So, in 55 minutes I’ll be 22.
This birthday I’m doing exactly what I want to and nothing more. My plans this year? A hike/picnic with my very best friends, lobster dinner with my amazing, lovely family, and enjoying a movie. Keepin’ it simple man. Honestly, drinking sucks. Going out is just not fun anymore and I just didn’t want to do it this year.
So, what do I want for this upcoming year?
Nothing more, really. I literally have everything I could possibly want. I have a loving, understanding family that has always been there for me and supported me. I have hilarious, sexy, down-ass friends who have never once alienated me, understand my introverted, sometimes strange ways and never took them personally. I have two lovely places to call home, I have awesome top-of-the-line technology from my MacBook Air, iPhone, and iPad, to a new fuel-efficient car.. I have a college education to enrich me, I have an appealing appearance, I have a wise and capable mind. I have books and the Internet and access to all the knowledge I could possibly want. I have the understanding that there are no closed doors, and I know the many ways to open any door I desire to walk through in this life. And man, I fucking have freedom! I’m not bound by many of the invisible mental chains I once was. I actually get it that I can do whatever the fuck I want with this life. This realization is one of the things I’m most grateful for, because life completely sucked before I found this freedom. I have deepening peace of mind and increasing physical/mental strength from the daily routine I started this year (in order: walk outdoors, meditate, brain training exercises, and work out at the gym). I really have everything I could possibly fucking want, right now! I am unbelievably blessed.
It’s weird to feel that there’s literally nothing lacking for me to desire. In the past, I always felt perpetually unhappy, because there were so many things I wanted to be. I guess I just realized that it’s not about that at all. The whole point of living is the living itself, not how great you can become by the end. All I want to do tomorrow is wake up and keep on doing what I’ve been doing. I’m actually excited for my morning routine. I’m excited for the simple birthday celebrations I have planned. This year, I just want to keep growing. I wanna keep getting stronger. I wanna keep developing the inner peace I’ve found. I want to keep being creative, working hard, and starting new projects. I want to keep connecting with amazing, interesting, passionate souls from all walks of life. I want to keep learning and diving into risky new experiences and smashing through every challenge. I want to keep obliterating every negative, limiting thought. I want to keep reading and I want to keep writing. I want to keep deepening my relationships with family and friends.
Yes, I can actually say that all I want to do in my 22nd year, is keep doing exactly what I’ve been doing. That’s how satisfied I am with the way I’ve been living my life. It’s a fucking great feeling to realize that right before your next birthday.
Sydney Wonder
I’ll be 22 in 5 days. Every year on June 18th, I stand facing the start of an unfamiliar road. I stand there with a tingling sense of the theme of the coming year. It’s a feeling like I know what lessons are next in store for me to learn.
Well, in my 22nd year, I will be alive.
From 50 feet above, a magnificent crystal chandelier spreads its golden light across the grandest ballroom. It smears streaks of luminescence all over its walls. Shimmering strands of light hang off the crystals and drape around the room as they please, blissfully ignoring gravity’s boring rules. It’s absolutely silent, except for the soft tinkling of glittering light that floats throughout this golden room. I’m absolutely alone, except for the presence of a majestic love and belonging that infuses every square centimeter of this place.
The floor is also divine. Marbled, like cream and peach swirled ice cream. Cold and smooth, it feels like glass beneath my naked feet. I move my right leg forward and let a single toe connect with the surface.
Slowly, cautiously, I siphon my weight onto my pointed right toe. Grace itself lends its arms out to support me. I have no fear. I lean forward, still on pointed toe, letting my stomach fall softly into the arms of Grace. I’m now craning like a ballerina, my left leg outstretched high. There’s no pain or resistance, only fluid motion. No effort or expectation, only destiny unfolding. In perfect harmony, we synchronize a turn. I whirl, dipping my head under and through the doorway of my outstretched leg. The room does an uninhibited, love-drunk spin for me—oh, how beautiful this world looks in motion.
And then I fly. We take off, Grace and I, weaving about one another to a cosmic music that directs our dance. My torso and limbs elongate; my heart uplifts like a helium balloon reaching for the sky. We tumble about in the enchanting air of this golden room, both writing and playing out the song in my soul at the same time. I am fearless. I am weightless, limitless. I am manifested. I am simply being. I am free. I am immaculately beautiful, because
I, am.
- Sydney Wonder
You, are so
ungraspable.
I can’t make you out…. just yet.
Look at me. Come here.
Unfold.
Believe me, I can understand you. Actually, I’m the only one that will do you perfect justice. I know I lack stamina right now, but I have the capacity. I know I lack some will, but it’s coming. I’ll get it.
I’ve already determined my future. I’m currently gathering the tools to build it, but the outcome is already determined. Human will is a powerful force. I’m finding mine. I have a clue about where it is. That’s closer than most others—they haven’t even realized theirs is missing yet. My search is now many years deep. I’m yea-close to closing in and taking it, the whole entire beautiful flawless elusive thing.
