3. Fool's Golden Buzzer

 

I thought of something else that must be said and it's this: I quit.  Let me clarify.  I didn't quit any of the things I should have quit like smoking cloves, drinking soda, or watching reruns of America's (or Britain's) Got Talent on the internet.  Those things brought me joy.  What I quit was my Life.

In fact, the realization of what I'd done came to me while smoking a clove, drinking root beer, and watching a dance group comprised of boys and girls with Downs Syndrome get the golden buzzer.  I got emotional and started to cry when hit me, or when I finally decided to admit it to myself.  Whichever one it was didn't matter because the response would be the same.  I was ashamed of the paralysis I agreed to.  I was brought to my knees with grief.

If I'm being honest, those kids were horrible dancers.  I knew it, the judges knew it, and the audience knew it.  They also deserved that golden buzzer.  We all knew that, as well.

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 I had a handful of golden buzzer moments in my life.  I'm sure of it.  Just never the actual buzzer.  For whatever reason, the people who spent time in the judgment of me could never bring themselves to press the button.  They wouldn't allow themselves to acknowledge the goodness in me.  And there was goodness in me.

My Dad did his best to beat it out of me because he wasn't able to accept that he turned his back on his own.  My Mom exploited it and my siblings resented me for the choice she made.  My ex-wife manipulated me and those I was close with to create a fictional narrative.  In her narrative, I was guilty of the behaviors she engaged in but was unable to assimilate into her persona of perfection.  She created a scenario where I was publically persecuted for what she was ashamed of having done.  She used my ability to suffer as a vicarious way to incorporate the parts of herself she couldn't accept on her own.  And I agreed to let each of them do it.  I mistook that for love.

I know why I quit.  I know why it wasn't a good reason or excuse.  I also know it wasn't a choice as much as it was a response or reaction.  It takes courage to walk on stage, all alone.  It takes willful resolve.  I did it a thousand times.  Eventually, you question yourself for doing it.  Especially when you know you've given a handful of golden buzzer performances but never received the buzzer.  Eventually, you quit because you know you never will.

I quit my life because I spent it playing to the wrong crowd.  I danced for an audience incapable of spontaneous movement or rhythm.  I quit because no matter what they gave it would never be what I needed, or wanted.  I quit performing and after some time started doing something else.  I don't know what it is or how to describe it.  It feels different, like a thunderstorm, or the rapids in a river.  It feels, in a way, like Life.