The new me and other lies

I'm honestly jealous of the goal-directed among us, those who know that their future is one bright spot dead ahead of themselves; those who can reinvent everything to make that future a possibility.\n My burden has always been my scattershot nature, the fact that I'd like to do just about everything and go just about everywhere at least twice. The first time for a new experience is marred by anticipation, the second time is either sweetness and light or recriminatory in nature. One reason, perhaps, that I've always liked Monet's views of Rheims Cathedral more than the linear vision of Piet Mondrian. \n Some people are new every day they are alive. The kind of people that Oil of Olay was made for, the unlined, untouched pod people of the Planet Experience--you don't have to look too hard for aliens, they live among us. \n These people usually run for President, the perfect job for them. They rise from backgrounds where nobody worried about where the next Big Mac was coming from, and nobody fussed over the size of an electric bill. Their lives were a progression of "events" such as military service and baseball franchise ownership: Both natural steps for the leadership of a sports and death-obsessed culture. \n Lest I seem petulant, you should know that the last time I wanted to President of the USA was in second or third grade. When Mrs. Youngblood asked the second grade class to draw a picture of what they wanted to be when they grew up, I drew a picture of a man at a desk under an overhead lightbulb. Lawyer, I said, now that's the job for me. \n But lawyers are interpreters of experience, and usually not the genesis of anything but contortions. I soon knew that I was far too different to be one of those people. \n I found the New Me very early in life, and by the time I was in high school I knew all public electoral positions were not in my life plan. I wanted to be a poet, though I didn't want to wear flowers in my hair or strum a guitar or bang bongo drums at poetry slams. I grew up in the Sixties--I knew for certain I didn't want to live the Sixties. \n All the traditional pursuits open to gay men such as hair dresser or interior decorator are beyond my capabilities. I can't cut a straight line or say fabulous! with proper conviction. \n I've been adrift my entire life, though not unpleasantly. \n I was reminded of this recently by meeting an acquaintance from my undergrad years, the brother of a friend of mine. Now he's an IT consultant, married, and much chunkier than in the young days. We chatted over some hors d'oeuvres at a housewarming party. \n I used to think that the New Me that I discovered so early in life was the continuing definition of who I am now: Temperamental poet, a couple of bricks shy of genius, an experientialist, a phenomenologist in an oxymoronic world of static progression.\n I'm beginning to see this little myth of my life as mythic indeed. By standing apart from the world, one feels free to criticize it instead of improving it. The life of a ranter is very seductive, it's very powerful to feel free to criticize.\n My old friend has all the things I feel I don't have; career, house, spouse and uprightness. The encomium of the world sits upon him like a garland. I'm jealous, and I admit it. \n When you stand back from life and set yourself apart, everyone seems to have it better than you. Undoubtedly, this is how the Early Christians felt in Rome--not all martyrdom is pretty. \n But as we talked, I felt a strange sensation of satisfaction creeping over me. This is not the first time it has happened in the past couple of years. I've been hacking it down like kudzu, and it grows back just as quickly as I cut. \n Sometimes, I'm very thankful that HIV came into my life, bringing all the reason in the world to assess oneself soberly. I was kind of puny all summer, so I took the summer off. How many thirty nine year olds get to say that?\n I never thought my life experience would be worth writing about, but here I am, writing about it. Not too many people take that opportunity.\n I might even have a real job when I finish my Master's degree, and eventually the psychic heartburn of a mortgage and a car payment. I can't wait to see what it feels like. \n I'll never be President, thank God. I won't have to wear virtue like a scout badge, be morally straight, or cosmeticize my little warts. \n The New Me? All a big lie. But like the lies we tell ourselves to make external conditions bearable, it's one I can live with.\n I came home from the party with a clear and happy mind. I sent four poems off to web magazines, and three of them will make their debut on wiredhearts.com in September. \n I rarely look backwards at the start of a new experience, I usually wait until the halfway mark, if I can identify one. To the second grade me, I'm generous to a fault--poor young thing didn't know what was in store for him; for the high school me, I admire his determination and courage to be gay in a gay-bashing world. For the undergraduate me, well, he inhaled, Mr. President, and has no reason to lie about it. \n With half of my Master's done, more than half of my life expectancy complete, it's time to move forward--and not with the New Me. Just Mark and HIV...