Listen. I’m an okay human being. Nothing to brag about. I drink water and breathe air like a regular mammal. I rewind DVD’s before I return them (yes! Really 😂😂😂). I turn off lights when I leave the room, even if people are still in them. I’m a man of conviction. I’m comfortable in my skin. But it wasn’t always that easy. It took me a long time to get to this point. A point where no fucks are truly given. Because for a long time my goal was to please others and make them feel comfortable. To the point where it almost ran me into the ground. But I was fortunate enough, before it was too late, to come to understand, but even I had limitations. Now the goal is, and always should be, to continue to better yourself to strive and to be a better version of you everyday. But even within that Journey it requires what we learned about serenity. Having the courage to change the things you can and the level of acceptance within yourself to to know what you can’t. And discerning the difference with wisdom and clarity. That’s me! Some big ball of serenity. And mainly because I know that I’m not perfect. I’ve got flaws. And too many to list. But if I had to line them all up and point out one that is greatest of them all, it wouldn’t be a tough choice for me, not by a long shot.
I am undoubtedly the worst person in the history of humanity at going to the post office. I say it loud, honest and proud. Not Pride that I’m the worst at going to the post office, but crying that I can wholeheartedly admit, not burdened by shame.
Now don’t get me wrong, I’ve been to the post office a million times but I am not clutch. I’m not even remotely regular. In no way, shape or form, am I a model of consistency. I shouldn’t be counted on, in a life-or-death postal situation.
But I would say that I’m always well intended. And yet, still a guaranteed failure 99.9% of the time. The only excuse I could possibly make, as some shrill of a defense, is that as a New York City born and raised child, I typically only had to go to the mailbox, the big blue thing at the end of the block. And even as a young adolescent, my mother frequently gave me slips to walk to the post office to retrieve packages, and even then, I would still blunder it. I would forget the slip, I would forget to go to the post office because I became sidetracked by any number things that happened between my house and the six-block walk. Friends, the comic book store, the barbershop, the library, the bodega. Never just the post office and back. And it never became any better as an adult. When I was married, my ex-wife pacified my terrible behavior, because she always went to the post office and took care of those administrative things.
During my military career, it only became worse because I would go to foreign countries and bring back mementos and trinkets and I almost never sent them to the people I picked them up for. I think the only reason I got away with it for so long was because I would frequently take leave and fly from the West Coast back to the East Coast and just bring things with me. I think this made it so that most people didn’t notice how bad my proclivity was. But deep down, I knew, even if I wasn’t ready to admit it.
The absolute worst experience to date started back in 2007-ish… a great friend of mine graduated from the US Military Academy, a remarkable accomplishment of a remarkable person. It’s customary tradition to make someone a shadow box of their accomplishments. So I made my dope friend a shadow box. It was beautiful, I put her name tags on it and everything. Man, some of my best work. But then came the inevitable destination, The post office. Uh oh.
All I can say is seven years… Seven years went by And I finally sent it out. During those seven years, we have been through two presidents, multiple Super-Bowl championships. Found and lost love and Jesus… Not mention, a good weed dealer. I had moved several times, the homie had been on several deployments and command changes.
By the time, the homie received the box, they leveled up and had been promoted 4 times!!! And wasted no time letting me have it on social media (in the middle of our annual rivalry week of the Army Navy football game) when they finally received the shadow box… Mainly because it broke en-route…
In all fairness, I rarely ever go to the post office, so I didn’t know I had to insure the package.
It’s a character flaw; I admit it. But what’s most important is that by owning your flaws is how you become a better person. Because once you know what your real character flaw is, you can embrace it. Face it head-on, conquer it and find a way to do better.
Me? I just usually find ways to do things that don’t require me to go to the Post Office.