I used to think there were no guarantees in life. Then I found Jesus. I didn’t know he was lost, but I apparently needed him. I was 8. I was easily convinced of anything, and as I grew older, I read more, I studied, and I did everything requested of me.
It failed to manifest the promise of that “good life”, even though I grew up with the broken halos of Los Angeles. Eat, love, pray, go to church, study the word, be kind, do the sacraments, wear the tie, be strong, be bold, and what was the result?
A new cavity moved into my world March 9, 2011. I lamented about it, but then had a dream that the cavity was filled with cement. The emptiness was gone, I felt good about it. It was dead and buried, and I did it, I had overcome the heart break, the rejection, and the lies that would lead some men to live in a shack in Idaho over a dear john letter.
Fast forward the vhs tape, and where do we land? 2019, a new promise, a new hope, and an empty apartment. I dream of fountains and fluorescent lights, as the seasons change over, and I find new life in what I’m doing. I meet new people, I close doors to others, and the townies and tourists fill the beach bars, the clubs, and take flights away from the oncoming cold that is going to seem to last forever. An empty apartment is not a bad thing. At least I’m not raising a child with a crazy woman, nor am I late on the rent.
“The only guarantee in life, is a life worth dyin’ for, cause death don’t wait for no one, Sittin’ on your front door…”
My future is bright. I tell a select few of my plans, but a lot of it is in writing for myself. I’m going to continue to keep things close to the chest, but there are those that are blessed to get a slice of who I am now, and who I will be in the future. Until death, I’m fighting to solidify the notion that life does in fact give you lemons, but alas, we can paint that shit gold.
I have the paint brush, I’m painting everything in my way as I climb upwards with or without someone alongside.