Pinocchio, revisited.

 For whatever reason I feel so much lately that I am pretending to be a real boy. Pretending that I can do what I do; that I can be who I am pretending to be. Absent in my own presence. Insubstantial. As if I could stop moving and once time catches up to me I could just be gone. That is all I do. Wait for the other card to be played, for the other boot to drop. Wait for someone else to tell me how I failed.

All I did was fail today

All I wanna be is whites and waves

All I did was fail today (“All We Do” - Oh Wonder)

I have been looking for friends I used to have. People I used to know. People who used to know me. They do not appear to see me anymore. Dream-like they move away when I reach for them. They do not reach for me. Also like dreams, the bad (or not so good ones) they only seem to come at me if I have something they need. I am not threatened by them. Merely something to be used. Disposable. Invisible until or unless needed. Mr. Cellophane. 

When you start to look deeply at yourself, it is so easy to see only the negative. The problem with someone struggling with imposter syndrome is that the negative is the only real part. Any successes are fleeting. That is why so many who struggle with this are always looking for that next success, that next achievement. Capturing the next possible “Atta Boy/Girl” to remind you that you in fact can do. It is just that it will not last. It is not felt as valid. 

And when you are invisible, alone, you find ways to tell yourself “Atta Boy”. Eat the stuff. Buy the thing. Look, a sparkly! And then you get it (whatever “it” is) and you feel the guilt of getting it (Do I need it, do I deserve it?) and then you realize that it really is not the achievement that you needed. You failed again. That does not mean you will not do it again. And probably again.

Two steps forward and three steps back. Waiting for the other boot to fall.

The Mountains Are Calling Me

I do like to take photographs. I do not have an eye for photography. I will still take photographs. I like to take pictures of things that catch my eye or a particular view that appeals to me. I take a lot pf pictures now because I can. This one is one of my favorites:

Taking pictures allows me to revisit these places in my mind. Most often, these are memories of good times. Not necessarily "as planned on" times, but plans are made to be changed. I cannot think of a trip I have taken that was completely as planned and did not have some one thing go otherwise. Stuff happens. Roll with it. 

This one is another favorite. You might detect that I do like to shoot scenery. The mountains mean an awful lot to me. Growing up I spent a generous portion of my life in the mountains. Both my parents enjoyed being out in the wild and I got my appreciation for high places from them.

Growing up, film and processing were a cost that impacted taking pictures. Slides were an option but then you also had to invest in a projector. And then the time for set up and tear down. Watching slides was an event. I always have loved looking through photo albums. With current technology one can share images and video either by sending media via email or sharing access via a web page. 

Another set of pictures that I took tell the story of a sunset. These images were taken just as the sun was setting, mere seconds apart. It was a cloudy evening and several people had gathered to watch the sunset. At first we were not even sure we would be able to view the sunset due to the low clouds. Some people left because they did not think that the viewing was going to take place or be worth the wait. I am so glad that I decided to stay. These images were accompanied by sighs and exclamations of those that did stay. Quiet murmurs of appreciation. Spell-bound by the sight, and I wish my pics did justice to the event:

“The mountains are calling and I must go.” - John Muir

The Feeling Of Being Dead

 

“A coward dies a thousand times before his death, but the valiant taste of death but once. It seems to me most strange that men should fear, seeing that death, a necessary end, will come when it will come.”

― William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar

This quote has been on my mind for a few days now, maybe a week or so. And it seems to me that I want to relate it to, or refute it with my father as an example. My father was no coward. Neither was my mother, but that is a story to tell at another time. I never knew my father to turn away from any challenge. There were some things he had to adapt to his capabilities, but he never shrunk from any of them. I still have people who knew him tell me what a great man he was. The admiration that I have seen expressed for him, and the respect held for him, made (and make) me wish I were a better man than what I am or ever could be. People who knew him, would do almost anything for him, and he would do the same for them.

Dad was brave enough to stay close to the love of his life, my mother, at all costs. Eventually, they ended up married and the love and loyalty that he held for mom was evident in everything he did for her. Dad, having lost part of one leg and using prosthetics, and having had an artificial hip that gave him tremendous pain until the end of his life, did not even consider getting handicap plates for their cars until mom needed them. He did for her what he would not do for himself.

Dad would do little things for her that she would not ask for. Dad protected her from pain, from her fears, and sadly enough, even from family members when needed. I think what pained dad the most was people causing mom hurt or pain. Dad loved mom above all else.

Dad was also not afraid to die. After a harrowing crash that gave him the injuries that he suffered from for the rest of his life, dad died several times at the scene of the crash and enroute to the hospital. Dad suffered many debilitating health issues related to what violence his body suffered that night. Circulatory problems. Heart and joint problems. Phantom pain from the amputation. Dad was in pain for the remainder of his life.

As a result of the health issues, dad had also endured several rounds of surgery for various health issues. Dad died and was resuscitated in a few of these events and dad always new when that had happened. He said he remembered the feeling. The feeling of being dead.

Dad died many times, but he was no coward.

Dad treated people respective to how they treated others. Dad did not suffer fools lightly, but would also not hesitate to take them to task if they were offensive. I know not everybody had the same relationship with dad that most people had, but dad was never mean or spiteful. He would demand your respect for mom, and would leave you to your own self where it regarded him. Many people thought that dad was standoffish and maybe cold, but if that was how he treated you, you did something to deserve it. Dad would offer respect to you if you deserved it, even if he did not care for you. But you deserved the treatment he gave you.

Dad had a quiet and reserved, but amazing sense of humor. Dad was warm and inviting and giving. Dad was generous and kind. If you did not know dad this way, you probably should have gotten to know him better. Or, perhaps, you brought it on yourself.