eighth iteration

I don't pay much attention to the passing of time any longer... for whatever reason.  It comes and goes, ebbs and flows, sometimes flies and at others drags.  This last year I've just had my nose down, doing my thing, ignoring it.  I used to feel the incessant need to constantly keep the world updated with monthly updates and mundane thoughts scattered in between.  As I got older, those types of blogs seemed to melt into the horizon, only to be replaced by stories with much more meaning and heart.  A break up.  The healing.  A return to traditions, etc.

After the New Year turned over I shifted my focus inward and stopped worrying about keeping the world abreast of my situation.  Aside from what I felt was a necessary update on the one year anniversary of my breakup, I stuck to this new mantra and kept to myself.  Sometimes to my detriment, sure, but for the most part to great success.  Admittedly (and before I knew it), autumn descended on Minneapolis; the sun went away, replaced by rainy days and cloudy skies, leaves turned amber and now yellow as they wash down the streets.  And a so familiar yet so comforting cold starts seeping in through the walls.

I read a book this summer by Emma Cline called "The Girls," and I'd taken a picture of a passage that really resounded with me.  In regards to time, she wrote "it was a gift.  What did I do with it?  Life didn't accumulate as I'd once imagined.  I graduated from boarding school, two years of college.  Persisted through the blank decade in Los Angeles.  I buried first my mother, then my father.  His hair gone wispy as a child's.  I paid bills and bought groceries and got my eyes checked while the days crumbled away like debris from a cliff face.  Life a continuous backing away from the edge."

So without further adieu, may I present...

THE SEVEN YEAR ANNIVERSARY FOR

MUSINGS OF A

SELF-PROCLAIMED AUTHOR

Seven years ago when I started this blog seems like it was a world apart from me as I am now.  I'd been prone to writing pieces that were just... bleh.  Frustrated in one because I couldn't find inspiration, lamenting my inability in another to tell Jeff Kivi that I had a crush on him (ruh-oh, the truth comes out!), and whining because I couldn't turn my mind off at night.  Then it turned to writing about a great date, subsequently a failed relationship, and then I kicked off what this blog would truly be with the mission of 26 Golden Things.

Parallels could be drawn between then and now... there was a lot of heartbreak between the words, bits of raw honesty that I was so afraid to put to paper back then.  I grew more comfortable sharing that over the years, and I only say comfortable in the sense that I was more and more honest about it and how things affected me.  Cutting through the baloney and not hiding behind the "I'm okay!" attitude I once did.  I almost revel in that honesty now.  There's nothing to be lost from honesty, only gained, and I ride that bike quite well.  So far removed from friends and family back home, one starts to feel removed from an old life in general.  And that removal makes me increasingly feel that I've got nothing to hide.  It's liberating and scary at the same time.

Last year I wrote that my goal during the seventh iteration of my blog (i.e. life) was to get back to being simply happy.  I think I've succeeded in that quest, maybe not in the way I'd have thought or even hoped, but life gets in the way sometimes.  For the most part I am happy though, and I'll take that.  Mission accomplished!

Everyone has a chapter in life they don't want to read aloud, and maybe this last year became mine.  It wasn't for fear of not wanting to broadcast anything, I just had nothing to say as I tried to figure out my situation.  I was so focused on myself, so turned inward, that the thought of writing it all down was lost on me.  I look at my house and everything I've done in the four short months since I purchased it and I'm astounded.  I'm also annoyed, because I didn't take nearly as many progress pictures as I should have, but I digress.  Life is what happens when you're not looking, and only in hindsight do I see what happened this year.

Keeping my head down wasn't necessarily a bad thing, as it allowed me to get to where I wanted to be on the house.  I've painted every single wall and ceiling in the place (leaving a lot of baseboards to paint over the winter), replaced every light fixture, outlet and cover.  Keeping my head down allowed me to finish writing the first draft of my fourth novel (and grand finale of The Onyxus Chronicles), something I did not anticipate happening but there it was.  You see, focusing inward and on myself meant that I started doing the things I always loved doing.

Creating.

I had the time of my life this summer turning my house around.  Some people marvelled at the workhorse I became, how much time and energy I put into my projects, but I loved it.  I loved slapping that black paint on the living room walls and tearing out the kitchen ceiling and running that roller of flat white paint over the final stretch of ivory high-gloss on the ceiling.  I got to play with the things I've accumulated over the years, shifting my taste in decor from amateur to higher end.  And as far as the book goes, finally writing the conclusion to a story I started 18 years earlier?  Heartbreaking and astounding and exhilarating.  I felt like I had found my voice again, and that I was more than just the sum of my parts and what happened to me in the past.  I got back to me and what drove me.

That quote from "The Girls" resounded with me because... for me at least... it draws up so many images of regret.  That I'm wasting my time, or that I'm just keeping my nose down too much.  It conjures the fear that eventually I'm going to look up and it won't just be autumn, but that it'll be autumn and I'll be 50 years old and wondering why I never made the changes to my life I thought so much about.  Those changes range from ridiculous to simple, from quitting my job and selling everything and moving to another country to just exist and see how it goes... to just making more of a plan on finances and how to proceed more cautiously, planning for the future and what the responsibility of doing so means.

