Mild Thoughts

There once was a little boy who couldn’t color in between the lines. Who wanted to make the perfect Valentine’s Day card for his mom, but instead ended up cutting a giant hole in it.

He had a dream, a dream of his legs propelling him forward, each stride drumming to a rhythm asynchronous to the bustling world around him. Through rocky mountain paths or city streets lined with towering skyscrapers. Drawing his own map one step after the other, each breath taken, a song of human potential.

Whatever happened to him?

Well, he’s me now- and no, I haven’t been running.

I’ve been stumbling over who I am for years. It seems like an uphill battle most days. Look down to check my progress and it seems I’ve barely moved an inch. Even worse are the days I realize, “Oh no, I’ve seen these steps before,” thinking, “I couldn’t have possibly been pushed back this far again? Could I?”

“No more zero days”, that’s the mantra I’ve lived by this past decade (Wow, that feels weird to write). Most days I make it. Maybe not by a lot, but at least getting out of bed or taking a shower is something. Anything is better than Nothing.

Yet, I’m still unhappy, and I’m still here in the same headspace I find myself every few years. “I still haven’t accomplished any of my dreams.”

So maybe, eventually, the bare minimum isn’t enough? Maybe non-zero needs to be some kind of incremental progress. Otherwise, you’ll be stuck climbing that mountain forever, slowly pressing forward, sliding back down, retreading those same steps thinking that you’re making progress.

Or maybe, I’m just being ungrateful? Maybe, I’m forgetting all the good things and not crediting myself for the dreams I have accomplished.

After all, I’ve done things, and traveled to places, and met people that little me could never have believed. I met Jay from Jay & Silent Bob and got to do a double-dutch rudder, I spent over a week in Ireland and basked in fields of emerald green, stood atop a mountain and watched the first rays of morning light creep silently over the snow-covered trees, I became an IT Director and hired employees under me.

Maybe these things weren’t on little me’s list, but I’m sure he would be astounded and proud of me for accomplishing them. Perhaps its not me that is unhappy then, but Sam Gold, and the ceaseless stream of deprication he seems so eager to serve.

“Who is Sam Gold?”, you might ask.

There’s this movie called “Revolver”, made in 2005, starring Jason Statham, Ray Liota, and the freakin ‘Hey Ya!’ guy himself, Andre3000! A generic casino heist film involving big mob bosses, action-packed fight scenes, wiley crime schemes, and a heavily veiled underbelly of mindbending madness.

I implore you- if you have not seen this film, please STOP reading now and go watch it before reading any further.

You can find it on Tubi.tv, and more of your favorite shows, for FREE! Tubi.tv, it’s just better.

So, who IS Sam Gold? In short, Sam was me. He is a cruel parasite who plants himself deep inside your mind. Then proceeds to whittle away your life one social connection at a time. “You’re worthless, not good enough, you’ll never amount to anything. These people don’t care about you, you are such a burden.”

The greatest lie ever told was the Ego convincing you he is you.

Revolver

One day you forget he latched on and just accept that this is your life. That somewhere between his words and your feelings it all blurred into one and became real. He is you.

Now all that’s left is the constant trudge through the swamp muck that is life. Each step forward takes every inch of willpower you’ve saved up for the day. You plunge that foot forward and hear the ever familiar squeeeelch as your burdens wrap you up again. “Not getting out that easy” he says.

I forgot how I got here- a mountain, a swamp, I can’t keep my metaphors straight. But I think that’s part of the problem, and maybe even the solution. Sam keeps you so out of sorts that you can’t tell head from tails. You spend so much time floundering in “what ifs” and “don’t haves” that you never make any progress.

One step forward, two steps back. Maybe today we don’t move at all, maybe we just lay in bed instead. Its probably better to just isolate. No chance of humiliation or burdening others if we stay away. Dreams? Oh they will be there tomorrow- that always just out if reach, never-ending tomorrow.

It’s so easy to fall in line. To let Sam’s whispers become reality. And maybe he’s not so bad, just trying to keep me safe. But no adventure ever came from playing it safe.

Eventually I start to notice a burning sensation. A fire in my legs louder than Sam’s words. That all too familiar feeling little me always humored. A desire to get up, to move, to feel, to live, to run.

But where do I go? I don’t know, but anywhere is better than here, stuck with a mad man. I am no longer Sam, I am me, and he is he- a ceaseless echo of negativity. And I love me, and have no room for his so called ‘safety’ anymore.

