Back On The Scene

Growing old is easy; it’s acting your age that’s tough. These thoughts and others seem to be tumbling around my brain today, elbowing their way from the back of my mind to this blog. I used write a lot. Poetry, rap lyrics, articles. Then I got a job. And another one. And occasionally another one on the side. Some people I cared for died. An uncle, suddenly, and an aunt who lasted longer than we thought, but whose death was nonetheless painful. Those things became my excuses, a plug for the hole in my soul. I quit writing for fun and rarely put my all into any paid writing gigs. Plenty needed to be said and written, but I refused to let it pour out. It found other outlets: often egged on by alcohol it manifested itself in profanity-laced tirades directed at relative strangers. It required sedation of the spirit by any means necessary and I was all too willing to appease.

I’m 28 now. Once alluring, the only thrill of the bar scene (hipster or otherwise) is the eye candy. The fruitless pursuit of cool now seems a tremendous waste of time. Maybe I forgot who I, a writer, was. Maybe I forgot about all the things I wanted to do. Maybe I forgot that spirituality/writing has always been my balancing board. I remember now.