I'm not sure what I want from the eighth iteration of this blog, but what I do know is that I want to use it more.  I took the time I needed to get back to a center I had lost sight of, and that's great.  Which direction do I want to move in now?  I think the jury is still out on me and what my plans in life are, so in the next year I'd like to decide on my future.  That's a big statement, pill, glass of water, whatever you want to call it.  But I think a lofty goal is sometimes the best kind of goal, and I'm happy to apply myself to it.

For the music portion this time, I'm sharing "Loverboy" by Ryan Amador.  Not necessarily for a specific lyric as I have in the past but because of how it makes me feel.  It draws that nostalgia of love inside of me, for whatever purpose, and it makes me feel content.  There's nothing wrong with a little contentment.

So thank you for sticking with me for seven years of these blogs, I hope they continue to get better and evolve right along with me.  Maybe soon I'll post a progress blog on the house, but not too soon because that'll make me rush even more to get it done.  I think I've earned a small break.

Ciao for now (c;

a full year stronger

You don't hear from me much anymore.  I had a little sprint going on for a while, partly because I had stuff to say and no one to say it to, and then I posted a New Year's blog and disappeared into the void.  Started a couple blogs and just had to put them on the back burner, as there really wasn't much to say.  Or if I was saying something, it sounded stupid.  But today I am back because it is the one year anniversary of something.  I think saying I "love" anniversaries would be overselling it; I appreciate anniversaries, that's more in line with reality.  They are wonderful reminders of all sorts of things, good and bad, and can show you where you were and how sometimes it is in sharp contrast to where you are.  I fall into the latter category right now.

A year ago today, I was shaken awake at 1am.  The bait I'd set to catch my fiance in a lie... the bait I'd gone to sleep "letting go of" because I trusted how easily he responded to it... well, it had actually worked.  And in 8 words from his mouth, words that only came from fear of being caught, my world was thrust backward so sharply and so suddenly that it still surprises me how *calm* I had been at the time.  I didn't go Angela Basset in Waiting to Exhale, I didn't go Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction.  If anything I went Sandra Bullock in Hope Floats and just... existed.  Not necessarily angry, not content by any means, but mostly just overwhelmingly sad.  Another failed relationship.

You can only look back and see things in this sort of light, I know that.  In the moment I think I may have portrayed calmness but really I was dying inside and my mind was on this hell-bent journey into madness.  How can I keep him?  How can I push him away?  How can I afford my life?  What will I do with no one in my life out here?

How will I do this on my own?

I reassured myself that I'd done it before and I could do it again.  After-all, I'd been through a horrible break up before and made it out the other side.  Maybe that was because of the Golden Year?  Maybe it was because I had my network of friends and family with me all the time?  So, blindly, I trusted myself that "it'll get better, just keep moving forward."

A week later I was promoted to the General Manager position at Pottery Barn.

Two months later I kicked Derek out.

A week after that I started seeing my therapist, Kelsey, every Wednesday from 9am-10am.  There were tears, there was laughter, and after some digging there was more than enough heartache to last a lifetime.

The holidays came, more pain came, I sucked it up and kept going.

It had to get better.

Thanksgiving had me absorbed in work, Christmas was bittersweet, turned 32 and got super sick.  Heat went out at the house, problems persisted in my life, and started New Year's Day finding out the house I was renting would be going on the market in a few months.

For the first time since the breakup, contemplated moving home to Wisconsin.  Leaving it all here, leaving my job I'd fought to get for five years, leaving the past here, and crawling back to familiarity to lick my wounds.

Decided not to give up.

Started looking for a house to buy.  Took it as an omen that my realtor was named Kieren, seeing as the villain in my books is Kieran, and I always like the villain better anyway.  At least they're committed.

Looked at 36 houses over the new several months.  Made offers on five; three of them $30,000 above the asking, still lost out on them.  Heart broke a little more each time.  Finally looked at a sketchy house with CRAZY colors that a couple lesbians owned.  The house made me feel something the others hadn't... some sort of weird charm.  Offered the asking price on lucky #37 and it was accepted.

More stress came. Therapy had dropped to every other week.  Reconnected with Derek at the end of April, made amends.  Suffered through May and waiting to close on the house.  Life spiraled out of control, my paranoia took over, I was edgy and nervous and frustrated and tired.

Signed for the house, and then... it was better.

I moved in and just felt the shift.  Going through everything last year with the unstable ground of housing is no bueno.  Something as basic yet essential as your shelter should be concrete under your feet, not this weird liquidated mess of moving boulders and swampy trenches, but that's what I had.  Timelines.  Or timelimits, rather.

I think a lot of what I went through, at least the emotional aspect of it, could have been solved quicker if I'd just moved out of that house we had shared together as soon as I could.  Maybe that's the role I just get stuck playing, "the one who stays behind"?  As had happened six years earlier, Derek moved out and I had to stay to finish the lease.  To be fair I forced him to move out but if the ends justify the means then it is what it is.  Staying contained to the walls of a place that was once full of so much promise might seem like a good idea in the beginning, but really it's the worst thing you can do.  You're locked in and stuck reliving the past like some broken film reel that keeps spinning and spinning, over and over.  How can you ever expect to move on when there are daily reminders to the person with a freakishly strong memory of what had transpired in the house?  We laughed over there, we watched movies right here, lay on the floor right there, made love over there.

They are the haunting images of a past life that don't die away, even if the person you lived it with is no longer there.  And that's hard.

