A note on Ambition vs. Goals

Don’t mistake ambition for goals – especially in yourself. Drive is not the same as destination. You don’t need a map, because life is the map – living is it’s own map, but you need to be headed somewhere you can see, you can feel.

You need only reach within yourself to find the confidence to set goals you believe in. You need the confidence to be brave. Not courageous, but brave. Courage comes after. Because the fear will persist regardless, but the fear of not following your inner voice is always greater. You absolutely have to set goals and know where you are going – not what you want – where you are going. Doing this will transform that silent, inner confidence into real plans that will allow you to be brave enough to get where you want to get in life. Sure, life is a journey, but do you know where you are going?


Poetry: Dawn’s Promise

80 odd years I may have
50 left to go
Not that tomorrow is a promise
But if it is – and each dawn so,
That’s 10 to 15 years more to reap what I sow

I can’t fathom had it happened all those years ago
I’d have a child going through puberty now,
and maybe I would be more mature myself –
But I’m not

I’m still waiting for the rite of passage that ushers in a new dawn where I’m not scared and I believe in myself entirely

I even try to stage my own

Tonight I stripped down to my boxers and walked into the ocean
I lied down under a wave
And in the faded light of dusk the water looked ominous, green, and black
And lying on my back the sea welcomed me in with a gentle, comforting pull
And I hoped to gain something from it,
Some purification or seasoning of my soul
And I walked out of the water slow and dripping
Wearing the slight pride of a minor victory like invisible armor
And maybe for a minute the fear was masked

Poetry: Irreconcilable

I can’t write in 20,000 words what I can in a poem
I can’t be as honest in prose as I can in poetry
Because in a poem I can tell you I don’t believe in a G-d without saying it
In a poem I can tell you I destroy the beautiful things I touch without confessing a thing
In a poem I can tell you that I am afraid
I’m afraid that love is just a chemical reaction and not the spiritual alchemy I thought it was
And I’m afraid that I’ll never have a family of my own
I’m afraid of so much
I’m afraid I’m not as good at life as I once was
And tonight I’m finding it hard to hope
I’m finding it hard to be alone
I’m finding it hard to love the man in the mirror
Tonight he feels like the man his ex girlfriends think he is:
A jerk, a dick, an asshole – a panoply of lewd nouns and adjectives; even a couple of verbs, and sometimes a mash-up of both: fucking asshole.
Ladies and gentleman, I present: the bowels of the English language, aka me
I’m so jaded, it all sounds pretty believable tonight
And it sucks living in a world where those I love hate me, how strange it must be for them: living in a world where those you hate love you
None of it makes any sense tonight
Hence it must be written down
I’m not crazy
Just postmodern
Just a poet
Just a man
As flawed as my heroes:
Mandela had affairs
Alan Watts drank too much
I’m only human
But I’m reminded of the time I was talking to this homeless hippie in the village and when I said something about being human he said that we shouldn’t use ‘human’ as a synonym for imperfect, and that our humanity shouldn’t be an excuse for our behavior, but rather a benchmark for how we should behave
War is inhumane
And when you look up inhumane it says “Not human; lacking humanity, kindness, compassion, etc”
And so the homeless man taught me something valuable about humanity, how completely fitting
And now that my exes have learned a new word, I shall henceforth be known as inhumane
But I am absolutely human
And that’s why I write, to preserve my humanity and maintain my sanity
I write about what it means to be human
And in a poem I have so much freedom to do this
And I want to be a champion for poetry
Not just the entire romantic tradition of poetry but the freedom a poet is given to say anything
I can write an entire poem on the burdens of testicle ownership for a deviant medieval prince:

With great power comes great responsibility, and so heavy lies the crown that the prince hardly put his favorite toy down
Quit playing with your sword they told the little lord
And why must every shower last half an hour?
“In the name of the family jewels I must slay the dragon”
Fair fair, but next time you empty your flagon don’t stab anything that pulls a wagon
Your neighbor’s ox is simply not meant to be a sausage box

and this is the simple beauty and the magic of poetry
The power to create without boundaries and without rules
It doesn’t even have to rhyme
But the point is that poetry allows us to transfigure difficult things into bites we can chew on and swallow
A poet predigests ideas
How else can I say what I said about being afraid and hated?
I don’t think I could have
A poem is a safe place to bare your soul for a couple of minutes while the rest of the world pays no attention
Writing and reading poetry teaches you about what it means to be a human being
Poems humanize things by sanitizing them
Poetry is about being vulnerable and brave
It’s about declaring the things you think in the dead of the cool, dark night
And it’s about trying to reconcile the irreconcilable things
I am not alone in being hated by those I love
I am trying to answer the questions I dare not ask
For even the most publicly adored can be detested by those who have come closest to them
And what does this teach them
Lord knows
But I hope I find someone for whom hating me is an impossibility
But I’m losing faith

Yet I wake up praying