I recently went through what I call my “nostalgia cabinet”.  It’s a wooden cabinet I’ve had most of my life.  I can’t remember the details, but ever since it entered the confines of my family’s home, it became my cabinet; a sanctuary for my intimate artifacts.  I utilized it as such from my early youth, but sometime in the latter years of high school, I abandoned it, as if such a thing were made solely for child’s play, and I no longer wished to be a child.

I dug deep through the contents of the top drawer, and the journey was a dizzying spiral into the days of yesteryear.  I met the most ancient relics of my youth, notable of which were several “Clifford the Big Red Dog” pencil tops.  I used to love Clifford, especially how his name followed with not one, but three adjectives.  (Isn’t “dog” a descriptor in this context?)

There’s no doubt a part of me that resists digging into such tombs, for fear of the torrential downpour of memories, and with it, forgotten dreams, lost hope, and perhaps regret.  I find that reflecting upon the past is always a humbling experience.

The most potent find of the excavation were the personal letters I’ve received throughout the years.  They were quite touching, abundantly imbued with love and appreciation, painting a rose-colored past.

I felt saddened by the display, wishing I’d enjoy every moment and every person even just a little bit more, wanting to reciprocate the favor that was expressed within those letters.  I regret ever ceasing communication and interaction with any and all I’ve been fortunate to know and befriend.  “The good ol’ days” beset me with a feeling of homesickness.  You can never go home again.

I came to a realization: No matter how insignificant and irrelevant you may feel at any time, you matter more than you could ever know.

I don’t know what else to say.

I have been thinking about my future, and there’s still so many variables. So much potential, and yet many ways it can go awry.

This is what I do know: I don’t want to try and fit myself in somewhere that doesn’t feel right to me. I don’t believe I’ll ever be happy that way. If something doesn’t feel right, it probably isn’t. I only get one life so I want to enjoy it. That’s the way I’m thinking about things anyway. There have been things in life that when I encounter them, the stars align, and it feels right from the get-go. I’m constantly in search of things that give me that feeling.

I wonder how many people go through life doing things just because it’s something to do; how many major in something just for the big paycheck. I don’t know exactly how many, but I know I don’t want to be that kind of person. I want to be the kind of person that people say, “Wow, he seems happy.” What’s the point in acquiring that nice, fancy home if I’ll never have time to be in it because I’m too busy working to pay it off? What’s the point in starting a family if I’ll never get to see them? These are my concerns. I do not want to be so busy trying to get ahead in life that life passes me by.

I appreciate friends and family trying to push me toward something. It means they care. But the life they may see for me may not be the one that I feel good about. I don’t want to be a slave to convention. Convention is what makes me like everyone else, and that’s not who I want to be.

I want to be different. I want to be my own man. I want to be someone important who does important things, that changes the world, that touches people in a meaningful way. I want to be able to say, “Yes, my life has meaning, and I’ve done good.”

Life wasn’t meant to be mundane and routine. It’s not supposed to be hard. It was never meant to be a struggle. Life was always meant to be fun and exciting, an adventure filled with twist and turns, hope and joy, dreams, late nights, friends and laughter, sex and love. Everyone deserves to experience all of that. Everyone.

And I know I won’t get it right the first time. But that’s not going to keep me from trying.

Thanks for stopping by, bloggers. And have an awesome life.