That's the toughest pill to swallow.

So now here I am, a full year later.  I spent the last twelve months sort of counting down to this day, holding on to the hope of "you'll be fine when it hits one year," and I think am.  There are still moments that catch me off guard, but they are few.  And that's okay.

I'll have my next (and last) therapy appointment at the end of the month, and from there I guess it's time to just suck it up and get going.  I have house projects to work on now.  I have a kitchen to finish remodeling, and a dining room to put back together, and then a million and one other things after that.  Money comes into play, which means more time comes into play, but it'll get there.  I'm not the same person I was a year ago, though diving into what that means is saved for another time.  I hope I never stop changing.  Never stop appreciating the little things, no matter how much the big things hurt me.  You can look at the little things as just drops in the ocean.

But what is an ocean, but a multitude of drops?

a new resolution part vii

This was... a year.  "It was a year," that's enough of a statement on its own, isn't it?  I don't want to say "worst year ever," because that potentially takes the title away from something later down the line.  I don't want to say "nothing worse could have happened this year," because plenty of things could have.  Someone could've died, I could've gotten incurably sick... lots could have been worse.  So, 2017 was a year.  One I never want to repeat, one I never want to look at again, and one I'm glad to see disappear through the windows that are currently covering themselves entirely in frost inside my frigid house.

Illness in your family is hard.  Break-ups are hard.  Promotions at work can certainly be hard.  Living on your own and a bit beyond your means is hard.  Not having your family and friends nearby is hard.  Losing weight is hard.  Being optimistic is hard.  Being sick is hard.  Going to therapy is hard.  All of this wrapped-up but not contained solely to a single year?  That's hard too.

You know what isn't hard?  Looking forward.

It isn't hard to see the possibilities that lay in the realm of things getting better.  When things don't go your way (as this year largely did not go my way), it's easy to see what they would be if they were good.  Mostly because when you're in the moment, you know something is bad because it isn't good.  Parent is sick?  It'd be great if they weren't.  Get cheated on?  It'd be great if the next guy didn't do that.  Get super sick and still can't seem to shake it after three weeks?  Oh wait, that one's current.  DOesn't change how I can still picture in my mind what I'll do when I'm NOT sick anymore.

Namely have nice hair again and not worry about coughing anything gross onto my clothes.  You're welcome.

It was easy for me to get pissed at life this year.  About anything, really, and at anytime.  The two aren't mutually exclusive.  Last night it was about being pissed when I came home to find the heat was out in my house.  Normally 68 degrees, it was a crisp 51 (and would proceed to drop another 8 degrees, which may not seem like a big deal but try sitting in a 43 degree house while sick and tell me you're comfortable).  I bitched and moaned for a while then tried messing with the furnace before deciding it was no use and calling my landlord.  Continued to bitch and moan until I was sitting motionless on the couch three hours later and hitting my mental wall.  It was nine o'clock and I figured the heating guys most likely weren't coming (they weren't, ps), so I needed to work the problem.  Pull a Matt Damon in The Martian and figure it out.

So I turned on the oven, made myself some food, finally stopped shaking from the cold and warmed up a bit.  I worked a solution to the immediate problem.  Temporary, yes, but I figured it out.  In a way I've been working my problems this whole last year.  I was slapped in the face with some, and others I just happened upon randomly.  For each one I had to stop and think and figure it out.  This didn't always happen quickly, and for some of them I'm still working on it.  But I did get pretty good at solving the problems in my life and I think it's okay to admit that.  You can only look BACK and say so, which I realize now.  In the moment you (I) kinda wag your hands and pant because you're in full-on panic mode and nothing makes much sense.

I'm approaching this New Years resolution a little different because I'm taking cues from the past as I do so.  Don't go rolling your eyes, you'll probably appreciate where this is going. 

When Ken and I broke up in the early/mid part of 2011, my life was in shambles.  I was in a weird stasis, doing the things I knew I should be doing (work, friends, family) but not doing anything else.  I had to do what made sense because it kept me moving forward.  When the year ended (and I still felt that way), I did something to change it.  This was when 26 Golden Things came to life and subsequently, 2012 became the greatest year of my life.  It was a year spent focusing on me, and solely me.  Sure, I had my friends and family come along for the ride, but it was about understanding who I was as a person and growing from what I was and into who I wanted to be. 

At the start of 2013

Why can't right now be the same?  Not in terms of recreating the movie project, or really any all-encompassing project for that matter.  What I mean is that I need to turn the focus onto me again.  I spent the majority of 2017 "working the problem," assessing the damages and proceeding accordingly.  Derek and I broke up right in the middle of the year, so timeline wise, it was about the same as Ken.  At this point in the game there isn't too much left to assess, as all the chips have fallen where they either should have or just decided to roll to, and I'm content with it.  But I'm not content with continuing to lay motionless.

George Michael sang "now I'm gonna get myself happy" in Freedom '90, and the words never resonated with me until recently.  I watched a lyric video and listened and read and nodded my head a lot, because I never got what he was saying.  The Cliff's Notes version being that he did everything for everyone else because it was what he was "supposed" to do, and now he wanted to do things for himself.  Simple as pie.

