The Note I Put on My Door

Know who you are,
and be proud of him.

I still don't know how these words were engrained into my brain, and I still don't know what compelled me to scribble this phrase into a place where I'll see it everytime I prepare to go out.

But at the time I decided to focus my life on that theme, I started to make commitments toward becoming a better person. I've grown immensely in the past few months. If I hadn't, I wouldn't be as prepared to seize the opportunities within my grasp as I am today.

For the most part, I'm still figuring out who I am. It's a process that never ceases. But I'm proud at what I've discovered about myself recently. I can use this to try and achieve everything that's at hand.

And fuck no, I didn't embrace Scientology or anything like that.

Reflection

Last week, for the first time in almost 9 years, I cried. My dry spell of tears has long been considered an unexpected and disturbing phenomenon by my friends. How could a pussy like me not dampen a single tissue in those emotionally endearing years between ages 14 and 22? Now, don't misunderstand, in many instances my eyes have watered. Sometimes it's gotten to the point where my face subtly quivered. But even in those passionate times-- when I drove away from the first girl I ever loved, when my MS-stricken grandmother stood from her wheelchair and took 8 steps, when I heard that my friend had died from an accidental shotgun blast to the neck-- never did a tear fully cascade down my face.

I'm not about to detail the incredible moment that made me cry (that story would too strongly mirror something I wrote last October). What impacted me from that weekend, however, allowed me to maintain that euphoria I felt last week in a more subdued, long-term state.

Of the people I spent that weekend with, only with a few had I experienced legitimate quality time. For the most part, these people and I had never called each other on the phone, had never asked each other for advice about women, had never met down the street for a burger. Some were even shaking my hand and telling me their names for the first time.

And yet we shared a connection that gave to a true sense of care for one another.

When 12 of us all put a single hand on the back of the guy we had all come for-- so he could feel the love we had for him-- I felt a shared respect among all the rest. Though I didn't know them factually, I knew what mattered. I was immediately drawn to their genuineness, the tall posture they carried, the confidence they exuded when relaying their passions.

That they were friends of a guy I knew much about already said enough to me of their characters.

And then they represented themselves accordingly, allowing me to treasure a flashing moment with people who, though I may forget their names and stories with time, will always be etched into a fond experience of my life.

My friends have some incredible friends. What does that say of me.