As I wait for inspiration on the ‘Throne of Comprehesion’, I truly desire the ‘taxonomic reason’ for inhaling life to it’s fullest. With the age of 50 literally two weeks away, a mundane existence is starting to and appears to be cultivating in the horizon. Mind you, some may espouse that this is a manifestation of the aftermaths of Covid-19....but is it though? I ponder, could this pandemic very well be the culprit, or just an accelerent of the asinine existence currently and/or ahead of me? As an avid reader, and a ‘wanna be’, professional writer, I long for a life of those that I have read about in the abutting past. Wealthy individuals who have left a profession, in which that they have known all of their lives, only to pursue an ‘unknown’ experience greater than themselves and whom have tightly grasped ‘lighting in a bottle’! These turn of events and interest could have been completely ripe for failure, but still drove them to the desire to find their ‘Cliff of Exploration’. This was an interlining task only for them to accurately jump blindly into, it was the ‘inner success’ that was there inside themselves all along! Names of inspiration, that clearly make this old man dream of distant, unfounded success and desires that I long for deep inside of me are well known individuals. Names like Duncan Hines, whom found change in a career after the ripe old age of 55, only to become a ‘household name’, in America, in his 70’s. Or females like Vera Wang or Martha Stewart, whom had accomplished great success in an arena that was comfortable to them, only to take a leap of faith in a realm that was somewhat unknown. Could an ‘unknown ascendency’ lie within me? Could I change my mundane existence and truly find happiness in my feverish dreams....perhaps? Or maybe my path may follow the guidelines of someone like Joy Behar? A woman whom enjoyed a life of teaching students in high school, but in her mid-forties, decided to take up her real passion of stand-up comedy and found considerable success in teaching others to laugh at life when times were trifling or syndical. Man, I ponder.....I wonder if this is achievable in my life, could it be possible, again I ask? In light of Covid-19 amongst us, I must wipe my slate clear of this, ‘pandemic of fear’ and create the person that I feel exist just beneath the surface. I must pursue a path, my path, that I believe that God has intended for me. In my heart and soul, it is a somewhat clear destiny that has always been planned for me to walk along since the beginnings of manhood, only to be greatly desired and appreciated right now in my ‘seasoned existence’. I pray that the timing and execution is completely accurate for producing success and happiness. Well, with each word that I write, I find comfort in knowing wholeheartedly that even if I come within 1/100th of a Joy Behar, I will somehow posses 1/2 of her namesake. I will and must posses, ’Joy’! ‘Joy’, in an old man experiencing a new journey in life. ‘Joy’, in trying something difficult in a difficult time for myself and a difficult time in humanity’s history amongst a pandemic. ‘Joy’, in not truly knowing what lies around the corner, but running towards it anyways. ‘Joy’, in this ‘humdrum knowledge of 50’ and not giving a damn anymore about the aftermaths. ‘Joy’, just for the sake of such, man because I deserve such! In these trying times of a pandemic and old age, it is all that I have left.....and I cannot and will not fail........’Bereft Joy’ in the ‘rear view’ awaits me and I wish the same for any aged individual feeling the exact same as I do......we deserve such.....we are worthy of such! ❤️
About the Creator
Tyronn Rahda Monroe
poet, violinist, musician, short story writer, furniture builder, artist, photographer.....etc....and recently trying to write screenplays. Covid has dictated that I must travel down exciting, new roads of prosperity to survive financially.
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Silent But Deadlier
Let’s begin by explaining that this is definitely not a fable in any sort of way. This is a story that I hold close to my chest and only a minute amount of close friends, that I consider family, know of said story.The only reason is because they were there on that dreadful, Saturday night. I have changed the name of my closest friend in this story, which to this day, I call, ‘my brother from another mother’. Let’s call him, ‘Curly’, for legal and social purposes, shall we? I must also mention that after growing up with the Three Stooges, I had always wished that my mother had named me, ‘Curly’, legally. This was well until I was deep into my twenties. Call me ‘crazy’, but this too is 100% true and ‘screw you’, if you think any of this to be a lie, LOL ! Ok, here is how the freakin’ story goes....... ‘Curly’ owned a small percentage of a huge bar and restaurant, that I frequently patronized. Suitably, let’s call it, ‘Moe’s Place’ for all of the other ‘die-hard’ fans of the lovable Stooges like myself. This place was a bar that on certain Saturday nights, I would actually ride my motorcycle directly into, revving my engine. Now, this was a rare spectacle only utilized when extremely large amounts of tequila and beer were consumed before arrival? But, gosh damn, did I love it and the ‘newbies’ to the establishment had a kool story to tell about their night at ‘Moe’s Place’! Another known and much pleasurable fact was that this bar possessed a ‘topless’ only strip-club. It was separately attached to the back end of ‘Moe’s Place’, as well as above the bar, with a completely separate entrance. Now, Curly and I were known by every patron as, ‘The life of the party’, and as drinking goes, by all and every means, we absolutely were. I must also indulged that we