2018 is starting with a supermoon, not that it means anything, but it's special.  And if you follow horoscopes (as I casually do), then I'll let ya know Saturn entered Capricorn on December 19th, which is one of its home signs.  Now this comes across as mumbo-jumbo to some people, and even for me I only take what I want from horoscopes and all that, but the gist is this: since I'm a Capricorn, now's my time.  To shine, to excel, to maybe knock-over a convenience store and make away with like $200 bucks and some soda.  Either way, the cards are stacked in my deck.

At the start of 2018

I wanted to recreate that picture because it showed me after a period of great change in my life.  It was the person I turned into after a year of hard work and perseverance and struggle.  I don't necessarily want to get back to that version of myself, but I want to continue learning where he stopped and became complacent.

My resolution for 2018 is to further myself in every way I can.  I don't want to list examples because while I love a self-fulfilling prophecy, I feel if I list something I'm limiting myself.  And for this year, I don't want limits.  I want to run and jump and climb trees (not really) and get back to me.  Find myself again, find what drives my passion and my curiosity, find what makes me laugh and why it makes me laugh.  I want to find the love and the joy that I know I have inside of me, and I want to scream it from the rooftops like I used to.  Centered, content, and ready for anything at a moment's notice.  That's the Sean Parker I once was, it's the one I want to be, and it's the one I can be once more.

Life will get better.  And you can ask "why?" but the answer it simple and finite.

Because it has to.

the final hurdle

In retail, we spend essentially a third of our year gearing up for the holiday shopping season.  Planning, strategizing, implementing, and then really just holding on and riding it out once December hits.  This is my 14th holiday season in retail so it's really not new to me.  This year was going to be a little different from the last, like... maybe six years.  Because I'm running my own store?  Well yes, technically.  Also because of a break up that I'm so tired of writing about but still finding lessons within.  So if it's the most wonderful time of year and 'tis the season to be merry, why do I find myself looking so much into the past?

The overpriced 2017 tree.

The holiday season largely has been a marathon for me.  I started listening to Christmas music the instant Halloween was over, putting the spooky decorations away while bopping around the house in a festive mood and feeling a little bit lighter in my stride.  After all, I made it through the first of the three big holidays, the other two should be a breeze!  I decorated with garland and berries and faux snow, the cute and delightful things I've collected from Pottery Barn bringing a certain nostalgia to life in the house.  I've had a lot of my decorations for coming up on ten years now so to open the green and red totes and pull them out, it reminds me of how I felt in my childhood when it was time to decorate (much like with Halloween when mom would get the boxes down from the attic so I could rummage through them, assigning memories as I went).  As a child I'd place the carol singing teddy bear on a sofa, paying attention to the fast his little Santa hat was starting to tear off.  The red wood berry garland that eventually became my own but that I liked to whip around because it sounded cool.  A green paper tree with sequins glued to it that my sister made and seemed to survive every year.  And of course the buckets of ornaments that were collected over a lifetime.

While not everything I own stretches back that far, it's this time of year in general that brings me back to the past.

Anyway, you're probably still wondering how life has been a marathon.

I think it's been one due to the fact I've been solely focused on the time zipping by so I can go home and see my family.  Solely focused, in a strange way.  I posted a lot on social media last holiday season, and the one before (and the one before) because I was happy and in love and wanted to show it off.  In a moment of self-preservation this summer and with the foresight intention of sparing myself the gut rushes that could come with seeing those posts, I deleted the visual reminders of who that love was with.  Status updates and gingerbread house competitions and tree-cutting excursions stille exist, as it were, and they seem to pop up with reckless abandon like little slaps in the face.  For the most part I can shoulder them off and that's good.

Maybe part of me is just convinced that this year when I go home and see my friends and family, I'll finally realize that I'm okay?  That I've been okay, and that I'm going to still be okay?  Some days don't really feel like that... but there are even less and less days now than there were a month ago where I could cry on cue if you asked me to.  The proof's in the pudding and when you add up the sum of my parts: I'm okay.

That ability to cry on cue however is not due to an overriding feeling of loneliness by any means, it's just my life in general right now.  Concern over my financial situation, said loneliness, stress at work, stress of the holidays, and trying to come across all the while as strong.  This is my reality now and it was so much easier to deal with when I had someone at my side, but I don't anymore and that's okay.  Just one more thing for me to figure out, and I will in due time.

This past week I was sick for several days and that was rough.  Why is it that being sick as an adult, living alone, with no friends or family nearby is just the worst thing ever?  On Tuesday I sat motionless on my coffee table, sitting straight backed and rigid, with a fever of 102.4.  Laying down made me feel worse, reclining was just awful, so I sat up for an hour and a half and just let my brain cook away in my skull.  No TV or music, just silence.  Save for the cats, of course, purring beside me because they never stop and I wouldn't make them if I even could.  I took two and a half days off from work to just be sick and let myself get better and it granted me the time to think and process the past and the holiday season and all that hoo-ha.

I wrote a long time ago about a quote I had read once and it held a lot of meaning for me.  "Don't look back, you're not going that way."  For some reason I've always been the kind of person to keep an eye on the past.  Not because I fear it crawling up and biting me in the ass, but I think because I am always looking for reason and meaning to learn another lesson.  We go through things in life all the time, what better than to grow and adapt from said things?  Sometimes we don't know what there is to learn when we're in it... we don't know where to look and/or what we should even be looking for.

