A Man & His Feelings
I am a man of routines, and I almost never do things out of script. One time, I did something out of script, (went on a date) I ended up falling in love. I feel no shame in admitting that I fell in love in such a brief moment, and if needed be, I would put my hand on the bible confirm the statement again. She didn’t have wings but she didn’t need them either. I mean she’s a bombshell, a dime, a fox; the kind of girl that they don’t make anymore. You’d have fallen in love too. She had long curly black hair and a healthy dark skin you’d think she baths in milk. She walked in wearing all black and fancy things on her neck and wrist. Her curves were chopped with a laser and her smile could kill.
I said “Hello”, she smiled and said “Hi” and I panicked the whole night through. Things I should have done and words I could have said keep running through my mind with a haunting undertone of sadness and a lot of disappointed in my inadequacy.
I feel miserable; I feel like Orpheus, I definitely feel his pain. They say Orpheus was a king celebrated far and wide for his mastery in his art (Music). No one was ever known to match his skills. They thought he was in league with some gods and his talent was a gift from Apollo. With his art, he charmed not only muses, but beasts of the wild and calmed the raging seas. Of all those who listened to him and loved his melodies, he delighted to please no one but his queen Eurydice. He cared for no audience but her, to him it didn’t matter who else was present. Unfortunately, she suddenly died. Orpheus couldn’t bare living without her, so he gave up his kingdom, and went on a journey into the underworld for a chance to plead to Pluto to give him back his muse.
The story of Orpheus, tells us that a man has to have something his heart can cling to. A man usually needs one marvelous reason to be alive; he has to have someone to live for and care for altruistically. It’s encoded in his DNA. And in essence that’s what constitutes a man.
I’m downhearted like Orpheus because, like him I found a muse. (Or at-least I thought I did.) It was her soul that I wanted next to mine, it was her belief in God that constrained my unbelieving pagan heart to thirst for the gospel one more time. Her words made my every intellectual argument of the very idea of a god and my atheism shy away into a mere fuckin’ agnostic.
I don’t subscribe into the trend of bullshit and masculine overcompensation and expectations of men these days. I am a man, not a jerk-ass, so I don’t behave like one. I have my manly way of going about my day. It’s the routine that my alter-ego, The Good Life Preacher calls divine, probably because it helps me feel like I am in control, when life is at its roughest and loudest. I wake up, go to the studio, create art, paint, write, or just sit around then at 3pm I go to real work, the one where I get a pay check every two weeks, and around midnight when I get home, I have my two fingers of scotch, read a book, then get ready to do the same thing again in a few hours. As a late 90’s kid, a single malt scotch and weed are usually in arms length.
See my father was a small-town gentleman who moved into the city, joined the military, and then retired when I was about four years old. He always dressed impeccably, grey suits, white shirts, and tan oxfords. He had a nicely coifed short afro, a towering height of six three, and walked straight with an unquestioned authority. He was the ladies-first kind of man. He opened doors, pulled out chairs, and poured drinks. He was the careful caretaker and a man of etiquette. He had routines, he set rules as a father and he excelled at making sure that those rules weren’t being broken.
My father was a man who understood liberty. He told me that I should come clean beforehand whenever I fucked up. He said, “Don’t let me find out through someone else that you broke something; when I walk through that door, I want to find you sitting here ready to explain” while pointing his finger at me raucously. He wanted to cultivate me into a man of dignity, a man of values and standards. One who never shied, but owned, and corrected his mistakes. So I grew up to become someone who expressed himself without fear, mostly through my art, which is also liberating. The fact that I am able to express that-which pains me, no matter the consequences, is a liberating experience.
Today’s culture doesn’t foster liberty. Today’s culture is very condemning and restrictive in ways one can express his/her feelings towards toward another. Falling in love isn’t something that’s gets planned, we don't choose who to fall in love with, it's an accident. It’s just a natural feeling towards another human being. The one that your heart chooses from the six billion, and say “I want you; I want you to ruin my life. I want to be what you want me to be and I won’t be embarrassed.” When you believe something to be true in your heart, and without a doubt you know it’s what you were designed be, then be that. If you meet someone, and she feels so natural to you, and loving that person comes effortlessly then, be a man, pour out your soul and let her know how you feel. If she runs or she stays is also another accident, it’s neither fate nor doom. At the end of the day, you’ll look back and you’ll find happiness in the fact that you didn’t starve yourself off that chance.