Broken Iris(es)

It seems the busier that I get, the more I neglect things that I once deemed important. I find myself constantly screaming at myself inside of my head to stay the course; to finish what I've started. Unfortunately, the more I focus on tying loose ends, the more that I am staring at unfinished tapestries of what I thought my life would be by now.

Don't get me wrong; I get things done. I set goals and I achieve them. Just not in the order I have intended.

I spend a lot of time reading and revising countless projects, be it The Nemesis Diary or a snippet of a song or prose I cannot complete. Part of me wonders if I will ever be truly finished with this game of cat and mouse that I play with my grown-up life and my creative counter-balance.

But things change.

For one, I feel my vision is clearing. Literally. No, seriously, I had surgery on my eyes and I see better. Apparently I've been seeing things between 20/50 and 20/70 for quite some time. I elected to receive Lasik surgery in place of playing the glasses/contacts game. I have nothing against them, but I felt they weren't the right direction for me. I have been walking around without seeing things as they should be for a while.

I am starting to see I was missing some important things. My physical body was way ahead of my inner scope. Hopefully, this begins a domino effect. I have people in my life that have been neglected but not forgotten. I have friends that I love dearly who I have not spoken a word to in far too long. I have things I need to accomplish that I have left on the back burner.

I am not ok with that.

I'm far from perfect, and I don't pretend to be. But I'm tired of making excuses. I have decided to do something about the scraps of paper that permeate my office and the post-it notes inside of my head. I need more than listening to the voice in my head. Thought without action is willingly accepting your situation.

Let's just say I'm seeing things a little more clearly now.

Sb.

Never Forgotten

As everyone knows, today is the 10 year anniversary of the heinous terrorist attack on the World Trade Center in New York City and on the Pentagon. I remember very clearly that day. I remember where I was, what I was thinking, what I was wearing, the complete loss of appetite and desire to do anything but stare at the tv...But what I remember the most was the gravity it laid on my soul. What I remember most was my 15th birthday.

Today is now my 25th birthday. I am a quarter-century old. I have changed so much since that morning 10 years ago, but the gravity still sits as heavy as it ever did. Please don't get me wrong; this isn't about me being upset that one of the greatest tragedies of our time happened on my birthday. I'm not naive enough to think that it was a personal affront to me. But ever since that day, birthdays have been a little bittersweet.

One thing I clearly remember was the pain I was in. That year, I had spent the better part of the week coughing up blood and running a fever. I had a nasty little bronchial infection (the bronchial tube is part of the respiratory system i.e. lungs) and felt like I'd been hit by a truck physically. Each breath felt like needles sticking in my lungs and throat, and I was unbelievable exhausted. Then, the tragic events in the East...Suddenly, I felt like the truck came back and ran over me mentally. I was heartbroken at the loss of life and complete disregard for the value of each life that was taken. I was furious that someone could condone what was done, claiming it was what their God desired and that what they did was righteous.

I was horrified by the events of that day; scared to death to go to school when I got better. I had nightmares for weeks. The idea of getting on an airplane was terrifying. As many have said, I will never forget that day 10 years ago.

Now, the real reason I decided to post: I am ok with sharing my birthday with that day. That sounds bizarre, but I couldn't think of a better way to celebrate my birthday than to remember the fallen heroes from that day. For that matter, I am honored to do so, along with remembering everyone affected from that September morning. Heroes transcend time. 10 years, 20 years, 100...It doesn't matter. Those brave men and women gave their lives trying to save everyone they could. They are heroes. I am proud to share my birthday with them as a chance to remember them.

I'm sure you've all thought back to that day; where you were, what you felt...I pray we never forget. As long as I live, I pledge to always remember that day. Things change, scars heal, but the memory remains. Thank you to all those who gave their lives or sacrificed so much. You will never be forgotten.

The Stranger

"Best to keep things in the shallow end because I never quite learned how to swim. I just didn't want to know...Close my eyes just to look at you; taken by the seamless vision. I close my eyes, ignore the smoke...Mistook their nods for an approval; just ignore the smoke and smile."
~A Perfect Circle 'Blue'

It's 5:00 A.M. and I'm wide awake. This isn't new for me. Not at all. But, for once, I know what's keeping me awake. I'm scared to sleep. Bizarre, yes?

It's kind of confusing; sleep is the naturally occurring state to which we go to restore and revitalize the beautiful machine that is our body. For some reason, my body doesn't dig it much. That's all right. I've dealt with it for a while and I'm surviving. What I am struggling with is this dreaming business.

