Sometimes I hate who I am. I know that’s a terrible thing to say, but that’s just how I feel sometimes. I hate what I’m capable of. I hate that I’m not as dedicated as some people. I hate that I’m lazy. I hate that I have a tendency to start things and then never finish them. I hate that I’m quiet and shy. I hate that I find it hard to be myself around people. I hate being a social chameleon, changing who I am to make other people happy.
I know all of this is probably a bit of an over-share, but I don’t care; it is what it is. And I don’t necessarily think it’s a bad thing. I don’t know about you, but I always love when an author gets personal, it makes them easier to identify with and relate to. It reminds me that they’re just like me, human, and that they have flaws too. And that yeah, sometimes they hate themselves. Besides, if you’re reading this blog (then you’re one of three, max) you’re probably one of the few people who might actually be interested in what I have to say.
I figured I’d spend today’s post getting personal, talking about my life long before the blog. Sometimes I feel like it’s good to reflect on your life, like maybe it helps give you perspective. Anyway, so if you don’t already know, I have a fairly unusual (and I’ve been told sad) family history. Growing up, my dad worked two jobs to make ends meet; he’s been a janitor his entire life. Now some people would think less of him for what he does for a living, but I’m not one of them. To me, he was doing everything he could to try to give my family everything we needed, even if it meant that he wasn’t home a lot or that when he was, he was usually tired and stressed out. One of my best memories I have as a kid is going to work with him at the local YMCA. Sometimes situations at home would dictate that he had to take my sisters and I with him while he worked the night shift. He would open up the Y and let us run around and explore while he did his thing. I have some great memories of playing with the toys in the daycare facility, chasing my sisters around the track in the upstairs gymnasium, and exploring the empty building for signs of life.
Now even though my dad worked two jobs, we barely made ends meet. You see my mom couldn’t work; she was diagnosed with lupus when she was younger and suffered from a host of other ailments. Her social security check was a help, but it still was just enough to help keep our heads above water. As a result, I didn’t have the things other kids had growing up. I got use to wearing the same clothes for years, to the point where they were practically falling apart and I looked like I belonged in a bad 80s movie. We never had a computer growing up; in fact, I didn’t get my first computer until sophomore year of college. I spent countless hours freshman year in the computer labs. It wasn’t until my buddy Joe gifted me an old clunker from IITS that I finally had a computer of my own. I’m still reminded of my humble upbringing, every day in fact. You see, another thing that my family couldn’t afford was to buy me new shoes every year. I was always wearing shoes that were too small for me and as a result my toes have this funky curl to them; a constant reminder of where I came from.
Well, that’s all I feel like sharing at the moment. Perhaps I’ll share more sometime, hoping that maybe by reading it you (or I) might gain some perspective. Enjoy the beautiful weather outside.
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