Actually, I am mad about this. I am sitting at the starting line. The lights are ready to drop to green. Just as they drop from yellow to green, I don't stomp to the gas pedal, even though I know that under the hood, there's some serious stuff happening here.
This is even more profound now. Opportunity, no matter how raw comes my way, and I hesitate. Raw is the only way I get it too. There is no shiney food truck ready to turn the key on and sell, sell,sell!
Like the 72 Valient Geri brought me to Port Aransas and gave me. It had been smashed from every angle possible. The front seat no longer existed, it was just the wire frame and springs, with 2couch cushions sitting on top of them. There was no heater or radio in the dash, but a jagged hole where they once we're. It was almost as if someone hooked a chain to them, then fed the chain out the window and hooked the other end to a tow truck and had it drive away. There was however I white electrical cord hanging out the hole, and if you turned on the key and squeezed to two metal blades of the plug end together the car would start and give you a nice jolt to boot! The driver's door was so mangled that a bungee cord was tied to the lower steering column and would get hooked to the driver's door, to sort of keep it closed. The tailpipe was hanging down from the back of the car, so while at a convenience store I reached under and grabbed it. The entire exhaust came out with it. I walked it to the side of the store and threw it into the dumpster. Exhaust systems were questionable in Port Aransas. It had intermittent brakes that you never knew which they they would be just absolutely not there. And it's greatest feature, it started catching on fire under the fuel pump if it ran for longer than about 12 minutes. Yes, I drove this car for about 2 months. In 1985, a car like this could pretty much go unnoticed in Port Aransas Texas. It did have a transmission I needed and after a friend left a huge fish in the back seat and the motor started to knock, it sacrificed it's life for my 72 Dodge Dart. See what I mean? R A W, raw.
No just like the $50 Datsun 310GX that I drove for 3 years, that had it's whole right side warped from taking down a tree in the woods moving in excess of 60 mph. I loved it and peice by peice, I made that car seem to last for ever and I laughed at the car payment paying fools of the world.
Like the 72 Valient Geri brought me to Port Aransas and gave me. It had been smashed from every angle possible. The front seat no longer existed, it was just the wire frame and springs, with 2couch cushions sitting on top of them. There was no heater or radio in the dash, but a jagged hole where they once we're. It was almost as if someone hooked a chain to them, then fed the chain out the window and hooked the other end to a tow truck and had it drive away. There was however I white electrical cord hanging out the hole, and if you turned on the key and squeezed to two metal blades of the plug end together the car would start and give you a nice jolt to boot! The driver's door was so mangled that a bungee cord was tied to the lower steering column and would get hooked to the driver's door, to sort of keep it closed. The tailpipe was hanging down from the back of the car, so while at a convenience store I reached under and grabbed it. The entire exhaust came out with it. I walked it to the side of the store and threw it into the dumpster. Exhaust systems were questionable in Port Aransas. It had intermittent brakes that you never knew which they they would be just absolutely not there. And it's greatest feature, it started catching on fire under the fuel pump if it ran for longer than about 12 minutes. Yes, I drove this car for about 2 months. In 1985, a car like this could pretty much go unnoticed in Port Aransas Texas. It did have a transmission I needed and after a friend left a huge fish in the back seat and the motor started to knock, it sacrificed it's life for my 72 Dodge Dart. See what I mean? R A W, raw.
There was a restaurant in a nearby town that I could have cooked at. "Hey, would you mind if I cooked maybe one night a week in your kitchen?" The answer was "yes". But, the tragedy was, the question was never asked, well not until a good deal of time after the demise of said restaurant. Great move right?
There was another restaurant, that actually inspired this blog post. Brand new restaurant. I walked in, introduced myself and asked if they ever considered guest chefs. The vibe and look that I got was not exactly what I was looking for. But, the owner said that at the upcoming grand opening, there might be a spot for me to do some outdoor cooking. All I had to do was stop in again, talk a little more. But, my mind began to scold me, saying that I was insulting the dream of this new restaurant owner. Not giving her the chance to let her plan play out. The human thing to do in my reasoning was to back off. I did.
Her endeavor played out through most of the summer until she closed the doors forever, broke and shattered. Opportunity gone again. Would it have been different here or at my friend's restaurant? Did my reasoning close a door not only on my growth but on a different path for them too? I wish I had known Mel Robbins when I started this blog post, things may have been different.
So why are we talking about the Datsun and the Valient? It would seem that reasoning my way out of those opportunities leaves me with the broken, crumpled remnants of something that I must make on my own. That is not pretty.
The predator RA fights me every day. Making me struggle to reach simple goals, angering me and frustrating me. Next month it will be 15 years of this. This stupid, daily chronic pain that wants me to surrender. I run on rage. I have for a long time now. That also makes me tired. No matter though. I get up every day and I am screaming inside, telling myself to move. That I will not lie down.
So with this rage. Even with my ridiculous habit of talking myself out of stepping out into the light and showing the world what I can really do. With the only opportunity to blast off into my potential being my unique creativity and unconventional contingent disposition, I will do it even under the weight of those chains of RA.
As I near hitting the "publish" button on this post, I realize, it is difficult to do. This is because, it may seem that I am writing about chronic failure. But really, I am writing about chronic regret. Someone very wise recently said to me, "motivation is a load of crap". That is not coming. When you push you to do something new, it does not feel good, but it will change your life.
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