Sometimes, I get the sneaking suspicion that I just don't fit into many categories.
Past a certain age and not being mind-shackled into any specific profession
or job, there is a certain sort of stigma that gets attached to the fabric of
my being.
No one wants to be that guy - it just happens.
But I figure that if I really put enough time into searching out what I truly
want to do - and if I acquiesce through the leagues of shit that come with
living in an ageist society - and if I spend the time with friends and family
(time that actually means something that can't be expressed in diction
or monetary value)...well then, I figure I'll be alright.
I had a gold time with an old friend recently - A friend who I'd missed dearly.
She has a way of listening and being open that comes with no pre-conceived
high-morality or judgment of any kind. She brightens the dark corners.
She laughs and smiles in a way that only she can - she glows warmth.
She is a friend who I've known a long while (18+ years) and who I
wouldn't have thought would become such a good friend...but she has.
It's those friends that mean something. They mean what we can't formulate.
It's like a sentence on the edge of a pen but that just will not translate on
paper.
Last week, I spent time with another good friend. We went for a country
drive down a backwoods dirt road and got lost for a few hours while
listening to Tom Petty. We smoked cheap cigarettes and laughed under
one of the brightest moons I've seen in ages. He is a hick and a rocker.
And I love him.
I suppose that ultimately, I don't mind being that guy - because that guy
is who I am. Fuck what people say or think. People, for the most part,
are scared, reactive, judgmental, selfish and unintelligent. A person,
though, is smart, thoughtful, listening and helpful.
I am that guy.
Bring it on.
Labels: ageism, category, loneliness
