The Road Home

     There are times when I don't recognize myself in the mirror.  This happened last week.  I washed my hands at the sink, turned off the water and looked up to find a stranger staring at me.  The stranger startled me.  I spent the next few minutes staring at my reflection, trying to find some spark of recognition, but I didn't.  I felt disconnected.  I felt like a spectator, someone in the audience watching the eerie scene play out.  This feeling stuck throughout the rest of that night and the next day.  It was a sad mid-life-crisis sort of feeling that forced self-reflection and induced a light depression. 
     This happens to me every once in a while.  I think it may partly be due to how I think of myself.  I still feel like that immature twelve-year old who lived for the bright days of summer and the carefree freedom of growing up.  This should hardly be a surprise considering the address of this blog. 
     Despite the occasional episode of feeling lost or disconnected from who the scruffy, sleep-deprived, short-fused, worn down man-boy I have become, I have days like today; days when I feel a little more awake, as if I have been in a coma for years and am starting to near consciousness.  Beautiful days when the sun is shining and the temperature is just right.  Days when I get to spend time with Michelle, sitting under the stars together as a massive yellow moon rises behind us and later as she falls asleep against me as we watch a show.  Days when the boys laugh and play and do the most adorable things.  Days when I am awake enough to be cognizant of all I have and love.  Days when I recognize that person in the mirror because he is both the man and the boy.



"Give me the time to show how I have grown..."
           -Remy Zero