I've had reoccurring dreams ever since I can remember. The most significant one (and one that is extremely reoccurring) begins with me entering a small restroom. The walls are grey, floors are black. Flourescent light on the ceiling, no toilet. Feels musty and dank. I walk to the sink and look up into a faded yet still reflective mirror. I see myself, except it's not quite me. Subtle differences; my eyes are more angular, features more sharpened. My hair is long (no surprise to anyone I'm sure) in both images, but this is where it gets creepy. I grab my chin and pull upwards, like I'm removing a mask. My reflection changes again, sharpening the edges. My eyes darken, and suddenly I have Jack Sparrow eyebrows. Again, I remove a mask. Same result (sharpened features, dark shades overtaking the light). Again, another mask. Then another. Then another. After a few moments of shedding my skin, I turn the sink on and rinse my face, then look into the mirror. I'm staring back at the same image I began with. Then my reflection puts his hands on the wall and starts screaming, but the real me stays silent. Eventually, the real me walks out of the mirror room.

Trust me. I have dream dictionary-ed the crap out of this sucker. I have heard a lot of theories, and they make sense. It's not the dream itself that frightens me though. It's more the unanswered questions that always come up after I have it. Why do I keep having it? What do I need to change in my subconscious? Blah, blah, blah. What it comes down to is that I think I am a stranger to myself. A subtle knockoff of the original. Close enough to recognize, but everchanging based on circumstance.

The worst part of this particular dream is something that caught me off guard recently. Is it really me who walks in to the mirror room or is it my reflection? And which of us is in control?

Go ahead. You try and sleep wondering who it is in your reflection, or if you are the Stranger yourself.

Sleepwalker

Lately I have been consumed by too many things. I haven't had the amount of free time that I'm used to, which is actually a good thing. I am one of those people who likes to be busy. I'm all right with it. I've had time enough to spend with my cute little wife, catch up on a little ESPN, and work on The Nemesis Diary (more is coming, don't you worry). But I feel I've neglected a few things. One of the things that has suffered greatly has been recording my new songs. I aimed to finish "The Next Best Thing", my second full album, by the end of last summer. Yup, I blew that one. I decided I'm not entirely ready to finish it, but I thought I'd leave a little taste of it for any who might be interested. This is my newest song "Sleepwalker."

I see your ghost
every time I close my eyes
I feel you close
when I can’t keep breathing
I hear your voice
When no one’s listening
I found the piece
I didn’t know was missing

And I feel like a newborn again
every time I open my eyes
If you think that I am sleeping
I’m not the one who’s really dreaming

I feel the sun
Wrapped in the shadows
I see the light
Bound inside the dark
The silver line
Has got me turned in circles
I feel so blind
But have we ever really seen?

And I feel like a newborn again
every time I open my eyes
If you think that I am sleeping
I’m not the one who’s really dreaming

In the end
There is only surface
When we drown
Where we find our solace
It’s not the end
We’ve only just begun

And I feel like a newborn again
every time I open my eyes
If you think you know the answers
Look again, I’m not dreaming

Unbreakable

There are a lot of things that happen that I don't understand. Things that I don't think should be able to happen do; things I never thought could happen have; things I hoped wouldn't happen will. I don't like it much. Today was one of those days that I got reminded of this.

I received some heartbreaking news; an old friend of mine, someone I grew up with, someone I even looked up to despite his own struggles, had passed away over the weekend. Worse still, his fiance' of one single night also died. They were in a 4 wheeling accident...I am not going to lie and pretend that he and I were close; but he was a constant during my entire childhood. He was someone I wanted to emulate in a lot of ways. He fought his way out of some extremely difficult things, and I admired him for it. I was rendered speechless by this news of his passing.

I believe in life after death; I believe he and his fiance' are together...but I feel it's the people living that have the hard task. I feel heart-broken for his and her family. I feel ripped in pieces for all of the people who knew him. I didn't know him well and I have shed some tears as I write this. The loss of anyone is tragic; the loss of a friend is heartbreaking. We can share sympathy or empathy and shed our tears and share memories, but we can't bring them back. We can't say the words we never could. We don't get another shot...not in this life at least. These are the scars that we bear not on our bodies, but on our souls.

Although I've dealt with death a lot through my life, I can't shake the same feeling I always get. Something feels...unfinished. Like a movie that ends badly. So many questions unanswered, so many things left undone. I don't do well with death; I never have. I don't think it's something I'll ever do well with. I don't WANT to do well with it. Never leave words unsaid. Never leave space between you and those you care about. Sometimes the opportunity to fill it never comes.

I wrote this next bit a couple years ago after my uncle died. I wrote it for my mother. I've never played it in a show, never shared it with anyone beyond my wife and a few others. I don't know how to express myself the way that I want to, but it seems appropriate for the moment. It's called Unbreakable.

I've tried to be my brother's keeper
but I closed my eyes too soon.
I thought that I was invincible,
Now I'm falling like a star.
In my hands I've held the world
but there's things I can't ignore;
A world of broken dreams
but I don't dream anymore.

I thought that I was unbreakable
I thought that I could take the fall
I'll leave the light on just in case
and you'll be in my heart.

