Procrastination is not just a common annoyance but could also be a chronic and debilitating condition that could thwart a life in the wrong direction. I find clarity and direction in a place called Coney Island. Where I can redirect myself when gone astray.

Moby Gratis

Thanks to The Graf Family and Amos Wengler.

Home Away From Home

I've been told many times that I have my head in the clouds.
My mind dreams off in every direction most of the time.
Occasionally I need to watch my footing and make sure I haven't meandered off course too much.
As a result, my sense of belonging somehow feels displaced.
Like I've been living in a rocket ship that circles around and around -
stuck in an Einstein's theory of relativity - where time seems to go faster for me than for everyone else.
Or is it the other way around.

It seems everyone is living fast
with purpose and movement
with so much to show for and to share with the people in their lives.
They're either toiling at stable work environments
or creating something unique to offer the world.
They're making families, more friends, and getting older.

Then I realize, yes, I have lost my aim.
Or at least, taken too many steps down an adjacent, but not intended path.
When I finally catch those rousing subplots of my dreams riding yet another pitiless wave of time. It has passed. Time - I find myself in no good terms with it. Feeling stymied I give it, not no more, of its hours as I whisk myself back to my center. That place away from desire or fear. Which, at first, takes some refocusing. That too seems a bit disheveled and displaced.

That's when I find a physical place outside of me that suits as a proxy for my center.
My roots. My home away from home. Coney Island. Here is where, lately, I find my grounding again. Could it be this place is calling me back? Perhaps for me to stay or just to have a visit and a good talk?

Coney Island to me is like a monolithic time prism -- reverberating long ago echoes of an enigmatic and pulsating past while constantly conjuring up whiffs of a jaunty and cognizant future. I take a few schleps along the boardwalk. Slouching down in a blasé pose on a hackneyed bench. My face out to the inbound waves. With each salty breath of air my mind lulls into a mode unencumbered by excessive clutter. Now, I can listen better to my life. Where it's been. Where it's going.

I feel I belong to different worlds but not really part of any. Too often visiting the land of missed opportunities -- shunning away from people and situations that can open the door to new involvements. Those that could perhaps lead me to realize my dreams. I find myself on the outside looking in. I accomplish the beginning of something good - then I move on. Maybe I don't want to witness the outcome? Perhaps it is that fear of failing. Don't know.

What I do know is that I have yet to reach my full potential in one thing -- in one place to start again. Yet I know the passage of time will not slow down for me and I can't rewind it a bit either. . I'm afraid to admit that the chemical concoction that makes the 'me' is comprised of an unmerciful blend of abilities with a clashing set of neurosis that perpetually thwarts me into a paradoxical state of self sabotage. The so-called spooky science of the mind has not caught up enough to rid me of these grips.

But I won't wait for a magical cocktail to swoop down in a wing and a prayer. I am determined to prosper -- not bound in a false orbit - gone astray and hurtling further out. This ride is simply going too fast. If only the solution would be as easy as yelling to the carny to slow it down so I can thrive in the real world like everyone else seems to be.
Thanks once again, Coney. I think I know now what to do.

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