Ship to Shore

“A ship in harbor is safe — but that is not what ships are built for.” — John A. Shedd

I returned to my home Wednesday on the Wave of Wonder.

That may sound like an LSD trip or a theme park ride, but it was actually the name of the ferry that I took in lieu of the subway or the express bus.

The name of the vessel seemed fitting at the time since I was wondering what the hell I was doing with my life.

I’ve some more upheaval recently and whenever that happens I have a habit of reviewing (regurgitating?) all my past missteps, mistakes, and misfortunes in self-destructive spiral to make myself feel even worse.

Riding home that windy day, I felt so isolated and alone. I may have been going up the Narrows, but I was all at sea.

This latest incident was a failed relationship…sort of. I say “sort of” because this was a long-distance affair that had no hope of becoming real.

I wasn’t in love and I knew wouldn’t be relocating, but I was lonely and longing for some kind of connection no matter how flimsy. The whole thing was a mirage, but I refused to admit the truth.

But as tenuous as this bond was, it was a bond, and now I have one less in my life.

Once again, I surrendered to the comfort zone, a horribly toxic state of mind where I stick with something no matter how pointless because it’s safe and familiar.

This is largely the reason why I never moved to Los Angeles despite all my talk, why I've lived in towns and worked for outfits I hated, and why I stayed “friends” with people who were anything but.

I am prone to self-sabotage, a result of self-loathing, and the two feed off each other like starving pit bulls.

I recorded an episode of the Twilight Zone this week called “And When the Sky was Opened” that provided a life lesson as well as some much needed entertainment.

It's the story of three astronauts who return from a mission in outer space and slowly disappear one by one. And what’s really eerie is that as each astronaut vanishes, he is completely forgotten by the entire world—except for the next one to go.

The Key to Imagination

Rod Taylor stars in this episode and he struggles vainly to tell his fellow space traveler that they were on a three-man mission, not a two-man mission as his buddy believes.

Only all the evidence of that third man—including newspaper photographs--has vanished. It’s the Mandela Effect on a very personal level.

We never learn what causes these men to disappear. It seems that they weren’t supposed to survive the mission and now whatever force is out there has decided to correct that error and remove them from this world.

In my darker moments I feel like I’m disappearing, that something is pulling me away from life. Only in my case the force behind this situation is no mystery—it’s me.

I’m jettisoning myself into a twilight zone of solitude and disappointment.

I vowed I would do things differently in 2019 and I am sticking to that promise.

While I know I won't solve all my problems in 12 months, I will at least acknowledge that I have problems, and that I’m trying to change my unhealthy habits.

To that end, I forced myself out of the house on Saturday night to attend the Brooklyn Museum’s First Saturday event. The place was loud and crowded, but it was good to be out amongst humans instead of cozying up with the widescreen.

And last night I ordered an online course about dealing self-sabotage. I’m not sure how much I’ll get out of this program, but any insights will be greatly appreciated.

When the ferry docked at 69th Street Wednesday night, the winds were so fierce that we were rocked brutally from to side. Walking up my street, I felt a current of air from behind blowing so powerfully that it actually pushed me forward.

Now, if that isn’t a sign from God, I don’t know what is. Move forward, leave the past behind, and head for the sun.

Life is a wave of wonder, but you can’t enjoy it by standing on the shore. You’ve got to get on the damn boat.