In the end,  I know many will leave my life. I leave each place. This time it is on great terms. My boss seems to think I will become a great attorney. However, in one week I do not know where I will go.

I have let my life come to standstill. 

I am afraid of what is to come. People pull me to the Midwest. People pull me to the coast. People pull me toward Boise. Some pull me in other directions. Each one has its own set of distinct possibilities. Truth is ... I'm tired of moving. I'm tired of developing awesome friendships to watch them go away. I'm tired of having no roots and feeling like I cannot build something better.

I must pick a direction and move. Tomorrow or today, I will make a final decision. This life is up to me. I won't go out without a fight. I'll find deep connections, truth, love, and adventure again. No one has to believe in me except myself.

It's a metaphor

I came upon a rose. I stared at its crimson leaves, and tried holding it in my hands. My fingers bled as I pricked my fingers against its stem. I felt the wound in the moist air, and I held my breath. It was much better than feeling nothing. I feel better when I bleed.

Walking in the spring weather, life drifts eternal as a steady wind sweeps through the North End. It is a comfortable silence, and I feel the my soul's steady rhythm as I prepare for another night that will go until 2 or 3am. Soon, music will cue up for another night of punk, folk, indie, techno, and soul.

Life has been hectic lately. I never thought so much would have happened since I bought these tickets. Now, I am glad I did because this is a good release from the steady torture of the uncertain. Will my ambitions eventually kill me? Who knows.

While I have a soul and while there is a need, I must keep trying to make the biggest difference I can. I have been gifted to have the life I have led so far. Therefore, I must keep striving and believing in change and helping one another. It is scary, but I feel so close to finding my rhythm. I feel close to finding a sense of home again. Wish me luck. I certainly need it.

How will I measure my life?

Today, a young tax attorney told me to read the book, "How You Will Measure Your Life" by Clayton Christensen. It comes hard on this day of all days. It is not only Valentines Day, but it is a day filled with memories of planning for birthdays, of trips, of romantic encounters, and small adventures. I wonder if he knows how much I relish the idea of family, the idea of building something else in this life, how much I adored the ones who came close to me, how much I regret an existence away from my closest friends.

Though, not all is depressing ... 

Recently, I have felt the heat of battle. My cases involve consumer and housing issues. I help people battle a system that treats people as chattel. It does not appreciate their full, living, breathing, loving human selves. My opponents talk as if they are cogs in a machine not able to do what they feel is just. Imagine an 80-year-old getting evicted because of a "problem with a toilet" or  a blind man who is told he has two days to find another home.

The law protects these individuals. However, it is only as good as their access to it. No judge stands up for these people. Most people do not even see the insides of our courthouses. They are tricked into taking default judgements, told they have no recourse and no justice is found in those halls. Now, our Congress is trying to dry up funding for my organization and many like it across the country. The only reason I could think of is to fully exploit the poorest in our population. It's a real travesty. Blah.

Sometimes, I must go back and read these posts. I must see how I was feeling at the time to truly reflect on my present. The beauty in writing is that one can capture those emotions while in the thick of it.


As of now, I am an attorney fighting for the public interest. I do civil work on behalf of low income people. My bills seem to be falling in to order, and I get outside enough to satiate my more wild side (at least for now). I have blisters on my heels from miles and miles of classic cross country skiing in MT. I never imagined it would be such a physical workout, but my adventure partner is nothing more than a machine.

I go head to head with attorneys, and I hold my own. Nearly all the cases I have taken have had favorable outcomes, which has surprised me.

Still, it's not very ideal. I am alone constantly and when I make plans people cancel at the last second. I am surrounded by Trump supporters and people who think money should rule the world. I take trips and visit great people, and they make me wish I was building this life elsewhere, which gets me into a pretty big funk.

I have time. I must return to writing for catharsis' sake. 

Decision to Rebuild My Passions

Ralph Waldo Emerson once wrote: “Sow a thought and you reap an action; sow an act and you reap a habit; sow a habit and you reap a character; sow a character and you reap a destiny.” I have become an anxious man filled with habits that do not align with his spirit. This has had an unsettling affect on my demeanor. It is as if my true self, the one I am most proud of comes out in short spurts to feel the sunshine, to breathe the moist air, to smell the flowers for their beauty, to write with my heart, and to speak with the voice of my own soul with all its flaws, strengths, grit, and integrity etched in by the blunt knife that has been my life.

So how do I get back there from this Depression that has blossomed into my life. How do I start to climb out of this pain-ridden, lonely existence within a life that I dread?

