Escaping, Writing, and Turning 50

Escaping, Writing, and Turning 50

Driving for 10 hours with a knee in a brace through the mountains of Colorado put a lot of pressure on the knee; however, I made it to the house in Winter Park.  My mind hasn't been geared towards writing so this morning is just for my personal blog, as I need to refocus my mind towards writing.

Fifty isn't an age I ever believed I would see, let alone be celebrating.  Yet, here I am about to celebrate 50 years of living in this physical realm.  As seems customary, I'm alone.  Fifty years and the only birthday party I've ever had was the one I threw for myself when I turned 30.  I rented a space in the only Country Western gay night club in Arlington, Texas, and invited the people I knew to come celebrate and dance the night away with me.  I used to love to Country Western dance, something I haven't done in many years.  The club scene doesn't appeal to me much anymore, not to mention it is difficult to find good dance partners.  That night 20 years ago began a change, as that was the night that someone younger than I chased after me.  You see, I've always enjoyed the company of older men.  Maybe it was because I found them refined, intelligent, or it was simply because I felt that I could relate to them.  I seldom had friends my own age growing up.

For three days I have driven, because my friends were concerned about me driving after knee surgery.  Yes, they all know how stubborn I am and when I want to do something, I do it.   For years now I have denied something of myself, my heritage - that of the simple country bumpkin running around the farm with my animals, riding my horses, going rodeing on the weekends, water skiing with the family every Sunday (every day on the weekends if there wasn't a rodeo).  Thus, yesterday I visited the American Quarter Horse Museum, the night before I bought myself my birthday present - Wranglers, Justin Ropers (I didn't know they didn't make the Lace Up Ropers anymore), a cowboy belt, and a cowboy hat (which I had shaped into my own personal style).  Yes, I'm returning to my roots.  Every moment of which has brought memories long buried.  I don't remember much of my life, either by choice or because of the many challenges with my brain.

The last month has taken me to the point of extreme exhaustion, to the point that I could no longer deal with people. Buried somewhere inside the rough exterior is the loving, caring, gentle child that life pushed inside the now strong walls for protection from the evils of the this world.

How does one reconnect with that inner child and to allow that child to reimerge knowing it is safe to exist even when there are chances that pain may present itself?