It’s a long and winding road to this place called thirty-four – and what a peculiar view I see as I sit here in it. It is neither watercolour nor wax, sketchings or scales. It’s a murky rose-tinted embossed gloss of the 12 515 days in my life. Because I am that mixture and this is for me to see.
They say that perspective is a good thing. I say be careful what you wish for. It can be derisive. So it’s currently an elective undecided on, because no prose, music or good feelings can comfort that derision (though once upon a time, me and my glitter were known for misguiding its ruin).
At this place of perspective, it would be fair to say that by a manner of deduction, I may arrive at what I do like from what I don’t.
What I don’t like (anymore) are conservative dinners surrounded by people in proper clothes where dinner and dessert have no interval.
What I don’t like (anymore) is being sorry for something that didn’t work out with someone who was so amazing when, in reality, I was mostly alone anyway. Alone in our home. Alone in myself. Alone with what few friends I had managed to keep.
I don’t like the dull dramatics of irregular-egos. I don’t like that the double standards suit only those in charge. It all just seems such a waste of time. So let’s stop doing it. Because I don’t like all that sludge (anymore).
Sartre said that the best work is not what is most difficult for you, but is what you do best. These 12 515 days have brought me to the brink of knowing what I do best, but cannot tip me in. I have to jump by myself. And because I am, I can see what I love about me.
I love to remember the time before the wreck pulled out of the parking lot and how innocent it was to feel that talking about those feelings inside would never be harder than then.
I love remembering a time when this little imagination was limitless and never tired, and then admitting that nothing has really changed except maybe that perspective we weren’t going to talk about.
I love the feeling of walking in the light of the sun and how it would show as lens flair through golden hairs on sun-kissed arms were I a camera. I love feeling that this is real and that today really is the first day of the rest of my life, because I love that feeling of when the grass smells like it’s just been cut and the person you are sitting with has the power to warm your heart with just their company.
I love how it feels to turn around and realise I lit up a room without even trying. I love how often that, yes, perspective is phenomenally powerful and comes from letters combined by my own mind on pages throughout the years. The months. The 12 515 days.
Now is the time to be the Guardian of my Greatness*.
© Dylan Balkind