(Revised) Change Only Happens When Change Happens

 

It took me many years, decades actually, to realize that “Change only happens when change happens”.

My change is in it’s infancy.

My metamorphosis was a slow slumbering crawl through the first five decades of my many lives.

Fifty plus years of puberty fuelled irresponsibility, leading into the drug induced blurring of my twenties and thirties. Coming to rest amidst mid-life’s crisis frantic forties.

A life educated by living as a nomad on the streets since the ripe age of twelve.

Teenage years wasted by federal incarceration’s subduing me till my mid twenties.

Release plunging me into a decade long continuous quest to consume as much alcohol and use as many hard drugs as possible.

In my twisted perception of your manmade reality I would jokingly jest that, “The more drugs and booze I consume the less there would be that may fall into the hands of youth”. I was doing a public service.

My first marriage was to my boss’s daughter.

A beautiful young lady whom I purchased from her mother for fifty dollars.

Biblical truth. Fifty Canadian dollars.

What started as a fantasy and a joke became a reality. 

Problem being, the reality I walked within was not as conformed as my bride’s socialite reality.

From the day we drunkenly slurred our Sacred Vows to the day we joyfully signed our “Decree’s Nisi” was but eight short months.

For some odd reason my beautiful model of a spouse could not handle the way I was behaving immediately after my dear Mother, Mary, was brutally butchered by her ex boyfriend with an eight inch boning knife.

Instead of supporting me through the hardest time of my life she said, and I quote,

“Ever since your mother was murdered you have been acting strange and I don’t like it “.

And out the door she went.

I have yet to hear of her since the Peace Bond was placed by the Court.

I may or may not have went on a drunken binge.

During which I may have accidentally told her whole family,  from Grandma to the youngest, exactly what snobbish, high class bigots I honestly believe them to be.

Although, believe or not, I can say without a doubt that the marriage was a farce from day one.

A drunken joke taken too far.

Our marriage consisted of months of consuming expensive ryes and cognacs daily with “The Ignorant-in-laws”.

I had married out of class.

I had married a woman I didn’t know.

Me coming from the stark reality of a life of everyday people.

The in-laws, (wife included), existing in what politely be described as, “the most arrogant, narcissistic, alcoholic Scottish Clan you would never wish to meet”.

Hence my using that as an excuse to continue being the drug addicted alcoholic, with a  great personality, of a man I perceived myself to be.

Which is a polite way of me admitting that I was, at that time of my life, an arsehole.

When intoxicated I was very charismatic and lovable but still an arsehole.

Even those who hated the verbal me loved the asshole me.

Change came again and I entered a new stage of life.

One of the conviction to “crap or get off the pot”.

So I put on my big boy pants and walked into “family” life.

The second marriage brought “chaotic stability“.

Becoming a Father was a positive metaphorical experience.

Gave me the courage to stop hiding behind self-pity, loud boasts and false happiness.

Taught me how to become a “man” per se.

That chapter also would end in us going our separate ways. 

Although we are long time since seperated we still speak daily and maintain a strange relationship.

It was/is what works for us.

Over forty years we have shared life and sons.

Most interactions are civil and peppered with segments of prior love.

Suffice to say that the not so civil days were a reminder of why we have separate addresses.

Long story short …. life went on.

Such as all lives do.

The reality of life is quite simplistic, “It is what it is.”

All the physical traumas my body has suffered over the past few years has greatly aged the physical me.

Most importantly, it has “humbled” me.

Now, in my twilight years, I identify  as a ‘true realist’.

The reality we neglect to speak of is that “life is what it is”.

Later in life,  when you reach your prime geriatric years, you realize that you have no justification in continuing to “put on a false face” or have to say what you think the other person wishes to hear.

You become the “wise elder”.

Your words become their teachings.

In layman terms, you “man-up”.

And living life in reality becomes the norm.

Remain humble at all times.

Share your Light during Dark nights.

Words heard are words said.

What you see is what is seen.

Feelings felt are emotions lived.

It is what it is.

“Or is it?”

The greatest lesson life gifted me is the realization that  ……

“Change only happens when change happens."