“To love is, first of all, to accept ourselves as we actually are.” Thich Nhat Hanh.
You know, this time I am not going to tell you when I am writing or some back story that got me here. I also want to tell you something else. We live in this incredibly disposable society and I certainly do my part to feed it by releasing a new story every Sunday. I have nearly 450 stories on my mindandthemotorcycle.com blog and every single one of them would be as fresh as this one.
I have thought about getting an editor and selecting maybe 50 of the best ones and putting out a book, Mind and the Motorcycle Stories Vol. I. Then, I have to think no further than the memoir I wrote for my grandson, Halloween in Portland-Diary of a Mind. It has been out ten years and I am the only person, who buys it. Now, don’t misunderstand me here. It is a pure joy to share the book with people I speak with, when I get the feeling they might enjoy it. However, selling my life has been too weird for me.
I have a damn good library of stories and I think some of you might enjoy taking the time to poke around in them. Every time I have sat down, just like this, to write one of them, I put every bit of myself into each one, like it is the last one I will ever write.
At this very moment, I am at incredible time in my life. I am happy and it is not some stupid happy. It is the real fucken deal and believe me I know from the counterfeit. I am also not inclined to tell you why. Every week, for I don’t know how many years, I have felt a weird kind of obligation to tell you what’s going on in my life. Don’t get me wrong, I love doing it.
I am experiencing something so deeply personal at this time in my life that sharing it would take the breath out of it. I can’t do that. In a way this is a non-story, story. I have been sharing myself with you since November 1, 2014, when I wrote my first piece on my brand new blog. Trust me, I had no idea what I was getting myself into.
After spending a year and a half, stripping my life naked for my grandson, I just fell totally in love with writing about my life and sharing it. Initially, I thought this was all for him, some kind of word legacy, the life and times of Grandpa Larry. I am not sure when it changed, but it did. I very, very secretly started thinking of myself as a writer, a goddamn artist. Please don’t tell anyone else, it would be embarrassing.
I am bona fide story teller, which has nothing to do with being good at it. It just means I can’t help myself and before too much time has gone by, I just feel this need to share. Over the course of time, I have pretty much left it all out there for you to read. I am thrilled I have been able to do that. I would like to think my honesty and sincerity has been kind of contagious for you. I am doing this for you and I have come to understand that about my stories.
Right now, I am feeling incredibly private and in my mind, it is for all the right reasons. I am gloriously happy and I wouldn’t dream of telling you why, because it is none of your business. I would like to think we all own parts of ourselves that are ours alone.
I remember when I was writing my book to my grandson, I told him I was glad I was not in a relationship, because my story to him was my muse. I don’t think I could have written the way I did, if I was with someone. It wouldn’t have been fair to her, because, in a way, I was telling him my secrets. Boy, do I have secrets! No, nothing weird, but ones that just feel so precious, they would burn to ash in the light of truth.
I was driving around today, in the middle of the day, doing what I wanted to do. I realized I had created such an incredibly structured existence, I forgot all about Larry. I had allowed myself to become a routine, not a person. I was thinking in the car, “Wait I know this guy, it’s Larry.”
I am in the midst of change and I know I have written about it since my trip to Alaska. At times, it is such a strange feeling. I knew this guy Larry a long time ago and I feel him inside me now and it makes me so incredibly happy. I am feeling more whole than ever.
Please, whatever you do, don’t take this as some kind of inspirational story that gets the CARE emoji. For Christ sake, when I write about my life, I am writing about yours. I am not interested in sharing what’s going on with me if it has nothing to do with you.
Here’s this old guy taking chances and making changes and telling you to come along for the ride, your ride. If I was doing all that I have been doing just for me, there wouldn’t be all those stories these past nine years. I would love for you to pick a year, pick a month and pick a story. This is our journey.
Another person is entering my cloistered world and I know I can’t be writing about it, because it is not what I do, so that should be kind of interesting. Just like the end of every story, I don’t have a fucken idea what the next one will be.
This is one feels a little like a time out. Time to check the compass, check the map and to love and accept myself just as I am.You know I am talking about you, too.
Blessings