The Studio

There are things that I am sure of, in my head anyways. You think that if you're sure of one thing in the world, you're sure of who you are -- the fibers of your core. Then you have a night like tonight, and you begin to wonder.

I'm used to asking my friends hard questions: What makes you tick, what are your motivations? What is your past like? What are your hopes, dreams?

But tonight, tonight Tiffany asked the hard questions. What is your number one priority in life? What event in your past was influential in the decisions you make today? Was there an event that was a turning point in your life? I was surprised that I was stumped.

If you know me, you would know that I can spew on for hours about myself. I can tell you what I like, what I don't like, my opinion on any number of topics, making stuff up and filling in the gaps where needed. I can probably entertain you for a long time, all the while entertaining myself too. But ask me something important like, what is your priority in life, and I don't have a satisfactory answer. My knee-jerk answer is family, of course. It's the proper answer, the expected answer, the responsible answer. But, is it the real answer? I wavered. No matter what I say, I have difficulty convincing even myself.

And so I realized tonight that there is a lot that I still need to figure out about myself. It was a hopeful discovery. Perhaps that will be my adventure -- a journey inward. It was great to let down my walls and share my unmasked self with Tiff. I love these evenings. There ought to be more of them.

Thanks Tiff!

A winter's day
In a deep and dark december;
I am alone,
Gazing from my window to the streets below
On a freshly fallen silent shroud of snow.
I am a rock,
I am an island.
I've built walls,
A fortress deep and mighty,
That none may penetrate.
I have no need of friendship; friendship causes pain.
It's laughter and it's loving I disdain.
I am a rock,
I am an island.

Don't talk of love,
But I've heard the words before;
It's sleeping in my memory.
I won't disturb the slumber of feelings that have died.
If I never loved I never would have cried.
I am a rock,
I am an island.

I have my books
And my poetry to protect me;
I am shielded in my armor,
Hiding in my room, safe within my womb.
I touch no one and no one touches me.
I am a rock,
I am an island.

And a rock feels no pain;
And an island never cries.