If memory serves me correctly, I was born at 10:29 at night on April 2, 1985. However, most people credit a birthday to the actual day of it rather than to the exact hour of birth, so I get the 2nd (although I should be celebrating from around 10:30pm on the 2nd until 10:30pm on the 3rd). Twenty-five years later, I make personal history by writing this blog, a piece of work that will help me begin my quarter center year. If I am allowed to sit back and think of ALL the experiences I have had that have gotten me to this point in my life, I wouldn’t be able to summarize them all. There are vivid moments I remember from my childhood right up to last week, even. Most events are positive, some are sad. Lots are humorous…but the majority of my life has been filled with thoughts. So many thoughts that I have to ask have I spent all of my life thinking? My actions would lead others to think contrary…but sometimes, I do wonder…
At the present moment, I am sitting here thinking about how cerebral I can make this blog. Is it time for me to finally use the skills I once mastered and write a coherent blog, or is it cool that I change the format a bit? Does life ask for coherency? Am I at the point where I’d like to experiment with my personal format? I am blessed to have reached this point and not experienced jail, or being labeled a baby’s daddy. (However, I have been labeled other things that make being a “baby’s daddy” much more desirable). Though I have made it to this point in my life (i.e living in London, England, pursing my dream, and breaking so many stereotypes, it’s not funny), I still have yet to figure myself out. Ok…let me clarify this a little bit. I know WHO I am, but I have yet to figure out HOW and WHY (and sometimes WHAT) I am.
Twenty-five years old…and no clue as to my purpose in life…or whether or not I will be capable of making someone happy (that is not restricted to the “love” sense). I possess all the characteristics of a stable human being (who has his occasional frustrations with the minor details of the world, in some shape way or form), but I still fear major things.
I am afraid of failing my family. (So many others fit the bill of doing that that I CANNOT be added to the list). I would hate to disappoint my mother in the slightest bit. I’d never forgive myself if I wasn’t a good role model to my brother and sister. On an even more personal note…I’d hate to hurt another person’s feelings unintentionally, though I think I have done so many times before. More importantly, I’d hate to think I’m not working hard enough, therefore thwarting my own chances at success. Where are these thoughts coming from? Let’s back track.
On Tuesday morning, I awoke to ants crawling over my dresser, floor, and one even made a cameo on my pillow. (This was due to me spilling a teeny bit of apple juice the day before.) I immediately woke up and started cleaning as if I don’t do enough of that. Then, after looking into new theatrical opportunities, I was faced with some serious decision making (which involved my method of removing myself from a situation and assessing it before doing something I’d regret) That decision, including the circumstances around it filtered into my work that day and I felt useless and as if I wasn’t doing a good job at managing my life. Even more so (and unfortunately) I was losing my faith in my abilities as a human being. What do I bring to the table? Am I effective? Why can I express myself on paper, but am soooooooo afraid to open up to people who love me and care about me? Why do I self-depreciate all the time? Why do I push people away so damn much? What keeps me secretive about certain things in my life? Why don’t I trust that there are some good people out there in the world who will not harm me or cast their rod of judgment upon me? When did the idea of love start to repulse me?…and so on and so forth…(see where the mind takes you when you spend your life thinking too much?)
There are so many questions I have yet to answer in my life…but for the ones that are up here…I know the answer to them all. For many of the questions I ask myself, I always know the answers. I self depreciate because I don’t think I’m better than anyone else… I think I’m quite average (yet, I do know that I am not typical). I push people away because he moment they get close I am bound to hurt their feelings or vice versa and I don’t like being angry with people or having people angry with me. (Besides, I am very afraid of what might happen if someone effectively pushes my buttons.) I am so secretive about my life because so many people volunteer their information and get mad when people are in their business. Personally, while everyone is being “generous” with the sordid details of their lives, I feel I need to keep something to myself, and if that includes keeping mum about the things most people ache to know about…so be it (and fuck off…read a gossip column cause you ain’t gonna get no ammunition here)! I don’t trust that there are good people about until they prove it to me. My motto since college has been “you are guilty until proven innocent.” Basically, if your first impression was actually unsuccessful and you have managed to sway my vote, then you might be allowed on board the Tommy train. (And trust me; this is a good train to be on!)
When it comes to…love…well…that’s a whole ‘nother blog entirely and if I feel so compelled, I will explain. But in a nutshell…too many people relish in the idea of love and I’ve not see what genuine love looks like. It is not in a look or a glance (as books and cliché’s say), or even in the touch of a hand. Those are the things that repulse me about love…the mere announcement of it and all the superfluous fanfare. Love doesn’t have to make itself clear or manifest in traditional ways…that’s about all I will say about that for now.
I guess one would say that I am simply self-aware…but I think there is a more accurate word for what I am; “ME,” maybe? (My friends are always saying…“you’re just so…YOU! You’re soooo Tommy!”) My page of the day calendar has the following word listed for today: virtuoso. It means “a person skilled in the fine arts. Or it can mean “one who excels in the technique of an art or other endeavor, especially: a highly skilled musical performer. (This may seem made up, but this is ACTUALLY what is listed for today. By the way, thank you David Fearns for my calendar; you actively listen to me). Maybe there are no words to describe me and that I will have to accept. Just like I will have to accept that I will disappoint people, but I can’t take it out on myself. People are and will be attracted to me and that’s ok. I shouldn’t run away from people who want to know me, unless I sense deception/shiftiness in their spirit (Yes, I can do that). Essentially, I must continue to do what I have been doing since it’s not been going too badly thus far. If I ain’t broke…I shouldn’t fix me. To be honest, maybe God already has me fixed and whatever else is broken I’ll leave to Him.
I will now end this blog with the text of the Mahogany card my mother sent me for my birthday (which put me in tears because she is the most important woman in my life, hands down, point blank, PERIOD!):
“Son-When I call you my “baby,” you’re probably thinking “Aw come on, Mama! Because you’re a strong man now. But I was blessed to carry you close to my heartbeat for nine months and loved you before I even knew you…
From the moment I set you on your feet, you’ve stood solidly on the ground, growing in power and confidence with the strength to let others lean on you when they’ve needed to. Even me. I’m so proud of the man you are and who you have become.
You’re the son of my spirit and of my heart. You will always be “my baby” and a fine man. Happy Birthday!”
Yes, Momma…Happy Birthday indeed!