Again, Dangerous Tub-Thumps

After Tuesday’s essay, I planned on writing something a little lighter today, perhaps with some froth on top and maybe some cheerful sprinkles, like some sort of literary version of a coffee house barista serving up joy, one cup at a time. Unfortunately, I remembered that the only thing I hate more than coffee is a coffee house, and the only thing I hate even more than a coffee house is the perky and annoying barista behind the counter who takes your order with disapproving scorn and then sets about brewing up a single-serving batch of paint-by-numbers java in one of three infuriatingly pretentious quasi-Italian sizes. And, as is so often the case when I sit down to write these little tarradiddles, my good intentions transformed into seething hate and disappointment before I could type even so much as the first damned predicate. Consequently, I bring you today’s essay in the amazing technicolor of my angry dreamcoat. Enjoy!

I think I am most often driven to prickled anger by nothing more than simply being awake and walking around in the world. Frustration is the root cause of it, more than anything else. Frustration at how happy and content most people are in living simple, mundane lives of little consequence and even less meaning, and the special sort of frustration that comes from knowing that most of them actually chose to be members of humanity who live their whole lives moving less in this world than the scant shovelfuls of dirt it takes to bury them when they’re gone. We live in a world populated by people bound by the invisible shackles of purposeful enslavement that they themselves allowed to be clapped upon their wrists and slapped around their necks, all in exchange for a life less demanding of all the things that should make life worth living. Life is intended to be a series of insurmountable obstacles that we all strive to overcome by taking risks and conquering our foes in whatever hideous forms they take. It is supposed to be filled with wonders so unimaginable that they drive us towards either genius or insanity and leave our mouths agape in awestruck amazement. It is supposed to be dangerous, but rewarding. Terrifying, but blissful. Unforgiving, but fair. It is not supposed to be filled with sacrifice, acquiescence and fear – and it is most definitely not supposed to be safe.

I spend my days walking with the undead, the zombie-like hordes of seething masses who have lived for nothing and who will die for nothing long before they ever realize that they’ve stopped breathing. Don’t get me wrong, though. I know that living a life of causes and crusades isn’t for everyone, and that simply surviving this world and enduring the ordinary struggles of an ordinary life is a noble thing in itself. The parent who sacrifices his or her dreams on the altar of their family’s happiness is an unsung hero in my book, and I do not wish to denigrate anyone who has made the choice to put someone else’s life ahead of their own. It’s a choice I’ve made myself, to an extent. Still, it is a sad and miserable status quo that sees this sort of life as the standard against which all others are measured. The family man who locks his dreams away in a dark and hidden place in his heart so that he can go to work and sell his soul to unimaginative people with small minds and big ambitions day in and day out, all for the sake of the infinitesimal paycheck he brings home to his family is the epitome of average. He is most of us, the everyman, and he lives the average sort of life that has become the goal for which the less fortunate strive to reach and that the truly elite look down upon with dismissive scorn and derision. Maybe he is you, or maybe he was your father or your brother, or the kid you teased at school. Maybe he’s the kid who teased you. Maybe he’s me. Maybe he’s all of us…but why?

It’s almost as if the voice of the universe itself creeps into our bedrooms late at night when we’re young and whispers discouraging words into our delicate teenaged ears, spelling out the rules of the world and dissuading us from pursuing the dreams that would give our lives meaning. And as the years of our lives tick by, we remember those words and we listen to them. We listen to them and then we obey them – and as we obey, we give in a little and we give up a little until, on some sad and lonely day decades later, during the twilight years of our lives between the time that our Sun was at its zenith in a sky full of promise to the very last nanosecond before the flickering flame of our lifestuff is permanently extinguished and we leave this world for good, do we finally get it.

The thought comes at us like a demonic locomotive, spitting fire and tearing down heavy iron tracks leading off to infinity in one direction and back towards the moment we were born in the other, steaming faster and louder and angrier with each passing moment until it’s finally right on top of us, billowing sulphuric smog from its hellish smokestack and scraping our heels with its jagged metal cattle catcher. And, just before it finally overtakes us and we’re dragged screaming beneath the grinding horror of its undercarriage to be shredded betwixt track and wheel, we realize that we are already dead. That we’ve always been dead, at least since that very first time we each listened to that very first doubt in the back of our heads, whispering terrible lies that crippled us before we ever began to truly live. Familiar lies they are, to anyone who’s ever heard them. To everyone.