I've tried to find a better way
to open up my eyes to see
that there was nothing left that I could do
but it's hard to carry on
In my hands I've held the world
but now it's nothing but a scar
a world of broken dreams that I can't see anymore
I thought that I was unbreakable
I thought that I could take the fall
I'll leave a light on just in case
and you'll be in my heart...


Rest well, my friend. You'll be in my thoughts, and in my heart.

Let the winds carry you home; blackbird fly away. May you never be broken again. (Blackbird by Alter Bridge)

Words Are Only Words

There are times I catch myself thinking out loud. For some reason, it irritates me. It's not that I don't like the sound of my own voice; more that it's nothing more than hearsay to me. I feel that I'm talking, not acting. I'm a great talker. I probably talk a lot. How much action do I actually take? Not nearly enough. Though I may have the best intentions, acting upon said intentions is sometimes difficult.

Talk is cheap, cut and dry. Anyone can say they're sorry, but until they act to make things right I can't say I honestly forgive their sleight. I am not much for pretending things are better until I see a change. I've never been good at that, and I doubt I'll be much better at it in the future.

But I'm actually all right with that. I've been taught my whole life to forgive and forget. In principle, I love this idea. You get what you give in this life. I absolutely believe in that. But I don't think anyone should be naive enough to keep forgiving and forgetting the same thing over and over again. That falls into something called ignorance.

With all that said, I am a very harsh critic on myself. I've looked back through my blogs and tried to see where I've traveled to in the last year. I don't honestly have an answer to my own question. There were things I really wanted to accomplish this year; I didn't. There are things I thought I wanted a year ago; now I don't. One can say to keep trying to get better. I'm not ok with that. I feel there are 3 Steve Barringtons right now: Work Steve, Home Steve, and Alone Steve. All three have their place, portrayed by the first word of each title. But the lines are blurring; I'm not sure exactly who the composite Steve is.

Worklife and homelife are pretty simple; it's the alone time that bothers me. When I'm alone, I feel like my soul is separating from the rest of my body. I feel like my skin can't hold my soul inside anymore (look for that little ditty in a song to be posted soon). It's exhausting, really. I'm sure others can relate to this...It's rather...uncomfortable. The reason I mention this third self is because he is the one that talks to himself. I seem to sort most things out during these little talks, but I feel like I'm doing a lot of talking lately. It's time to act.

I may not have achieved all of the goals I set early this year, but I'm ok with that. Most of those goals can keep floating into 2011. Sometimes things get in the way. I think the biggest roadblock for anything is a little word we call 'doubt.' But, as I said earlier, it's just a word. Words have power, but only as much as any of us give them. My focus has shifted. My dreams are a little different. My life has it's own course, and I am the captain of my soul. My intention is to attain every single one of my dreams, but, like I said, words are only words.

Lateral Move

Sometimes looking in the mirror reminds me of speaking with an old friend. Someone long removed from my personal life; someone I'd almost forgotten. Mirrors never lie. Our reflections look us in the eye, never stab us in the back, and they never spare the details. I think mirrors have a lot of power. Late at night, sometimes I'll just stand and look in the mirror. Not because I'm beautiful, but more that I feel I need to know myself a bit better. I have spent a lot of my life awake when I should have been sleeping, although lately I feel it's more the opposite.

Life has an interesting way of maneuvering us into different positions for things to happen. People often act surprised when life throws them off track a little, but honestly I don't feel that the 'track' is all that linear. Birds don't fly in a straight line all the time, nor do fish swim directly forward eternally. I have a hard time believing that forward is always the best option.

I've heard the term 'lateral move' a lot lately. Basically it means that you decide on something that doesn't increase your position nor hurt you in the long run. There's nothing wrong with lateral moves; in football, sometimes moving to the outside can open up the field. Others, you get annihilated by a linebacker. Either way, 'lateral moves' are irrelevant. It's the person making the choice that matters.

Don't get me wrong; I definitely think we should be trying to move forward in all aspects of our lives. But I've had a hard time throughout my life at any point that I feel I am just standing still. A mentor of mine has said that even though we are on the right track, that doesn't mean you won't get hit by a train if you're just standing still. That has stuck with me a lot lately. I want to progress, but the opportunity hasn't quite presented itself yet.

So, I will pretend to be a patient person and make a lateral move. I am going to take the time I have before the proverbial train arrives and better myself in ways that don't relate to my ultimate goal. I have songs to write, a book to finish, and a new album to record. I have friends I haven't seen in what feels like a decade and friends I still am yet to make. I have books to read, weight to lose, and projects to finish. I'm making a lateral move.

I know I haven't posted in a while, and that too is something I want to change. Blogs are a great way to vent pent-up emotions, so buckle up. This might happen more than just once every three months. Those of you in my life who support me, I thank you. Those that don't; well, I'll prove you wrong.