---

But what do I do? What do I want? I’ve asked myself this question over and over for years. I can write you “the list” I’ve chicken scratched out everytime. I wanna be a singer, a dancer, an astronaut, a dad… you get the idea. It’s like five-year-old me is still in there, crayons at the ready, paper in hand. He knows what he wants, not that any of it is grounded in reality.

For all his naivety I can’t help but hope younger me is right. But in practice these things take shit loads of commitment, don’t make money, or just aren’t fun once doing 😂. The irony of that last one.

Do I want to dance? Yes! But in reality I have two left feet and no desire to practice everyday. Add on top of that, that I’d actually have to put myself in the public eye and risk embarrassing myself for a living. Plus, with all that free time gone, think of all the lazy activities like movies and video games I won’t get to accomplish!

Thank God I rationalized my way out of that one! 😔

So what DO I want? I think I’ve been asking us the wrong question, little me. I love the list you made but it’s too easy to rip apart. But I think I finally figured it out. It’s gotta be it because it’s so obvious, it’s been right here the whole time, it just burns like the Sun to look at. Ready those crayons because I’ve got a better question for you:

Who do I envy?

See, we envy those we want to be like. It’s one thing to say you want something, it’s another to do it, and it’s another to be so angry at someone else’s achievements that you force yourself to escape every night to pretend it isn’t happening. “Look at them,” Sam says, “That could be you, but you are worthless. Even if you worked to their level you’d never be half as good as them. If you try, all you will do is prove how much of a joke these dreams truly are. The whole world- they are laughing at you.”

Thanks Sam. Little did you know you’ve given me exactly what I needed. So, I’ve got my crayons, let’s use those ugly words to make a new list:

I envy musicians. I wish I could make cool songs and make people feel things. Songs they can’t help but listen to on repeat. Ones that reach inside them and pull a heartstring they’ve been too afraid to touch. But then I think, wont I just be another washed up SoundCloud wannabe?

I envy speakers. I always wanted to be a comedian, or an orator. Someone who had a way with words. Someone brave enough to stand on stage. Someone who doesn’t get anxiety or fights through it. I feel like a coward who avoids this.

I envy video game creators. I want to make a game, make a story. Even if it’s simple. Or how my buddy Derek made an app. God it makes me so jealous. And instead here I am writing about it instead of just doing something! Trying, failing, trying again, failing, trying again, giving up… when success was right around the corner.

I envy those who have acheived who I want to be.

Or perhaps a movie reviewer?

🤔 I really enjoyed writing about and pulling from movie themes here. They are my vice of choice after all, and raised me through most of my childhood. There’s a lot of stories I could pull from if I just put in that extra bit of effort.

I always just figured it would be pointless. There are tons of shitheels out there doing it already. But honestly, sometimes I feel like there is room for someone like myself. It seems there are only three quality reviewers out there I really listen too, because so many others make common mistakes…

I like that this is fielding ideas towards something I’ve always wanted to do.

You know what would be sweet, a movie review recommendation channel. Like “Revolver” is an epic mindbending thriller, but I highly doubt todays youth will bother to see it. So if I were to bounce off a new film and show similarities to older ones, I could give others suggestions that push them in new directions, like seeing Revolver! This could be based off theme, director, actors, etc. Channel name: “Encore”, “So you want more?”, etc .

This got way off course 😄. But I think It’s just what I needed: A reason to run.

Alright, little me, I’m back from exploring the rabbit hole. What have we learned?

I think the biggest problem is, I’ve been dreaming of running, and yet I haven’t even tried.

Thinking of all the effort it took to learn just to walk- it feels like a waste to try for more. Which seems like a poor reason to not invest in a skill that means so much to me deep down.

I think the key is, enter scenarios that force me to run, that way I have no other choice than to learn. Focus on the fire in my legs and ignore the Sam Golds of the world. Wander free from my comfort zone and find the places where running can happen.

All that time spent laying in bed, stumbling up mountains, and trudging through bogs, and yet I never took the chance to go where my dreams could come true. If anything, the only running I’ve learned is in the wrong direction.

Today, not tomorrow, I will find an open field where the wind rolls and dances with the tall grass, or finally stand on the ubiqutous tarmac of the open road and begin the long journey of walking, then jogging, and then finally-

Running.

And when I’m at the end of the road, exhausted, oxygen burning the back of my throat. When I finally catch my breath, I will no longer begrudgingly say, “When will this end?”

I look around and I am alone. No one there, that is, except younger me. Standing there still clenching his crayons, smiling at me, “We finally did it!” he says.

We high-five.

I pick him up and piggyback my little cheerleader. Behind us, the long road stretches on into eternity.

“Lets go again!” I say.

And we run.