blog about the guy in Iraq. It actually starts out with him in Germany with orders for the war. With each passing entry you can feel the tension building. He talks about having a pit in his stomach – well, so do I. His writing is intelligent and lovingly crafted with his images about missing his wife and the normal, everyday things they would do together. And when he gets to Baghdad it almost seems like a letdown. Yes, there are alerts and bullets whizzing past but there is also a sense of boredom. You can tell he has lived.
Okay, admittedly I’m a better writer than speaker. I get that. I still want the ability to tell a joke without messing up the ending. I want to be able to explain a simple situation with the fewest number of words – without losing my way in the middle and trying to come at it from a difficult angle. I just want to be able to speak but a few failures in my life and a speech impediment as a child have taken that away.
So I try and live my life as best I can. Some people have highs and lows in their life. Some people need that drama or ‘fight’ in their life. My life has been lived on a pretty even keel. The highs don’t seem so high and the lows snap back to the middle pretty quickly. It’s been said “The mediocre are always at their best”.
I’m 40 years old – are you telling me this is the best it’s going to get? There only seem to be a few glimmers of hope. “Yea, I’ll fix you up with this girl I know”… yea, right.
This is about as honest as I get: I have existed in this shell, I have not lived.