The choices present themselves. Chase skirts. Write. Sing. It’s not the availability of ideas, it’s the focus.
What do you want to be today, John?
I’m not scared. But I might like some extra spare time.
I have lines of inquiry open. It’s time to detach from the “maybe” girls. Forever. I want the YES girl. Not the “nice to have” girl, or the “beautiful” girl.
I’m an excitable boy.
Looking for himself. I’m ready to go. Ready for the starting gun.
And paused in the blocks, this morning, is where I do my best work. When the ideas and inspirations are bubbling up in my mind, I need to wide open afternoon to explore the caverns and nuance of my memories, hopes, and dreams.
These are times that can’t be weathered. I am in full-attack mode. There is no time for hope, for wishing, for prayers. There is only now, the infinite present.
What do you want to become? What should we put on your headstone? Will you be remembered for your manic episodes, your failures, or your symphonies?
Can you turn your coming disaster into a musical? With lights, stage directions, actors, and the girl. She’s here. She’s not here. She’s here in my mind.
I cannot fall in love. It’s not the time. I have no time for love, for a partner, for timeshare. I’d like to. I have dreams of a poet, a musician, a singer. They are dreams. I have not fully become my own symphony. I am orchestrating too many options.
I will remove her from the mix. I could chase London or Venus. I won’t. I would lose the song, lose this writing jag I’m on. Lose time.
I have lost so much time to depression, divorce, kid trouble, that I’m ready to commit to my monastery of mind. Yes, I’m sublemating my desire with other activities. That’s the point. The more I want to talk, the more I write. The more I want to cuddle, the more I explore what my motivation is. What is the outcome I am looking for? What’s the prompt?
” Create an image of a fully formed woman, with fitness consciousness, sexual awareness, and unalloyed joy.”
Then let me pin her up on my white board. Cheryl Crow is not looking. I am not in her back pocket, but I would be, if she’d let me. Julia Roberts isn’t pulling up in the Tesla with the scent of tequila on her breath. The sillouette of her is obvious. The energy pent up in the desire is what I’m after. Redirect the desire. She is unavailable. I am lit.
Today, just for now, let’s stay focused on the headstone.
Writer. Poet. Lover. Dad. Singer.
What’s on yours? How do we plan for our own death when we still think we have years and years? There is no hurry, but there is also no time to waste. This morning, chasing a woman would be lost energy, lost time, lost priorities. She is not a priority. I am not a priority yet for her, she’s never heard of me. That’s the part of the equation I need to change. It would unlock so much.
Money. Adoration. Love of many. Celebration of my genius. Genius unrecognized. Unnamed.
It’s not about “if” it is about “when.” I have got to believe that. And I have to trust that the woman I want is also a seeker of truth, emotional intelligence, and liberated sexual desire. And so much more.
For now, she’s a goddess from my past. A worship that can not be fulfilled in this world. Don’t wait, but don’t rush either. Wait. Listen. Pray like you’re going to get an answer. Give it up to Jesus. Um…
Amen.
Take a deep breath and count backwards from ten to one.
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