I look back at the winter seasons I've spent in relationships and I can't help but think on what it was each person brought to the table that I miss the most, and is it something I really still yearn for?  Christmas' past, or really the "ex's" of Christmas' past, all had unique qualities and traits that stand out.  It was Peter in 2004, with his homemade Christmas card filled with handwriting so beautiful and perfectly concise and a prose that waxed nostalgia so sweetly that I've kept it for 13 years now.  It was Ken and his giddy excitement to watch The Grinch and eat candy canes and decorate everything with brightly colored lights and do all of the things that make Christmas what it is to the masses.  It was Johnny and his heartfelt and deliberate effort to make the holiday stand out for me in such a cool, calculated and particular way that I still miss him and feel a dose of regret for how it ended.

And of course it's Derek... but for what he brought to the table, I'm not sure.  He was mostly just there, going along with whatever I wanted to do.  Maybe his contribution will come to me in time, though something tells me it won't.

That's why I keep an eye on the past.

Christmas for me is similar to my "okay" feeling about life right now; Christmas is made up of the sum of its parts.  It's hot chocolate on cold days, a freshly cut tree lighting the living room, and lights in the bushes outside.  It's the movies I watch every year, the music I listen to for two months on end, and it's picking a theme for my wrapping paper.  Christmas is seeing my friends and my family, it's hugging them and laughing and sharing stories of the year, and ultimately it's about taking a few minutes alone at the end of that day, every year, to think about what I'm grateful for.

Maybe next year I won't be spending so much time alone.  Maybe I'll have met someone that introduces me to their own traditions, that teaches me something about the season I've not yet experienced, and that opens my eyes to a wider world.  I can't explain to you what it feels like to have hope in my heart again, as I feel saying "it's good" is an understatement.  But I do have hope, and over the last few months I feel like I've continued to shed weight from my shoulders with each passing day.  I'll make it through Christmas just fine and then that's really it for the year.  The "firsts" are over and I can greet 2018 with a middle finger and get on with my life.  That's how I do things lately, anyway.

For now I'm going to wrap this up in a big bow, continue to pack my suitcase for a long weekend in Wisconsin, and listen to some tunes that I won't bring back around for another 10 months.  Darlene Love sang it best, and it's to her that I say ciao for now.

Cuz I remember when you were here, and all the fun we had last year.

 

clean slates

As I sit to write this it's a little past 10pm.  I just took a shower and have that "warm and cozy" feeling permeating me.  There's a cold glass of eggnog on the coffee table, the room is lit by the glow of my freshly decorated Christmas tree, and outside?  Well, outside it's snowing.

I've always found a little magic in the first snowfall.  It seems so foreign to see the world swathed in pure white fluff even if it is for a short time (or longer, depending on the temperatures of days that will follow).  Foreign, yet familiar in that this is essentially what I've grown up with.  Since I was 11, months on end of snow and cold weather every year save for the blip of Austin.  The snow eventually turns gray and then brown, either the roads mucking it up or dirt from the lawn absorbing into it.  But right now it's white, and it's clean, and it's magical.

Last week I was down in Austin for my brother Josh's wedding where I was fortunate enough to be the best man as well.  In a lot of ways I was looking forward to this trip and in several more I was dreading it.  A wedding itself is a joyous occasion and with all of the people involved it was sure to be.  The little cloud above it was that this was coming during a very busy time of year for me, coincidentally hot on the heels of a corporate visit to my store, and of course best of all: a reminder that my engagement ended in a fiery wreck.

The reception area

When Josh asked me to be his best man it was something I agreed to without question.  It's just what you do, and I was happy to go along with it and everything it entailed.  That being said I was also freshly heartbroken and nervous about surrounding myself with someone else's divine happiness.  Never one to wallow in self-pity I of course shoved these thoughts to the side (as I am prone to doing when it's time to focus), but they were still there.  I knew I'd be giving a speech at the wedding, and took my time over the following months drafting something I felt appropriate for the occasion.  The podium I set myself on when it comes to these things is a little high, but I've never not delivered on it.

As such, here's a video of the speech, and if you're so inclined I've included the actual words below.

*  *  *

Speeches… y’know I’ve gotta get this out of the way right now because if I don’t it’s a whole thing later. I’ve given enough of these things to say without a doubt that when I start to cry (note that I said when and not if,) you are all encouraged to laugh and that’ll push me right along.  Anyway, I’m Sean Parker, the Best Man, and I’ve got something to say.

So… speeches!  I’m fortunate to have spoken at a few of these things, sharing my words at the weddings of my three best friends.  I told stories of how we met, the unyielding love and respect we have for each other, the hopes and wishes I have for them… all that.  But those speeches were for my friends.  What is it that you say at the wedding of a person you’ve known since birth?  A person you watched learn the tough lessons, one who paved the path for you in so many ways?  We choose our friends, so tonight… what do you say about a guy you really just… got stuck with?

A lot of people go into these with the intent of a roast but I’ve never been a fan of that.  I’ll take it too far, Josh’ll end up crying, it’s best to just avoid it.  I’m lucky enough to be the best man at my big brother’s wedding and I don’t take it lightly.  Do I share embarrassing stories about you getting caught burning your action figures in your bedroom when you were 16, or that time you got busted fishing for cars?  When you tried to scare me wearing a Boba Fett helmet and I knocked you unconscious?  I mean… hold out a bag of mortifying things and this guy hovers in droves near the top.