As these doubts gnaw away at our confidence like a flock of vicious buzzards, we abandon our dreams and we let them die. Slowly at first, but steadily. Little by little, we give up on our dreams and replace them with responsibilities. We swap excitement for security and exchange our pride with the second-handed accomplishments of others. We surrender our individuality for the companionship of a team. We choose sides in illusory battles and tell ourselves that our unheard voices matter. We stop pretending to be Superman and start working for Lex Luthor. We stop believing in magic and start telling ourselves that we understand Science. Status substitutes for self-worth, paychecks take the place of passions, and our dreams fall to the ground, one by one. And, as they lie rotting in the dirt we’ve left behind, we finally grow up. We grow up as we let our dreams slip away, growing older on the journey until we reach the age when we’re old enough to realize that we all died somewhere along the way. We all died when we gave up our dreams. We all died young.

Yeah, it’s a song in a Mark Wahlberg movie…

From an ’80s glam metal band…

It’s better than the original, though.

Deal with it.

I don’t want to be immortal, but I tried death on already and didn’t like the fit. I abandoned my dreams when I married my first wife while I was in my twenties, back when I was too young to appreciate the sacrifice I was making and too naive to understand that she wasn’t worth it. I filled my head with grand delusions by erasing my lifelong goals and filling in the spaces with the practical expectations that the world was telling me should be there. I worked hard, spent long hours going above and beyond the call of duty trying to impress the bosses, and strived to climb my way up the workplace ladder. I put in my time, produced quality results, and hoped to reap the eventual rewards of my labor. What I didn’t know then was that the only reward for hard work amongst the undead is simply more work, or that the scintilla of compensation I did receive for my considerable efforts would find my wife using me for money and stability while she planned her own nefarious agenda in secret. I didn’t know that everything I was doing was wrong and hopeless. I didn’t know that I was sacrificing things I could never get back. I didn’t know. I didn’t know. I didn’t know.

Fortunately, the universe smiled on me in the quizzical way it has of making things worse before they get better. I had to endure the pain and misery and lunacy of a life I shouldn’t have been living, before I could understand and appreciate the life I was always meant to have. I had to virtually extinguish my career before I could truly ignite it, and I had to come face-to-face with all of the choices I’d made, good and bad. I looked back and saw a youthful life filled with hope and promise until it was nearly snuffed out by the artificial demands of an unforgiving society. I thought I needed to grow up, to throw out my childish dreams and get busy being a responsible adult. I thought I needed to let go, to give up…to die. So I did.

Thankfully, it didn’t last long. With my marriage aborted, I was suddenly free to rekindle the lost fire of my youth at a time when I was old enough to know that I’d lost it, but still young enough to have a chance at getting it back. I was one of the lucky ones, to have my life dashed upon the jagged shoreline of regret at the most opportune moment. Others aren’t so fortunate, realizing their undiscovered regret when it’s far too late to do anything about it. Maybe you’re one of them. Maybe you aren’t. Maybe you will be. Maybe you won’t. Maybe all that matters in this life is the hope that it can be better, that we can all hold onto our dreams long enough to see at least a few of them come true until we finally understand that love’s the only thing in this world worth a damn.

I was lucky enough to fall in love again, if I’d ever loved at all before. A wonderful new woman fell into my orbit and she brought with her a son who has become the light at the end of my dark and terrible tunnel. I will gladly sacrifice my dreams and relinquish my hopes for the sake of his dreams and his hopes, and maybe that’s what life is really all about: the older generation enduring the lasting sting of unrealized potential so that the next one has a shot at finding theirs. Maybe the nobility of a simple life is a greater and more powerful thing than I ever realized. Then again, maybe there’s more. Maybe we don’t have to sacrifice everything for anything. Maybe dreams can live on, if only we can manage to fan the flames of our desire without burning those around us. I will be a husband, yes, and I will be a parent – but I will not be anything less than who I dreamt I could be when I was a boy. It took me losing what I thought was everything to see that I had nothing all along, and it’s time to take it back. To take it all back, then share it with my wife. With my son. With my family. My everything.

