"Dungeon"

I used to manage a billionaire's estate.  You can see photos and read about it here.  There was a dungeon in the bell tower basement with a real executioner's sword.  There was even a skeleton.  It was plastic, but the billionaire and I laughed about it.  I didn't laugh about the sword.  It gave me the creeps.  The beautifully etched designs on the blade were worn where it had hacked off heads.  Ew.

Once again IF gave the Friday word on Monday so I don't feel very cooperative about writing more about dungeons.  Let's consider it my not so silent protest.

I've been exploring my teenaged brain lately.  What a mess!  Maybe all teenaged brains are, but I'm pretty sure mine was more messed up than most.  I grew up, mostly got my act together, and pushed the teenage years into a hidden corner of my mind.  I hid it so effectively that's it's been a challenge to excavate it.

Of course you might ask, why bother?  So glad you asked.  Because ignoring the past doesn't make it go away.  Its lurking influence effects my life in subversive ways I can't identify because I hid things so thoroughly from myself.  I think that's true for many of us, though I suspect most are content enough not to bother figuring this stuff out.

I talk with a high school friend sometimes.  We walk down memory lane and each of us is surprised by the things the other remembers of our lives back when, especially the bad stuff.  I call her my "Truth Teller" because she calls things as she sees them.  We play a very important role for each other because we can verify each other's lives.

Maybe you're still lucky enough to have all your friends and family.  I haven't been so lucky.  I've lost a lot of people and part of my life seems to disappear with each death.  Part of these people disappears every time someone else dies who knew my people and knew my life the way it used to be.

In a way, writing about my missing people is a way to keep them alive in a different form.  They aren't forgotten.  The impact they had on my life lives on through me and the others whom they touched when they were alive.  I can only hope I've had some positive impact on others and someone will remember me when I'm gone.

Examining my teenaged life isn't about the happy memories though.  It's about hard times and bad decisions.  It's remembering people who had both light and dark sides, or some who only had dark sides.  Hiding from those realities is like locking a part of myself in a dungeon.  I am who I am today because of who I used to be and who I used to know.

It's a quest.  I want to live my life with every element in it, without editing things into what I wish it was.  I want to celebrate other people in their entirety too.  In the end, we don't love perfect people.  Learning from our bad decisions and accepting our flaws make us infinitely more interesting and loveable in the end.