Anyway, let’s talk about movies!  And I know what you’re thinking... how are there so many tall people in this wedding party?  But I want to talk about movies.  The anatomy of a movie is pretty basic, you have a beginning with strong roots to establish the story, a middle with some “filler” to build up the story, and then an ending that hopefully reaches some sort of climactic and emotional payoff.

Here’s a beginning.  Josh and I grew up in a movie house. If we weren’t watching them on VHS as a family unit, or going to Rainbow Theater to see them on the big screen, we were making them.  Josh in particular.  We made all sorts of movies!  One where Josh saved a princess and wished upon a shooting star for a magical glove.  One where our sister Megan turned into a murderer because of an experimental drug our father made for headaches.  And a sequel to Home Alone, naturally, where young me got to “pee” on a burglar with a turkey baster.  But this was us.  Coming up with stories and tales to share with maybe not necessarily the masses, but each other. Those evolved into short stories for Josh and I on paper, and then eventually Josh tried writing a book from one of his ideas called “Hero.” Did you know that?  It’s true.  I actually published three books of my own but we don’t need to talk about that.  Though if you’re feeling spendy tonight you can buy them right through Amazon.

Our childhoods were made up by creating a narrative that would keep us entertained and enthusiastic about our lives.  There were no smart phones and time on the Nintendo was limited by our parents so we resorted to make believe.   And since we just lived for movies, we applied movies to our lives... picturing scenes in our minds that we could play out.  Or later in life, even finding ourselves in moments that seemed to have been taken from the silver screen itself.  That was us.  That still is us.  Searching and hunting for the romance or the drama, the suspense and laughter that comes in a daily routine.

This is a founding pillar of Josh and I, it’s what we’ve always had in common.  That love of a scene... the theatricality behind the online meeting of two strangers to an eventual proposal amidst thousands of paper lanterns in the middle of a field as they were lit and sent to the sky.  Always fans of the theatrics.

Here’s a middle.  When I first met Anne, it was in Austin and she and Josh had only been dating for a couple weeks.  I was in a new relationship at the time as well, so Josh and I got to meet our significant others at the same time, which was truly special.  I think the two of us grew up at different times and in different places, but somehow we managed to meet up again at the same stage in life.  Josh and I seemed to be going through everything together, sharing the firsts as they happened and bouncing ideas and thoughts and problems off each other in the process.  A few months after that meeting, Anne did something that cemented my opinion of her: she flew me down to Austin to surprise Josh for his birthday.  And guys, it was his 37^th birthday, so like… who cares, right?  But Anne did.  The fact that she wanted to fly me down was astounding for two reasons.  Firstly, I’d only ever known Josh to be the one to do sweeping romantic gestures.  Secondly, she had already come to learn the most important thing about a big bad former marine: he’s a total crybaby. 

It was a well choreographed event that had us meeting up in kayak’s on a river with him not having a single clue, and it was perfect.  It was Anne, in a nutshell.  Planning something to a perfect T and getting to enjoy the fruits of her labor.  I was able to spend time with them alone on that trip, and what was remarkable was how much Josh had changed in those few short months since I had first met her.  I suppose since he had first met her, as well.  I figured (and knew) Anne was a truly special person, especially to have… what’s the word I’m looking for… “whipped” Josh into shape?

A few years ago, someone told me that my family was a cold family.  It struck me, because I’d certainly never thought of us that way.  We’re not overly affectionate,  sure, but cold?  This stayed with me for a long time, something I went back to semi-frequently with Josh and our sister Megan.  But as the years have gone on and I’ve gotten a little older, I can’t help but look at us in a different light.  We may not hug and kiss every time we see each other like some families, but we know what we mean to one another.  We’re there when we’re needed, always just a phone call away.  When we aren’t needed, for better or worse, we keep our distance.  Sometimes the things on the surface might seem warm and cozy but I find it’s when you look a little deeper that you find the true warmth and the real love.

The Parker’s come from a long lineage of all sorts of artists.  Painters, illustrators and writers.  Some published books of artwork, some mastered watercolors, several mastered instruments, and one in particular can bake any damn cake you could possibly imagine.  But Josh, you and I tell our stories through different mediums.  You communicate your truth with your art, I write mine through my words, and we still move in tandem creating stories.  I think these last few years you’ve been setting the stage for your own movie, and now you and Anne get to take the reigns of the leading characters.  Tonight is a strong emotional piece, but it’s certainly the end of your movie.  My relationship didn't work out, but yours did.  I am so proud of you, and I am eternally happy for you and your success in finding love.  And to Anne, as the self-proclaimed PR person to this particular clan and the one that talks the most, I formally welcome you into the Parker family.

In the end, we have the families that we are born into and we have the families that we choose, and I find there’s always a little magic in combinations of the two.  So let us raise a toast to Josh and Anne.   May your film blaze new trails, may the scenes and perfect moments continue to flow, and may you never retread the footsteps that have already been walked.  That’s called plagiarism.  Cheers! 

*  *  *

There is one line in this speech that was written in the first draft and made it all the way through the end, one I recited with every practice round of the speech.  Eight simple words, really just a sentence with a happy ending.  Eight easy words, themselves a statement of fact.  Eight words that I just could not bring myself to speak out loud.

