The Lost Ones.
by pronounced "ahhh" like a sigh
Sometimes it seems that the going is just too rough
And things go wrong no matter what I do
Now and then it seems that life is just too much
But you’ve got the love I need to see me through
I’ve been a little down lately. And by lately, I mean about a month or longer. I know what triggered it and I’m a little embarrassed to admit– even vaguely– that I was so affected by it. When it happened, I acknowledged the sadness and the disappointment. I inhaled and held it. And as the days went on, whenever I was threatened by a flooding over, I would inhale and hold and inhale and hold and inhale and hold. Until there was no breath left. Until my lungs were full. Until the air stopped moving around me. I felt numb to it. “it” whatever it was. It had iced my veins. I thought this was better than the flooding over. It was better than that drenched in it. This feeling nothing. This wide-eyed and sleeping. This going through the motions. I’ve been planning and creating and building this organization. We launch on December 7th and I’m scared. And rather than allowing the fear to take root, I inhaled. And held it. So somewhere in that breath was fear and disappointment and sadness all mingling and codependent.
I thought quiet was better. I thought silence was better. And sometimes it is. I didn’t/don’t have the time for navel gazing and exploring. There’s too much to be done. The world doesn’t pause because you need a moment to catch up, Bassey.
And catch up I did. All the years I’ve felt disconnected from came rushing back. I’ve never felt “my age”. I’d look around at people the same age as I am and wonder why they were so grown up. Why the lived the lives my parents do. When did we decide to get husbands and mortgages? I’ve always felt a few years behind. I blamed it on the years I spent on tour. I blamed it on the illness. I blamed it on the New York City that I loved for encouraging arrested development. I felt this disconnect.
Creeping towards 40. And what to show of it? A few clips on youtube. A smattering of freelanced articles online. An absurd amount of tweets.
A frowning, yawning bank account.
I want the years I lost back. A proper do-over. There is no regret here just a lamenting. I just know a lot was expected of me. I know that I had been given so much. I know that the distance between what I’ve been given and where I am are disappointing to those who saw promise.
I saw my favorite college professor and he said what I know many have thought:
“Wow, Bassey. We thought you were going to take over the world. What happened?”
I don’t know.
The Siwe Project is my way of giving back these years I’ve wasted. At least without me here, there will be a legacy besides the brown, big headed boy who deserves a better version of this world. The only thing I have fit to pass down (to you) is this heart of a dreamer…
“But I want you stronger sooner/ want you kind and brave/want you unafraid to fight for what you believe and need/want you beautiful and free/want you nothing like your mother…”
I’m fine. I just need something to puncture my lungs.
I need to get this air out.
Return feeling to my limbs.