I am not a defeatist. I am not an apologist. I believe in strength, honor and the sheer force of an unyielding will. Perhaps because I gave up before and embraced the all-too-common defeat of a normal life, I find myself invigorated and immune to the disapproval of others. I hold allegiance to no one, and none hold command over me. I take without asking, I speak without censoring, and I walk in the restricted places of the world. I speak harsh words and sometimes demand more of those around me than I do of myself. I am not humble. I swell with pride at a job well done, and learn without apology for the mistakes I make along the way. I believe the world is malleable, and everything in it can be bent to the will of Man. I hold fast to hope, when all hope should be lost. I cheat without remorse, preferring to believe that rules apply only to those willing to be limited by them. I win, even when I lose. Most of all, I survive. I endure. I go on.

If this essay holds any meaning beyond my meandering rambleprose, let it be this: Do not die young. Do not allow the world to crush the spirit we all had when we were children. Allow yourself to look foolish and to be a fool. Play. Pretend. Think of consequence only when it affects those around you, and be prepared to push forward despite your reservations. Teach your children to never give up, to never bend, to never sacrifice. Encourage them to think for themselves and claim independence from a world that will forever seek to restrict them. Let them be “difficult” in youth, lest they become placid and acquiescent in adulthood. Speak softly and carry a big stick – or, better yet, speak loudly, speak often and carry a small tactical nuke. Don’t apologize for being better than anyone at anything. Never let anyone win. Live, even in the face of Death – just don’t open the door when he comes knocking. You can pretend to be out of the house or sneak out the back, but remember that the world belongs to the sort of person who waits for him on the other side of the door with a loaded shotgun and a big grin.

Most of all, succeed in everything you do. Failure is a part of life, but you only lose when you accept defeat. Fail until you win, then keep on winning. Question authority. Question everything, then fight against it. Always fight, with words and deeds and fists. Life will make you bleed, but it can only break you if you choose to stay broken. If a bully kicks sand in your eyes, kick rock salt in his. And remember –

The world is yours.

Take it!

Today’s essay was made possible by grants from: Life Coaches International, Tyranny Incorporated, The Foundation For The Rambling Power Of Platitudes, and from readers like you!

Want some books? 'Course ya do!

NOTE:  I know times are hard and yeah, I need to make a living too, but if you want to read any of my books but can't afford to buy them right now, hit me up.

I'll take care of it.

Humor | Nonfiction
Available now from the following retailers

Have you ever lived through an experience that was so humiliating that you wanted to die, but when you tell it to all your friends, they can't stop laughing?

Have you ever made a decision that seemed like a good idea at the time, but you're still living with the hilarious consequences years later?

If so, then grab a snack, get comfortable, and prepare to have all of your own poor life choices seem just a little bit more bearable.

You're welcome.

Short Stories
Available now from the following retailers

The nine stories of rage and sadness collected here range from the most intimate of human experiences to the wildest realms of magic and fantasy. The first story is a violent gut-punch to the soul, and the rest of them just hit harder from there.

Those who tough it out will find a book filled with as much hope as despair, a constant contradiction pulling you from one extreme to another.

Life might knock us down, over and over, and will the beat the ever-loving snot out of us from the time we're old enough to give it attitude until the day we finally let it win and stop getting up.

Always get back up.

Gaming | Nonfiction
Available now from the following retailers

This isn't just a book. It's a portal to other worlds where there be magic and dragons and hilarious pirates. Okay, not really. But this book is about those portals, except they're called video games.

The Life Bytes series of books take a deep dive into one man's personal journey through childhood into kinda/sorta being a responsible, competent adult as told through the magical lens of whatever video games he was playing at the time.

Part One starts way back in 1975 and meanders down various digital pathways until, oh, around about 1993 or so.

If you're feeling nostalgic for the early days of gaming or if you just want to understand why the gamer in your life loves this hobby so much, take a seat in your favorite comfy chair and crack this bad boy open.

I'll try to not be boring.

Horror
Available now from the following retailers

What you are about to read is not a story. There is no beginning, middle, or end.

What follows is nothing more than a series of journal entries involving shadow people, sleep paralysis, and crippling fear. It’s not pretty, it doesn’t follow story logic, and nothing works out well in the end.

You've been warned.