I am not jaded.

September, 2024

I am filled to the brim with all the beauty and history that the cities of Italy have to offer me. Yet there’s a visceral quality which fails to penetrate me as deeply as it once did.

Even when staring down at the vista of nature’s masterpiece — a Tuscan hillside — or at the great artists of Italy’s past, whose works have rivaled its natural beauty, I found myself strangely unaffected.

I wish the Sistine Chapel had a greater effect on me. I wish that I came to some profound conclusion about myself, the world, and my place in it. But it almost feels, sometimes, as if such moments are now beyond me.

I’m hesitant to declare myself in a jaded position in life. That is not the case. It's true, my optimism has been tested over the past couple of years, but there have been bits of shining rays peeking through the blinds of my darkened room, even moments of glory.

No, I don’t want to say that I’m jaded.

Hope has always existed for me in some form. That is the double edged sword of the creative brain. You don’t always get to choose, especially in idle moments, which direction your creative imaginings pour. It spills over in all directions. You can conceive things, which, from the objective observer, appear not to be there at all. You can create your own problems from false imaginings. Likewise, you can create your own hope and sense of purpose. Most of these are not conscious. But they can be.

The drugs we take to medicate our undesirable emotions, to numb the unwelcome thoughts, do not dull only one side of the sword, they soften the entire blade. No, the beauty of Rome and Florence is not at all lost on me.

I am not jaded.

It is simply that examining the internal world has become my main source of satisfaction. All that I do in the external world must tie back to something here, in this notebook. Otherwise, it feels purposeless.

I am not jaded.

But the internal world can only take you so far on its own merits, and it is desirable, if not essential for the external world to feed the visions of the internal. It is more than essential, it is paramount. The nagging urge to create from all that I see, all that I experience, becomes a wasted opportunity if I fail to do so.

I cannot deny the absolute comfort of bliss that comes with the few moments which lack this perceived self-responsibility. Moments of absolute presence, which come packaged in forms both holy and hedonistic. Writing, physical exertion, reading: my trinity. Promiscuity, sedation, destruction of the senses: my three-pointed-dagger.

I am not jaded.

But it’s important to have an awareness about these things, to take note of where you’re at in life, because the road you’re on now may not be the one you find yourself traveling in the future.

I want to be honest with myself. Candid. As I would with an old friend. An old friend I owe my condolences to, for the abusive language he’s had to tolerate.

I’m sorry, old friend, but I promise you, I’m not jaded.

I’m in a privileged position on Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs. Somewhere between Love and Belonging and Self-Actualization. I’m not afraid to admit this. Pain is relative, as I’ve always said. But I am a hopeful man. I always have been. Even in my moments of destitution.

I am nearly two months clean from my addiction to Xanax. Except, that’s not entirely true. I’ve dipped my toe back into that fiery lake since, but relapse is a part of recovery they say, and I’m well on my way. Don’t feel sorry for me. A lot of things have changed. More than few remain the same. I still can’t sleep at night. And for the first time, I noticed the signs of aging in my face. I used to appear five years younger. I probably look my age now, and a little bit older in the eyes. I recall that vain wish of Dorian Gray for his portrait to take the brunt of his sins, so that he could remain forever youthful in his appearance. I thought I would always come away unscathed. But my sins have finally caught up with me.

Yet, I am not jaded.

I wake up, staring out at the world with naive expectation.

Maybe it will reveal something new to me today.

Something worth writing down.

Perhaps that is enough.

Perhaps that is everything.