So just come here. You can unfold here. You’re coming with me; I’ve determined that. Yes, I am the one.
Writing is always so motherfucking excruciating for me. I’ve never actually enjoyed it. So it’s strange to realize that the only thing I’ve consistently created for the past 10 years, is my collection of words. Over the years, and not even on purpose, I’ve built up this body of work that is my soul in words.
I don’t see why anyone would willingly choose the life of a writer. There are the endless solitary nights that blur into mornings. There are the long, long periods of mystery pain while it simmers in you, until a new piece is born and you’re finally free. It’s kind of like having a baby, over and over and over… horribly uncomfortable for 9 months while you carry around this growing weight, and you don’t even know what exactly is in there. Then when the time comes, you have to just go through one looooong night of pain to get it out. So you go through what feels like taking the biggest dump of your life for hours and hours, and then you finally get to see what the hell was so deep in your mind, bothering you for so long. Ultimately, it feels really rewarding when you finally get to see the baby and people tell you it’s beautiful. But you never wanna have another baby ever again. Too bad though, because you know you will. You know that next idea is gonna impregnate you, whether you like it or not, and you’re gonna have to do it all over again. Hmmmm.. fuck.
So yeah, being a writer was never something I chose, this shit just happened to me.
Let’s be honest… You’re not gonna save me. I don’t want you to, either. You can’t do it the way I need. I gotta save me.
So boys, men, I appreciate it but please. Step aside— you’re standing in my sunlight. I need it to grow.
I’m on a great search for the inner me. This is my time, and I just can’t share it. So don’t romance me, don’t buy me gifts, don’t fall in love with me. Just do this for me: get out of my way.
The problem is, when it comes to a female who has been treated well by men, who knows her worth, you just can’t fool her. This is a fact. She knows the difference like night and day.
You, boy, are a lovely one. That’s for damn sure. But you are still young of mind, still looking for things a young boy will. My taste is refined— I only care for men.
My whole life has been an earnest, curious stumble toward true love. I’ve never been one to give a crap about anything else.
Believe one thing. No man has ever fooled me yet, and you certainly won’t be the first.
No man has ever disappointed me yet, and I think you actually were the first, because the beautiful idea of you… was so more intoxicating than the actual thing.
I understand you better than you know. Were you being authentic? I think not even you know the answer to that. But for what it’s worth, on my end, in those moments with you..
I was honest.
Like I always am.
…You know, I did enjoy our brief, enchanting dance.
I
Eyes everywhere
for me to see.
As they, too
are seeing me.
Being me.
I love eyes,
and I love how they shine,
and I love the power of mine
to fix upon another pair,
and stare straight in,
for as long as I dare.
I, Eye, I, Eye, I
Show me all you’ve got inside.
Let me step right through, and imbibe
the eternity of your universal mind.
To see and be seen, you see-
makes me know I’m alive.
I loved your eyes,
I always told you that.
I loved how they were kind
and deep, letting me come in and hide.
And now these eyes of mine
have lost their loving home.
Voluntarily, they left
to courageously fashion their own.
-Sydney Wonder
I am the flower; you are a bee. I’m holding my power; you’re not consuming me. Let’s dance in the floral air I’ve perfumed with my love. I wanna make you high, and put my spice into your blood. You see, I can make you come alive. Set fire to your mind, and electrify your insides.
My kiss is an invitation to a mystic dance. I’ll show you the playful and captivating game of romance. You might be the special bee, when you finally show your hand, who tastes the sweetest flower in the land.
See you intrigued me there, high up under the twinkling city’s moon—yes you. Let’s stay and dance awhile. I want you.
- Sydney Wonder
Come on, come on, come on. My shaky hands toss through the pieces, not knowing quite what to do with them. I scoop them together into a pile—a clumsy, collapsing pile. Come on, come on. The important thing is not what you do, but that you do- something. Yeah, everything’s broken. Irrelevant. You’re used to this. You’ve been here a million times before.
Onward. We must press ONWARD!!!
It’s not glaringly bad. The only time it’s glaringly bad is after I wash my face. It’s when I press my wet face into the soft cotton towel sitting across my open palms. Nothing can explain how time suddenly grinds to a halt in the few seconds while I linger there. I can’t explain the sick dry-heave of longing that rumbles up my chest, swift yet strong, like I’ve just been punched. Or why it feels so hard to pull away from the soft cotton darkness—an unexpected hiding place. For the briefest moment, it feels like I never want to leave.
But I never linger longer than 3 seconds. I allow one deep breath of solace, then lift my head straight back onto my shoulders, before the comfort coaxes out a part of my soul that I can’t afford to unpack. I hang up the towel and go— Onward.
