Wind Over Tide

6-1-2015 I once told you I felt I like a supreme screw-up because my life has been fueled by disappointments and goals that rarely came to fruition. I keep at it, still pushing, still trying. I have this mental image of everyone I know belonging to an exclusive club and in my mind this club has dinner parties and socials in a large, stately stone meeting house. My invitation didn't get lost in the mail- it was never sent in the 1st place. So I envision myself standing on that road or in that parking lot, dressed up, waving to friends who don't notice me standing there. I walk to the windows and see everyone laughing and talking but have no ticket so I can't actually go inside. I search the property for scalpers who may be selling extras and even though I worry that people could look at me and know I wasn't invited, that maybe, just maybe, the ticket would be enough to show everyone I deserve to be there, too. But there's no scalpers because there's no extras. One per invitee. People get invited because they possess that elusive quality of success, one that has nothing to do with dollar amount. A success of being a part of something, of having been chosen, of having moved forward. I stand on that lawn inside my mind and look around to see I'm the only one out there. That feeling of not being enough, of somehow falling short to a partner or professional world, of not holding interest, of being alone, excluded, lonely, confused. That's probably my biggest secret. I want nothing more than to be included, invited to join events, groups, you name it. I love people and being around them. We are supposed to be whole on our own as people but I'm not sure I am. I can work by myself for hours and need zero interaction but I crave being part of a unit and spending time together, the very thing other people take for granted is a the very thing that makes me happiest. So in this mental image I find myself out on the lawn, alone, staring through the windows at people whose professional and personal lives have moved forward, people for whom things have worked out. I remember telling you I feel like half of my week is spent convincing people I'm exactly what I wish I was but it's impossible to convince myself. We sat eating hot dogs and onion rings. You made that clucking sound with your tongue and said it was absolute nonsense. You said that someone who worked as hard as me and stayed true to a vision and goals would not fail. I reiterated that I had failed, I wasn't making much money, it was tough to get jobs, my books hadn't been adapted to film or television and I had to hustle for everything. I wanted to make sure you saw me honestly. I was in demand for nothing. Magazines wrote articles about my books but my paychecks rarely equaled the attention. I was a lone wolf working toward some uncertain future. And uncertainty makes me a nervous wreck. You knew that, most people don't. I needed you to understand how I felt day after day. How scared I was I'd disappoint everyone and myself and amount to nothing. You wiped your hands on a napkin and said that no one who put themselves out there, moving to different cities, finding new ways to push forward, stepping outside any comfortable box, could be seen as a failure. That I had no idea what was still in store for me and needed to be just as proud of who I was as what I was. I agreed that held true for you as well. Most people knew more of what you were than who you were. You responded, “Well, when I'm gone, it'll be up to you to let them know.” We walked to the car and you put your arm around me. “You'll have a good ending to your story. I've never been wrong about you.”