It is as simple as climbing. It will take courage and blind faith in my own abilities. It is like standing up and looking up at a challenging sport climb. The first bolt is sometimes very high. Sometimes, I think that I could break my leg if I fall before it. Sometimes, I think of the second bolt and think, if I fall at that bolt, I could do even worse. I could die. If I do not do the route, it facilitates a process of becoming a person I do not like. It facilitates me falling away from loving what I love. The cowardice slips in and begins to poison every part of my life. When fear erupts, I sit and await death in a malaise that once knew what it was like to live without fear. I am held in its grasp like a weak, infant duck captured in the gator's claws.

That is why, when I staring at this climb. My soul smells the fear coming on. My mind weakens in its resolve, and I begin to back away. The fear consumes me. Yet, I go forward with the fear. I feel it slowly release as I begin to act, to move, to stretch and feel the rock beneath my hands. I begin to loosen up as the sun reaches around the corner, and I begin to feel confident as I get to the first bolt and more confident as the second bolt comes. The third bolt is clipped and I really begin to feel the movements again. It is no thing to start with fear in the heart. However, it is crucial to act when fear rides in and paralyzes our actions. It is only through this that I can become the person I was meant to be.

That is what I shall do to climb out of this hole. I will not take the normal path. I will act in ways that terrorize me. I will act in ways that I "know" will lead to failure. I will move every day and keep moving. When I am weak and tired, I shall slowly move, but I shall move nonetheless. Each step forward from this point will be wicked, full of fear, full of unknowns, and bewilderment. Yet, I will act in the present to get closer. When I am alone, I shall walk out to act. I shall write. I shall push my body to the limits. I shall strive to rebuild a work ethic and a passion I once had.

I can live no other life than my own. I must not wish to be wealthy, to be safe, to be secure. That is a path left to the ones not ready to lead the climb. I have felt the lead, the danger, and I relished in its glory and the excitement of truly living. I shall strive to go forward in my own fashion, to feel free, to inspire others and to build relationships in only ways I can. I shall be open to any path where I can be close to my true self.

I strive to leave this mental slavery I have forced upon myself. Utmost, I strive.

Easter

This is a day for families and loved ones. So, in essence, it is a day that reminds me that I have neither. I am one small catastrophe from utter failure, and I center myself to try not to be bitter. Because bitterness is and always will be a pill that ruins my spirit.

I would take a boring Easter. I would take one with religious fundamentalism, one with family members that I do not wish to be around, one that makes me wish I was alone. I would take that Easter because I know all too well that this one ends without a smile.

Some say alcohol ruins the health or cigarettes ruin the lungs. Loneliness, however, ruins everything. Lately, my health has been no grand experience. My legs feel lethargic on my runs, and my body carries too much water weight. I spend entire weekends not seeing a sole I would call a friend. That has been most of my existence since moving to Idaho. Everyone I meet is either leaving or leaving me, or I am an automatic outsider in their group. Stephanie, the name on my tongue makes it feel vile, says all my answers lay in counseling. I could take some pills and not care, and maybe then I could watch with a smile as my life descends into chaos. I am starting to believe that I fall in love with smart, but uncaring people. They know how to work this game that is this life, and I do not. I have these ideals that force me to care about people, care about my path, care about doing something worthwhile. I thought it was the path to happiness, but all it has given me lately is loneliness and despair.

Steinbeck once wrote that the miserable man carries despair within his heart wherever he goes. While at a dock on the Mexican Coast sailing down to Sea of Cortez, he witnessed the young men of a small town carrying a solemness that pervaded the very air.  However, I think the true travesty of these young men is that they had each other, but they could not see the adventure. Poverty is such a trap of the spirit. Steinbeck was poor in California with the richness of good friends, freedom, and booze. Being poor and at the whims of another is true poverty.

Also, as of late, I fear too much. I fear for my body because it does not act like it should. My hands flush red and purple. My legs feel weak. My legs ache and my gut sometimes dances madly. My rhythm is gone, and I constantly try to convince myself that I am traveling on a fine path. However, I cannot convince myself. This legal world is a rich man's world. It's all about connections and too many people say things as if words (when not in some legal document) were but whispers caught on the wind. They hold no value, and they cease to exist the minute they are unleashed.

I think of building. I think of it constantly. I want a family. I want a job that pays me for once, one that can help me stabilize my life in this world where the dollars you make determine your value and level of freedom. Yet, I do not want to give up my love for others, my desire to not work solely for the rich, my desire to make a difference. Yet, I have no access to this world. These jobs seem to be held by people given a silver spoon from a young age. To them, it seems like it's a trendy experience and they earn their meager wages while getting supported by the parents who are part of the very system they seem to want to upset. I find it more than bizarre.

All these words will look differently in a couple months when I am done with law school. However, I do not know where to go, nor what to do. I still wonder if I will have the funds to get to July, to pass the bar. Afterward, I may be properly fucked. However, that is a day that will come at some other point. Maybe I will be the homeless guy who passes the bar. That would certainly be better than the homeless guy who does not.