The Space Between

Separating the wheat from the chaff has been a difficult project. I still find myself drawn to the things that I've finally realized are nothing more than obsessions. I happened on a guitar/bass hybrid instrument made by one of my favorite manufacturers while I was scanning ebay listings. It was and instrument that I would not have hesitated to buy as recently as six months ago. It had every feature that I had been trying to design into a hybrid instrument of my own, minus a few strings. Oh, and it was painted black, my favorite color.

I should have known by the fact that I was surfing the guitar listings on ebay that I was already falling back into that pattern, but when I saw that guitar, bass, hybrid, whatever, I felt like I was hooked, even if only for a moment. It felt like seeing someone I used to have a crush on but managed to get over it and move on: weird.

I know that guitars were an obsession, a manufactured identity, a prop in my disguise, but I do still enjoy them for what they are. Placing them in their proper order of priority has taken the stress and associated guilt away. I can actually appreciate them as a hobby. Maybe some day I'll actually even grow to love them.

Having stripped away my facade and taken down my guard I stand exposed and bare before all those who cross my path. As a child I used to have a recurring dream of waking up naked in front of a crowded room. Every one of my recurring nightmares has come true.

I am bare.

Unlike my nightmare, however, I no longer fear the scrutiny, the criticism, or the analysis of onlookers. I welcome this display. I want to be known, not for what I wanted to be, but for who and what I already am, whatever that may be. I want those who have arduously sought to comprehend my idiosyncrasies to understand the causes that led to the effect with whom they are acquainted.

I recognize that the giving away of one's most prized possessions is a prime indicator that the giver is contemplating ending their life. Granting unfettered access to my inner sanctum to any and all who dare enter may appear to be one of those signs, but rest assured that it is not. I have already died. I put to death the man I believed myself to be, and have been resurrected into reality.

Like a newborn child I know no stranger, but as a man who has already died I no longer fear whatever troubles may come from leaving myself so vulnerable. Even I need a clear and unhindered view so I can get to truly know the person occupying my shell.

So this is who I am to be, and this is what I am to do.

But what happens now? What do I do once I've come to terms with my role? What comes between the epiphany and the grind?