"My relationship didn't work out, but yours did."

It isn't that I was afraid to say it in the speech, and it wasn't that I accidentally skipped over them.  They weren't to convey jealousy or anger, bitterness or anything unsavory.  That's not how I feel about the situation.  There's a 50/50 chance for everybody in life and love, and when the dice shook out it came down to two brothers, both very much alike, and one of them lost at love while the other found victory.  That being said, it was when I got to those words that everything rose up around me in this cloud I didn't realize could even possibly or remotely still have a chance of being there.  In that small infinitesimal moment, everything that was supposed to happen for Derek and I flashed before my eyes.  The week preceding this, filled with small thoughts and hidden moments behind my eyes, seemed to come to life before me.  It showed what I wasn't going to get to enjoy.  Not now, maybe not ever.

Certainly not for a very long time.

My best friends giving speeches at my own wedding, holding glasses high in cheers for a toast.  My wedding in general and how it would have looked.  The promise of love and laughter and joy that comes with a union of two souls.  The doubts flashed in my eyes, the hurt and pain and general humiliation of what I went through this year.  The counseling.  The tears.  For the first time I found myself unable to say words that would still give him some sort of dominion in my life.  I find this fact has less and less to do with Derek and more to do with me truly wanting to move on.

We broke up very shortly before the invitation to this wedding arrived so really I've been bracing myself for five months before I'd have to deal with it.  I am a person filled with self-doubt, it is an ugly and underlying feature of Sean Parker.  I know what I am capable of and rarely do I actually let myself down, but the road to fulfillment is plagued with doubt in my abilities and fears in not succeeding.  This is a common theme that is discussed in counseling and something I am actively working toward pushing down.

In my most recent session, she told me what's amazing about me is how even in the face of chaos and disaster in my personal and work life, I still present this polished, comfortable and confident front.  She asked me how it is that I do this, and I couldn't come up with any better of a response but "because I have to."  For me personally it has never been a question of doubting myself; it has always been a question of others doubting me.  And as I have proven in the past, when others doubt me I only work harder to prove them wrong.  It's like that thing with siblings or a best friend... you say shitty things to them and push them around (all in good fun), but the instant someone else does it?  Watch the fuck out.

I figure in my case, presenting a polished front eases doubts in people.  If you look like you have it together, then maybe you do have it together.  This in turn decreases the probing questions from people.  Particularly at a wedding, when they try not to look at you in concern and you thus make it easier for them by repeatedly joking about being single and your love life continuing to glow in the fiery embers of the bomb that went off.  I'm only partially kidding, but if you can't laugh you cry so let's move on.

The wedding was like the final act of my year.  It capped everything off in a tidy conclusion, and when I came home I felt like something had shifted in me.  Not quite yet tangible, but still there.  I'm sure it'll take me this month to put it together but I'm alright with that.  I just need to keep processing.

In the end, the wedding was beautiful and I was fine.  I delivered a heartfelt speech in which I meant every word, and I got to see my brother shining with true happiness.  The corporate jet trip came to my store and we not only passed in flying colors but I continued to develop my professional standing and general relationship with the CEO and other VIP's in my company.  It was arguably the most difficult two weeks of the year, everything building up to it as the sort of "climax" before hopefully calming down through December.  But maybe that's what 2017 has been about?  Dealing with every difficult thing you possibly could and coming out on top?

Start the year (literally New Years Eve) finding out a parent has cancer, discover your fiancé hooked up with someone on Craigslist, the resulting blown apart relationship, changes and stresses of work that lead up to a "do or die" moment, then face the wedding of someone you love very much and try to bury your own shit in the process.  Do most of it on your own while figuring out how to afford your life without any additional income and see what it does to you as a person!

A first snowfall in so many ways feels like the first page of a clean slate, after all.  It buries the past if you let it.  It wasn't a bad thing that I was forced into finding my truth again after losing it so long ago.  It also wasn't so bad to learn how to be lonely again.  Loneliness isn't so bad, really... if anything it allows you to look forward to seeing the people and places that you miss so dearly that much more.  And while I doubted myself in my ability to do all of this, and while I didn't think my breathing would get easier, and while I didn't see any end to the persistent pain and sadness in my heart... I did do it.

I made it through, I persevered, and I proved that most elusive person wrong: me.

Outside all of that, and just for now... it really is just me, a purring little boy-cat pressed against my thigh, a sleeping girl-cat behind my head on the sofa, and the wind as it hits the living room windows and rattles the garlands hanging from the roof.  And of course that fresh snow.

Ciao for now.

traditions

I wasn't going to decorate this year.  For anything, be it October or December.

All things considered, the point in doing so seemed a little bit lost to me.  While I adore Halloween with a passion that rivals my love for my own parents (...), this year I haven't been feeling much in the spirit.  I had my costume decided on of course because that needs to be taken care of before August ends.  And I had my plans in store for what I'd be doing, but everything else?  Figured I'd pass.

I've always been a "go big or go home" kind of guy and decorating for things is no exception.  Unless it's the 4th of July, in which case, like... no.  But Halloween and Christmas?  Absolutely!  While Christmas decorating is a little more intense with the amount of greenery, berries, plastic ornaments to fill clear vases, a gigantic tree and all the lights, Halloween is almost as just.  Spooky cloth and skull lanterns, lots of pumpkins and general creepiness.  So to DO all of that takes time, and effort, and commitment.  And I've been lacking the last two.

