Scars Are Useful or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love My Faults.

There are times where I hate the person I used to be.

I wake up some days and I’m filled with loathing for the snide pop-tart I was at 21.  I seethe at my past self for being a kid who was more concerned with coasting through his life around binge sessions of World of Warcraft than he was with accomplishing something meaningful with his only shot at existence.

I sit in my chair with my hip hurting and I rage at my past self for not doing more to stay in good shape.  The anger helps me deal with the fact that it’s a matter of when, not if, I’ll have to go ahead and have a hip replacement, a procedure that both my father and uncle have had.

I am, literally and figuratively, butt-hurt about the arrogance of my past-self.

It’s easy for me to look back and curse the things I didn’t know and all the stupid stuff I did.

It’s still wrong to do it, though.

I am an author precisely because of that ignorant know-it-all who once shared my face and now lives within my memories.

All the stupid stuff I said and did are my greatest strength.  The pain and accompanying shame of what I have done and what I didn’t have the courage to do have given me much-needed wisdom.

Apparently, learning the hard way is the only way I’m interested in learning.

This weekend is a perfect example of the power of my misspent youth.  I managed to steal one of my oldest friends for the day and we went (adult) crazy.  Chinese buffet?  Check.  Fantastically odd action movie at the theater?  Check.  A trip to the board-game store followed by fast food and board games until midnight?  Double check.

Throughout all of this, we talked of all the stupid things we’ve done.  Memories of two decades of friendship displayed for one another like vintage baseball cards; Old scars shown with flare.

I managed to catch him off-guard with a fresh set of stories that he hadn’t heard.  Things which had happened to me (which I did to myself, obviously) that happened during a brief hiatus in our friendship during those oft-bedeviling early twenties.

The stories surprised and delighted him.  Believe me when I say that there exists no filter between the two of us.  We have talked to each other about some of the greatest and most horrible moments of our lives.  As I sat there, sharing the ridiculous tale of how I went on a date with a girl in Texas (which involved a plane ride, a white sequined belt, and all the regret) we both engaged in hauteur remonstrances of how silly and ignorant we once were for now we are adults, full of secret wisdoms which are veiled from the young.

Drunk with pride at our growth, we cracked open yet another board-game in a long line of them which would be played exactly once.  But I digress.

I am this achy old man (of 34) precisely because I did indefensible things like fly seven-hundred miles for a thoroughly mediocre date.  I’m a wise man from all the time I spent not being wise.  To be angry at my younger self is to curse the well from which I draw water for being full.

It also doesn’t help that in casting stones at my former self I am forgetting that I still live in a glass house.  This blog was written by a fully grown adult who has a wife and child and pays his taxes who also stayed up all night despite the fact that he has to work a full day at his fully grown adult job.  I shall spend today chugging caffeine as if it is the only thing tethering my soul to this plane of existence  Which inevitably means that my aggressive consumption will cause me to sleep like crap tonight, thus creating a two-for-one special of sleep deprivation.

Yet even though it is an erroneous decision, there is still useful bits buried within.  I like to think of such poor moments of judgement as an opportunity to be the best bad example.  “Look” I cry unto my readers “and see what not to do!”  Now, when I begin touring the convention scene, I have an amusing tale to share about all those times I was a raging idiot and pulled an all nighter instead of sleeping like a sane person.  I have advanced my career, given myself new material, enriched the tapestry of my experiences, and gained a new scar to show off.

It’s a win-win-win-win!

It is the height of folly to throw away the gifts of my past actions, so I shall clutch my past tight.  It is important that I never forget the mistakes I have made so that I can remain laser-focused on making even better mistakes in the future.

Disasterfully,

The Unsheathed Quill