The Things That Slip Away Forever
A quiet dream of childhood has found its way into my weekly routine. The rings, the parallel bars, and the pull-up bar -- I guess you'd call it recreational gymnastics. I have been doing it simply for the joy of self-motation and discovery. I have no aspirations of joining clubs, competing, or even showing off. It just fits in my overall exploration of physical confidence and balance.
I have always liked to exercise, but I had a childhood environment ill-suited for becoming well-trained. On one hand, I was too self-inclined to receive instruction from my father, and on the other, he was busy burying his own bullied childhood in career and hobby. Furthermore, I was shy and before 6th grade, I never lived in one place long enough to make friends or get involved with any of the normal physical tributaries.
By the time I finally found my way on to a skateboard and basketball court, I was so ill-coordinated and weak that it was only a short time before I had broken bones and injuries which would debilitate me through my 20s.
My greatest influence, in fact, was my mother. I remember sitting in various Elk's Foundation or community centers with Daryl Hall & John Oats, Pat Benetar, and other 80s euro-electro-dance combos moving a bunch of leotarded women in unison. I was not inspired, but the combination of music and movement somehow made natural sense to me.
Not surprisingly, my journey from home to adulthood took me directly into the American heart of hip-moving music and dance -- Latino Los Angeles. My high-school exercise routines were forgotten within several years of being here. I was killed by the overwhelming talent of my classmates at Art Center. Having thought of myself as among the best, the shock that I was just a country-bumpkin was crippling. I ducked my head and walked off the campus like I had something more important to do.
Instead, I wandered. I started practicing guitar. I replaced my dreams with women and an exploration of this gigantic and mysterious place called the city.
I was totally self-conscious and utterly unfamiliar with dancing and social games, so it indeed took 12 years just to find a secure place within myself. In this time, I muse that I was dead in a way. I made no effort to direct my life in any direction. Opportunities, miracles and better, were happening around me, but I drifted and remained broken on the inside.
By my late 20s, I was recognizing that I'd taken the wrong turn and that my dreams were as close as my willingness to achieve them. I had an experience of being reborn and apparently a childhood as well.
My "walk of shame" was a great display of personal pride and accomplishment -- almost like a graduation. It required the courage to say that I had coveted my talent and ambition for fear of failure. It signified my desire to show-all, not back down, and own my personal power.
People often ask me why I did such a thing. The only explanation I have( that is still strong in my heart )is the memory of the 15 minutes before leaving the apartment. I sat naked meditating and I pleading with myself not to do it. For embarressment, for my family, etc. As clearly as another person talking to me, my Self told me, "You have been challenged. You may either meet the challenge and accept the outcome, or you may try to bury it and watch yourself squirm in your insecurity for years-to-come until this day lives in your memory as the last chance you ever had."
Having already made that choice in childhood, I had to go the path less troden. Life is a feast. I knew in my heart, and Leticia often echoed it: I was still eating baby-food. I had to grow up and get on with life.
After having risen to this singular and dramatic occaision, I have discovered that every day offers challenges to greater and lesser degrees. Whereas this used to be a constant torment, it begins now to unveil itself as the greatest thing ever! At this point in my life, I have both ducked the confrontation and met it head-on. I see now that I have this full arsenal of options in every situation and with each day a growing body of experience upon which to make my choice.
I have always liked to exercise, but I had a childhood environment ill-suited for becoming well-trained. On one hand, I was too self-inclined to receive instruction from my father, and on the other, he was busy burying his own bullied childhood in career and hobby. Furthermore, I was shy and before 6th grade, I never lived in one place long enough to make friends or get involved with any of the normal physical tributaries.
By the time I finally found my way on to a skateboard and basketball court, I was so ill-coordinated and weak that it was only a short time before I had broken bones and injuries which would debilitate me through my 20s.
My greatest influence, in fact, was my mother. I remember sitting in various Elk's Foundation or community centers with Daryl Hall & John Oats, Pat Benetar, and other 80s euro-electro-dance combos moving a bunch of leotarded women in unison. I was not inspired, but the combination of music and movement somehow made natural sense to me.
Not surprisingly, my journey from home to adulthood took me directly into the American heart of hip-moving music and dance -- Latino Los Angeles. My high-school exercise routines were forgotten within several years of being here. I was killed by the overwhelming talent of my classmates at Art Center. Having thought of myself as among the best, the shock that I was just a country-bumpkin was crippling. I ducked my head and walked off the campus like I had something more important to do.
Instead, I wandered. I started practicing guitar. I replaced my dreams with women and an exploration of this gigantic and mysterious place called the city.
I was totally self-conscious and utterly unfamiliar with dancing and social games, so it indeed took 12 years just to find a secure place within myself. In this time, I muse that I was dead in a way. I made no effort to direct my life in any direction. Opportunities, miracles and better, were happening around me, but I drifted and remained broken on the inside.
By my late 20s, I was recognizing that I'd taken the wrong turn and that my dreams were as close as my willingness to achieve them. I had an experience of being reborn and apparently a childhood as well.
My "walk of shame" was a great display of personal pride and accomplishment -- almost like a graduation. It required the courage to say that I had coveted my talent and ambition for fear of failure. It signified my desire to show-all, not back down, and own my personal power.
People often ask me why I did such a thing. The only explanation I have( that is still strong in my heart )is the memory of the 15 minutes before leaving the apartment. I sat naked meditating and I pleading with myself not to do it. For embarressment, for my family, etc. As clearly as another person talking to me, my Self told me, "You have been challenged. You may either meet the challenge and accept the outcome, or you may try to bury it and watch yourself squirm in your insecurity for years-to-come until this day lives in your memory as the last chance you ever had."
Having already made that choice in childhood, I had to go the path less troden. Life is a feast. I knew in my heart, and Leticia often echoed it: I was still eating baby-food. I had to grow up and get on with life.
After having risen to this singular and dramatic occaision, I have discovered that every day offers challenges to greater and lesser degrees. Whereas this used to be a constant torment, it begins now to unveil itself as the greatest thing ever! At this point in my life, I have both ducked the confrontation and met it head-on. I see now that I have this full arsenal of options in every situation and with each day a growing body of experience upon which to make my choice.
posted by Just Greg at 1:23 PM
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