ANOMALY

In most chosen contexts, I have existed as an anomaly - someone always a little different and unable to conform to norms. I just never seemed to fit in anywhere, always lurking on the outside trying to feel part of something larger than myself.

This has been true throughout my life.

My two marriages were certainly unconventional, did not produce children and neither lasted more than 6 years. I eloped at 19 and left my birth family at that time. Although they continued to love and support me from a distance, they never understood what I was doing with my life, how I was choosing to live, what I actually did. I once took my mother to see the movie Amadeus in hopes she might develop an awareness of the plight of the creative artist.

I was lucky enough to have had several passionate and serious loves, but never one that could last past our shared oddities.

In all the cultural groups within which I practiced - dance, choreography, music, poetry, writing, performing, photography, even politics - I failed to meet what seemed to me like phantom standards, so I never really became  part of anything. I always felt I had to explain myself wherever I went to whomever I interacted with because my actions seemed to sow confusion. Although I exhibited a creative out-put that was well received by audiences and critics, it never seemed to elevate status or bring advantages upon which I could build. It seemed I was merely existing in place, locked into an inability to be understood.

So I come to this 9th decade having explained myself into old age and still, only the very few know me. My life has evolved into a lonely perch atop decades of creative work with very little else to show for it. 

This awareness doesn't really make me sad, only accepting of a bitter truth.

And here I am again, with my "Brief Comments On Now" using written  language to explain what it feels like to grow old, having spent a lifetime trying to find ways to reveal my essence in the many ways I have tried. Will I ever be known? Or am I looking at a slow release into oblivion to join the largely unknown of history like so many before me.

And what will it all matter in the larger context?

In this present reality I spend most of my time playing hurry up catch up trying to ameliorate a growing list of symptoms - itchy eyes, runny nose, violent sneezing & coughing, occasional diarrhea, joint pain, serious breathlessness, chronic lack of sleep, subsequent exhaustion. I keep in touch with my primary care physician and my cardiologist, who refer me for exploratory work-ups, but I'm not willing to undergo invasive tests simply to alleviate annoying symptoms, especially  in search of something that would require another major fight.

At this point I do not have another major fight in me.

Then there are those blessed times when energy is available and action seems more possible. Funny thing about momentum, though. When it kicks in, the tendency is to go faster, but that expands the risk of falling. Keeping going at a slow  pace is a saving habit to develop, no matter the sudden bursts of the possible and the excitement of greater capacity.

Note: I couldn't sleep and got up early to write this. Thoughts persist as my mind turns them round and round. This need for explaining keeps me going, it seems, even through hours of sleeplessness.

hand drawing on Motorola - jrl