Soul searching proves growth

 January 12, 2012

Well, even after I told you that I wasn’t going to pay attention to the rumors about lockdown, I still listened and I still thought that every day was the day.  So I didn’t write, trying to keep stamps for the lockdown that never happened.

But now I here I am.  Maybe not a long letter, but I didn’t want to go the weekend without getting something in the mail to you.  Busy is good and it seems that we’ve both been very busy.  I know that I’ve been exhausted at the end of my days.  Made my mind up to not skip working out unless I just can’t get it in, make time.  With that, work for ten hours each day, cakes, washing, reading my Bible…yeah, it’s extreme.

Gotta make time for the people that you love though.

Not much going on outside of the daily grind.  A lot of soul searching and finding myself.  You’ll see when I find the time to copy all the stuff I’ve been writing where you can read it.  Gonna send some stuff, though.

Really every day I feel more…I don’t know…it’s more than maturity.  I feel detached from these people.  My sight has become more like an out-of-body experience, like I’m watching it all play out from another plan.  It’s strange because I can almost predict the action of others.  No, I’m not saying I’m psychic, it’s just that despite the numerous personalities in here, they are so alike in so many ways it’s easy to know how people will react to certain situations.

What this place feels like is middle school.  I don’t see a bunch of grown men, I see a bunch of children, some in the bodies of man, but nearly all with the mindset, mentality of a teenager.  The lack of responsibility, the nonchalance, the disrespect, the bitterness, the rebellion…and I’m ashamed that I ever behaved like that if I did.  (I’m sure I did at one point.)  Also, I’m ashamed for them that they don’t see the error in their ways, that they have children and wives who will never be able to depend on them because they have selfishly held on to their adolescence, living in their second childhood.

Oh, I’m still silly when there’s time for it, and I’ve retained some of my child heart, but my mind is that of a man and my soul…I’ve got an old soul.  I’m not ashamed of me though.  With each passing day, I’m more confident and in touch with self.  But you are aware that this is all because you watched the transformation, nurtured it.

So here I am, growing like a wildflower, stretching upwards, always facing the sun, beaming.  Thank you.  Rain won’t deter me, only make me grow more.  I can see blessings in all things, especially the love that you give without fail.

Love,

Essay - Look Back 

to See Where You’re Going

Suddenly, this morning, I’ve come to the realization that as a society, as a country, as a people, we spend far too much time projection and not nearly enough time reflecting.  Seriously, we spend so much time plotting, planning, scheming, dreaming, “ifing”, wishing and tripping on what’ to come, what happens next, what the future holds…  But what about the past?  Your journey?  Isn’t that how you got to where you are right this moment?

Ah, and this is why I’m able to grow at such a rapid rate, because I’ve learned to go back into the past.  Yeah, I guess you could say that I’m a time traveler of sorts.  I find myself delving into the “what was” remembering reactions, replaying conversations, analyzing dialogue, expressions, pondering what might have been done or said to improve each situation and/or interaction.  Some people accuse me of “thinking too much.”  Hmmm…I won’t say that I cannot think of one span of time or period in my life where I stopped thinking.  I’m not even sure that’s possible.  Is it?  Does the mind every really rest?  Even when I’ve done something utterly stupid, I still thought about it.

Picking apart and dissecting the past, the “what was,” allows me to better control the future, the “what will be.”  No it’s not an absolute science, but in my experience, it’s accurate enough to make a positive difference.  Feel free to read The 48 Laws of Power, the art of War, the Art of Seduction or whatever “self-help” books written by someone make rich off of your desperation who hasn’t lived your life or traveled your journey.  In the end, the fact still remains that experience is the best teacher.  Our experience molds us.  If we learn from our past, we tend not to make the same mistakes in the future.  Yup, that simple.

And so I place my past under the mind’s microscope and examine each slid at length.  Sometimes what I find is mundane yet useful.  Sometimes what I find is quite intriguing because when caught up in the moment, you don’t always see things as clearly as you do in reviews.  Why do you think sports organizations spend so much money and time analyzing film from past games, universities and institutions spend so much money and time studying behavioral patterns, and how do you explain our fascination with realty TV?

Hindsight is indeed 20/20, hence the saying, “If I only knew then what I know now!”  So spend a little more time thinking about the past, whether it was five years ago, five days ago, or five minutes ago and better understand what you should do in the future.  Learn yourself.  No one is responsible for your happiness but you.  The keys to becoming the person you desire in the future lie in the past.  Reflect.  What you see may astonish you.

