I THINK…

I think that I have finally figured out why I write each week. I tell people that it’s therapeutic for me to put thoughts into words and then send them out into a place that will transcend time and space. Sounds pretty deep yeah? Bullshit.

I write because it proves to me that I am not alone. Over and over again. Each word and each week.

Yesterday I went back to my earliest posts from a few years ago and it occurred to me that I am sharing my story and my life with anyone who reads the words. When I put it that way it can be frightening as anyone can stumble on to it and see into my thoughts…..if I let that happen. Like my brain, many of my posts tend to be a struggle between humor and serious, staying put or traveling, connecting with people or reflecting inward but all of these writings have a thread based upon my experiences. Let me explain:

I can have a very serious talk with anyone and still throw in a joke. I can listen to someone’s point of view and inject their thoughts with something else to think about. I can look fear and suffering in the teeth and rationalize that I will come through it mostly unscathed over and over again. I have built my life on service and the attempt to leave more than what I take. Musician? Entertain others and bring joy. Teacher? Share my love of learning and teach life. Advocate? As I grow older, offer wise words of encouragement through actions of strength and resilience in the face of whatever curveballs life has to throw my way.

Guess what? I do ALL of it so I don’t have to feel alone. ALL OF IT. Somewhere in there is where all of us connect as human beings. We are all on a patch to destruction. I don’t mean that in a harsh, dark way, but it’s fact. None of us is getting out of here alive.

Since I was 11 or so, I have been hovering between two worlds: sick and well. My father died when I was 21…he was 51. To be exact, he was 51 years, 9 months and 4 days old. I passed that day on August 9, 2024. I have now been alive longer than my old man was. For some reason, that shocks the hell out of me. Possibly because he seemed “old” to me when he passed. Of course, at 21 each year feels like a decade and time is not measured in the same way as it is now that I am older. When I was in my 20’s, and still getting around quite well on my own, I measured time in weekends, career benchmarks and whoever I was dating at the time. These days it is measured by hoping that I will have months and years between bouts of becoming sick enough to require intervention and treatment. To be truthful, it kind of sucks, but if any of us live long enough, that’s what happens.

To put it into perspective, my life has felt like a road (as it likely does for you also). I have long stretches of driving the road full of adventures as I take exits of my choosing that have led to great times: college, drums, friends, road trips, love, marriage, and children. Some times I have made lengthy stops at these exits, while other times it was a quick side trip before getting back on the main road.

Other times there have been toll booths, traffic jams and exits that I have been forced to take: a week long hospital stay at the age of 12, another one freshman year of college, a third one at the start of my career, a fourth one caused by extreme stress and the most recent one last winter; the most serious interruption of my road travel thus far: 2 months.

I wrestle with long periods in my life of relatively stable health, while my condition always lurks just around the next turn. When I’m not feeling well, I wonder if it will be a maintenance exit or a long-term stop? I live in a state of low grade fear all the time. I try so hard to be present for and in each moment, but more often than not this damn disease hijacks my moments. It’s getting harder as I get older. I have less energy, though I want to do more. I have less function in my body, but my mind is sharper than it’s ever been. I am unable to completely relax. I try to remember the last time I was able to do that and I cannot. Being completely free of health worries feels like another person as well as another life. Since my diagnosis almost 40 years ago, life has been a see-saw: long periods of feeling well, followed by road exits of being sick. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Trust me, the shit gets exhausting.

And…

When I fully remove my head from my own ass and stop feeling sorry for myself, it is then that I have an epiphany: I am not alone. I am not alone. I am not alone. Those three words help me garner all of the resolve that I need. We are all hovering between two worlds, and you can label them however you wish: sick and well, poor or comfortable, faithless or not, stressed or calm, open or closed in your brain.

The two sides are always there, and we all learn to live in between. Perhaps at the end of the road, when you strip away all of the interactions and the experiences of your life, you are left with the meaning of it all. Perhaps meaning is not found in the experience at all. Meaning IS the experience.

None of us are alone.

Stay awesome, stay safe, and stay on your road. This one’s for Dee.