What’s one thing you know now that would have saved your younger self a lot of pain?

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Holy smokes, is this ever pertinent. 

So, when I was growin’ up, I went through my share of phases.  Just like everyone else. What I have come to recognize and address decades later, is that for whatever reason, I allowed myself to be defined, my worth to determined and value assessed by others.  

Perhaps it was part of my family structure or moreso its anarchy. Too much to express and share in this assignment.  But let’s just say that for as long as I can recall, I went with the flow.  To fit in.  Be affirmed. Know who I was.  Gain acceptance.  Be somebody.  Find my value. My choice. Regardless of the deep personal cost. 

There were times when I know my true character was desperately trying to break out of its confines and make itself shown and known.  

Like when I was gifted a  leadership position twice by those around me and I was more obsessed about offending than being an example.  So in fear of not being a part of them, I chose to buckle. 

Once I was deeply troubled by the direction I was going, so I put life on hold for a bit to try and decide if I should change my environment for something more healthy and different.  Again, backed out of that and went the path least difficult, most accepted and frequenty travelled.  

Got myself into a master’s program, at my dad’s expense,  to try and become what I have found I am meant to be.  But bailed after a semester filled with incompletes and truly poor character.

Another time with the guidance of some professional help, I  attempted to break the bonds of some bad habits.  Gain some self understanding. Was able to do so for a short time, then went right back to it, so I could fit back in.  Not have to answer questions.  And be “normal”. 

Roughly an entire career where I allowed myself to be defined.   

Personal relationships where diminishment was allowed.

Now, with the support, love and guidance of twin fellowships,  both born of a power much higher than my own, I have been able to finally discover, learn and know.  I am in the process of finding out who I actually am.  

Discerning my actual worth and true value.  

Knowing better my character. 

Gratefully receiving my purpose.  

Living my life to my best ability. 

Had I been able to discern and adhere to more of this when I was growing up, perhaps things may have been less of a debacle for so, so  long.  

I really made a mess of things.  For me, and all those around me. 

But then again, maybe things had to happen this way so I could get to where I was meant to be. That was the way it was so it can now be the way it is.

I just have to trust, have a deepening faith and know that I am in good hands. 

I can accept that. 

It seems to have all worked out.

Sorry little guy. 

What’s the weirdest movie you’ve ever watched?

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So, been thinking about this since I first read it.  Actually, last night.  

I like sneak previews. 

And in keeping with my persona, I want to keep things very simple, to the point and concise. If you beleive that, I have a property I am looking to unload in upper state Moronica, just north of the Giva Dam in Shmowland. Thank you for that lead Duey, Cheatum and Howe. 

So my take on this is that anything born of the creativity of another is bound to possess both fictional and non-fictional elements.  The production relies on how they perceive things to be, how it impacted them and how it became a story to be told. 

I am going to sidestep an aside regarding the state of other forms of creativity in regard to fiction and fact and focus on responding to this assignment.  I can speak honestly only to my weirdness.  I will leave that for others to explain some day. 

But I digress. 

So to me, when someone creates a movie, they have this story in their noggin, heart and soul that they wish to share with a much larger, popcorn and Dot fixated audience. A desire or wish to expose  a part ot themselves openly and honestly – hopefully – in the hopes of connection.  To get someone to sense what they feel and how they feel things.  To be as one with them. 

Well, that is a truly naive way to put it.  

There is also the acclaim, the clicks, the mansions, Ferraris, cruise ships and the Botox that come along with it.  But being a Dot-aholic, among others things, I find myself attracted to both main and out of the stream movies.  I just want to sit back, have a box of overprocessed colored cornsugar and escape.  To experience their story. And what of themselves they put into telling it. 

Just because. 

 Like,  “My neighbor Totoro”.  

“The Disaster Artist”. 

“Signs”.  

“1917”

“A Clockwork Orange.”

At my age, this is becoming the only way I can keep my peepers open after ten.  

Digression 2.0

So to make this even longer than it needs to be, I would suggest that calling something “weird” would be my way of admitting I just don’t get it.  I am unable to understand their thoughts and emotions.  Not really placing a blame or responsibility. That they didn’t make so I could get it.  But more so redirecting an obligation of sorts away from me, as if I know it all, understand everything and know precisely how to express myself. 

It is weird though that sometimes, a phrase, scene, lighting, character or conclusion within one of these flicks remains planted in my brain.  Somehow meant to  germinate and maybe connect with something else stuck in there, to grow into some form of meaning.  

I think I get ahead of myself  expecting to understand something right away just because I simply “invested” one hundred and fifteen minutes into cinema, excluding the previews.  I might leave the theater feeling full of popped corn or colored morsels of corn syrup.  

But maybe I am meant to think about things.  

Use them to consider an idea in a different light.  

Leave some dirt on it to grow later.  

Appreciate their work, story and how they ultimately put it together. 

Connect beyond the screen. 

Understand. 

Feel. 

Weird, huh? 

Tell us about your morning routine.

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Won’t bore one and all with all the details.  

It is consistently rigid, nuanced  and nit picky as one would imagine a boomer could create and aspire to master.  Picture a worn, three ring binder with dozens of tabs and drawings weighing about twenty five pounds.  That would be my gist of things.

But once I let this assignment sink in,  I realized that after I dispel and dispense with all of my self generated drama about things I will never control,  a sense of gratitude seeps in.  

Very calming.  

But I really need to take that one step further.  

Not to be put in the binder on page 378.  But something far more meaning full not just to be set in my heart and soul. 

But said aloud.  

First thing. 

Every day. 

“Thank you”.