Jason ponders his life

Trade My Blues

When I was a little boy I wanted to be a race car driver like Al Unser Jr.  I wanted to be filthy right so that I could buy a mansion with sixty rooms so all of my family could live there.  We’d have three big hotel kitchens and a huge backyard with a pool and a race track.

When I was a little bit older, I wanted to be a doctor/policeman so I could heal people, rescue kittens and lock up the bad guys.  (Never imagined that I’d be one of the bad guys.)  I’d drive a Porsche and have lots of girlfriends.  Life would be good.

As a teenager, I wanted to be an All-Pro NFL QB/HB/WR/Free Safety and a rapper.  The football was because I was good at it, the rap because I wanted to tell my story.  All of it would make me rich, but my sports cars became Cadillacs with candy paint.  I was going to show the world how we do it down South.

By my eighteenth birthday, I’d smoked away so much of my ambition, drank and squandered my hopes, dreams and scholarships, and one-night-standed my hurt into a constant state of mistrust.  Sports required too much energy, and I could rap my behind off, so well that somebody would find me and offer me a record deal.  So I kicked back, fired up blunts, slept with my gorgeous woman as I could and watched life pass me by in a cannabis saturated daze, resentment brewing below the surface, the oppressive clouds of higher expectations hanging over my head like pregnant thunderheads.  And when lightning struck, thunder cracked and the afterbirth of failure rained down on me.  I didn’t even seek cover.  I just sat there, wet and high, wishing I was somebody else, anybody but me.

Life continued like that for years, perpetual storm clouds hovering, smothering any budding hope, the floods of failure swimming around me, licking at my chin, threatening to drown me, threatening to extinguish the ever burning, ever present blunt between my lips and make me surrender to my awful reality.  Between the inside outs of jail, my inability to stay faithful to any woman in my life, my drug dependency, I would have gladly traded places with someone else because I felt that I was ruined, a lost cause.  My kids deserved better, my mom deserved better, my wife and my girlfriends deserved better and all I felt was  that I deserved to die, to be at peace.

You know, it’s sad . . . my kids are and have been the brightest thing in my life since their births, but with the exception of them, the brightest thing about me had become the orange ember flaring at the tip of my latest blunt.  I really wanted to be a chef or a zoologist, anything working with food or animals, but those people didn’t get rich and it was all about the money, wasn’t it?

After seven long years in prison, more than my fair share of trials and tribulations, ups and downs, spiritual highs and emotional catastrophes, I don’t dream the way I used to.  I still dream often, but it is the quality of my dreams that is different.  No more are the dreams of mansions, Italian cars, super stardom or any such foolishness.  I don’t ever dream of being someone else.  I tried to imagine what it would be like to be Jay-Z, the money, the status, the beautiful wife . . . but those are his dreams from his journey.  None of that moves me anymore.  Just the thought of trading my life for someone else’s seems absurd.

Now I understand what Maya Angelou meant, “Wouldn’t Give Nothin for My Journey Now:  This Is My life.”  I cannot undo the past, but I can make the most of the present and stride proudly into my future.

Even with my struggles, my circumstances, the odds against me, I do not wish for a shortcut or an easy way out, because this is my journey.  I must go through this as I climb towards greatness.  No longer am I in the shadows of hustlers, thugs and dope dealers.  No, my aspirations will leave me in the presence of the Kings, X’s, Kennedys and Lincolns.

It’s a hard journey, but now I’m wise enough to know that this journey is part of who I am to become, it strengthens the power of my fight to righteousness, it glorifies the mercy and goodness of God, it proves that God will bring you up from the lowest of the low and use you for good.  I will touch and inspire a great many people because of who I’ve become, of who I’m becoming.  I may never rush for or pass for 200 yards and score four touchdowns in front of a stadium of people, I may not ever take the checkered flag at Indy, I may never rock a sold out arena of screaming fans, but I will stand before many crowds and tell of my journey . . . sometimes I’ll cry, sometimes I’ll shout, sometimes I’ll laugh, console, hug, pray with . . . but I’ll always reach and reach and reach because only my arms can touch them.  I am God’s tool.

My journey . . . yeah, my journey is priceless, my struggles are my struggles, my stories are my stories.  No, I wouldn’t trade my blues or my simple dreams of fishing, spending time with my kids, or cutting my lawn.  I am who I am because of my journey, and I wouldn’t trade my blues.

                                                                                                                                                                     

Lesson #40

“If we wall threw our problems in a pile and saw everyone else’s, we’d grab our back.”

Lesson #13

“Don’t compare your life to others.  You have no idea what their journey is all about.”

Regina Brett

Author of The Plain Dealer