were not young men in our early ‘twenties’, but childish fellows in our early ‘forties’. (I was a ‘late bloomer’, so freakin’ sue me if you can’t relate to trying to play a little ‘catch up’ in life?) When it comes to enjoying what life we have here on earth, I feel deeply that age should not matter, but only the good times with friends and family should. Trying to out drink younger guys and making people laugh was Curly’s and my passion. We lived by an ‘unwritten’ Marine Corps motto that ‘tomorrow is never promised, so drink up every ounce of goodness of life, today’! (Our wives at the time would sometimes argue that our motto should not be taken ‘literally’, but knew that we were ‘ happy drunks’, not ‘cheaters’ and would allow us blow off some steam from time to time.) This night of the story was birthday night for Curly and I promised him and others, that I would be the funniest and most fun guy at this birthday party. We were known for trying to out do one another to make people laugh and forget their ‘woes in life’. Tonight had to be ‘epic’ in every sense of the word! The only thing was that, I had the reminance of a slight ‘stomach virus’ brewing, but I would not let the advice of my caring wife and ill stomach stop my attempts of greatness this night. As the night flowed of tequila, whiskey and beer, my stomach ‘brewed of deceit’. But, how can I, in good conscious, listen to it’s lies..... I could not, I wouldn’t! I would still try to achieve the title of, ‘King of the funny men’, and nothing must stand in my way, even as a bubbling was a brewing. Later, after three hours of drinking, Curly suggested a couple of drinking hours in the VIP section of the strip club, just before everyone took cabs to their homes and wives. ‘Excellent idea’, I thought to myself...’Most excellent idea, sir. Lead the way and I shall follow’! I had two hundred more dollars just screaming to exit my pockets! Arriving at the entrance of the club, with a loving entourage of Marines ready to have fun, we were greeted like kings. “Right this way fellas”, “good to see you again tonight” and “your usual table in VIP is free tonight for Curly’s birthday”. These words rang out from the every member of the caring staff. “If there is anything you guys need, do not hesitate to ask”. We all nodded politely and were ushered in. Here, the antics began to appear as funny man after funny man did something to make the staff and other Marines laugh. Not one man was being rude to staff or ackward in any way. We were all like family in this establishment, even including the staff. Every one knew each other by first name and everyone knew each other for years. Curly even asked some dancers politely to handsomely pay them for allowing him to dance for them as they sat down and drank. The ladies laughed and enjoyed ever moment of getting paid to drink champagne and receive a lap dance or two from an slightly overweight, old Marine . “Well played, Curly”, I thought to myself. “You may very well win, ‘Funny man of the night’, tonight”? How can I top this antic? Is there any way possible? Then, the tequila said to me, “You can do this, you can top him, Marine”!!!! Just then, not thinking clearly, I said to myself..... ‘a silent, but deadly’ fart would do the trick. It had worked before and it would be a ‘show stopper’. Oh.....but, I was sooooooo wrong! As I let one go, my inebriated self forgot about my wife’s sound advice. I forgot that she was a highly educated nurse that was trained to understand the beginnings and ends of a stomach virus. But, in that precise moment of farting, I surprisingly realized that I had a terrible stomach virus and I just made a dreadful mistake! I had just pooped myself and did not know what to do and where to turn next? As I sat hopelessly in the corner of the booth, and Marine after Marine and dancer after dancer faces begin to grasp the ‘Stench of death’ in the air, everyone laughed and said, ‘O.....k....who in the hell let one rip’??? Dancer after dancer began to leave disgusted as nauseousness ran rampant. The frolicking atmosphere of jubilee abruptly stopped. My ‘plans of greatness’ have indeed gone awry. Curly stood up, grabbed a bottle of champagne and said that he had an admission that he wanted to relay. The toast went like this...” I just want to tell you fellas that you have made this night one of the greatest of my life!” I could only nervously giggle and order a last round of drinks before I could plan my sh#tty escape. Curly, continued with his toast.... “I also wanna say that the ‘sh#t has literally hit the fan, fellas. I had been feeling sick today, but had to celebrate with my closest pals. Can someone just close the tab for me so we can head home, please?” As everyone left, Curly could see in my eyes how embarrassed I was and handed me a extra shirt to tie around my waste. Curly said to me smiling, “The stomach virus that you have now, I had last week. I tried to do the exact thing you did Monday at the bar. One of the waiters saved my ass literally LOL. So, know I am saving yours, brother.” I thanked him as he said to me, as we exited the club hurriedly, “Hopefully, bro, you don’t have to ‘play it forward’ next week?”😂
By Tyronn Rahda Monroe5 years ago in Confessions
6 Tiny Habits That Work Even on Bad Days
I discovered these habits on the worst day of my life. It was a gray Tuesday morning when my world collapsed in stages. First, the email: my position was being eliminated. Then, the phone call: my grandmother, who raised me, had hours left. By noon, I was sitting in a hospital parking lot, jobless and about to say goodbye to the only person who'd ever believed in me unconditionally.
By Fazal Hadi6 days ago in Motivation
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