Anyway.

The other day I was outside chopping the hostas down to nothing (because screw them, right?  Pretty for like two weeks when they're flowering and then they just take over and serve as homes for spiders.  And rabbits that scare the shit out of me when I'm mowing and go streaking out from the leafy cover, but I digress.) and throwing them into the yard to mulch up with the mower.

I mentioned in a video recently how I was concerned about my neighbor, Ray.  He's the nicest man, and I'll tell anyone the same that'll listen to me.  The day I moved in he came walking across the yard to introduce himself (he'd just pulled into his driveway, so it wasn't like... he'd been watching out the window and came running at the sign of the Budget Truck).  We chatted briefly and have randomly since.  He brought treats over for Christmas and I did the same, saying at the time that his wife made them and I kinda scoffed internally because I'd never seen her before.  I assumed he was an older gay man and just pretending.

Flash forward to this September.  I was kinda caught up with my own life but had noticed over the summer that Ray wasn't really taking care of his lawn.  Now this is a man who mowed his lawn twice a week, sometimes three times a week, and was always outside trimming and maintaining and doing all the things.  So naturally it wasn't hard to notice something had changed, and flat-out I just hadn't been seeing him.  One day when I was mowing the lawn I noticed a bunch of cars outside and people making their way to the house wearing suits and dark dresses.  I assumed the worst.

Back to the hostas.

I was attacking them with reckless abandon and looked up briefly because the garage door next door was opening up.  Ray walked out and waved at me, and I have to admit I was relieved to see him.  So I pulled out my earbuds and we started to chat.  He was quick to tell me his wife had passed away in September from cancer, "so I'm alone now," and my heart just about broke.  We continued to chat and I discovered some more details about his life, that as newlyweds he and his wife purchased the house a year after it was built in 1964.  They raised all five of their children in it, put small additions on (a sun room and the garage), but that it was largely unchanged.  He explained that all five kids live within 20 miles, and combined he has 10 grandchildren from them.

I felt comfortable telling him I was alone now, too.  That it was a different circumstance but how I understood the general feeling.  He sort of nodded and said he was sorry.  He must have known we were "together," even though we never frolicked in the backyard holding hands or anything super gay like that.  But he knew.

Then Ray asked me if I was going to put my Halloween decorations outside like I had last year.  "I really enjoyed seeing those... no one ever decorated over there before."  And without hesitation I said yes, and that I would be putting them out that same day.  So we said goodbye and he drove off with his sister that had come over to visit, and I walked down to the basement and pulled all of the totes of Halloween stuff out, grabbed 20 strands of lights and set to work.

While I know it's not too late to make myself happy, I haven't really been wanting to.  But for Ray?  For someone who went through a much harder loss than I did and could maybe find a simple pleasure from a few lights and cobwebs?  I can do that.  I am happy to do that.  This also got my mind spinning on other creative things to do.

So with that I got my mind cooking on the next multiples video and how I want to start producing them more frequently.  They cheer me up, give me an outlet, and allow me to play around with makeup in one form or another.  Especially this time.

I keep everything for Halloween.  A lot of it I really should toss at this point because it's gotten kind of junky, but for better or worse I still have it.  Maybe because as a child there was no greater thrill than opening up a box mom got down from storage and seeing all of the familiar and spooky things from the year before?  So I keep it all.  I also keep all of my costumes, even the bad ones.  I polled Facebook for what costumes I should break out of storage for this next video, aptly titled "Halloween Party," and here are the winners: Superman, Winifred Sanderson, Dr. Frank'n'Furter, Paulette Bonafonte, and Nicole.

Doing this required a lot of makeup, a lot of time, and a lot of planning.  Facial hair is one thing; five eventual faces of makeup is another.  Frank'n'Furter had to be a standalone paint job.  Paulette had to be a standalone paint job.  For Winifred I had to glue down all of the hair on my chest, come it outward, and set it with powder and foundation (because the FUCK if am I shaving it off (didn't quite turn out how I wanted but whatever)).  The good thing about Winifred Sanderson is that she actually doesn't have eyebrows.  So for the face I only had to wipe off the lips, refill them, add extra eyeshadow and then brows.  Done!  And for the final look, well... you can see it above.

I think when Halloween wraps this year it'll have just been a slightly "off" year for me.  I still decorated in a small way, it cheered me up a bit to do so, and hopefully it made Ray smile to come home and see the house lit up in orange, purple and green.  Halloween night I'll get the fog machine out and some creepy music to play through a crack in the garage door, and I'll do my usual tradition of chili all day long while carving pumpkins and watching movies.

Because I do love Halloween.  I love the feeling that comes with it, the finality it seems to bring of the warm months being officially over and kicking off the final "ugly" stage of fall as it leads into beautiful winter.  I want to recognize it and celebrate it and do whatever I feel willing to do.  I was afraid as the day drew closer that I'd be feeling more down in the dumps.  No one to carve pumpkins with, no one to make said chili with, no one to watch movies and hand out candy with.  Then it kind of struck me.

Those were my traditions.

I started those when I moved out, some of them had continued on from my childhood, but all the same.  They were mine.  Why did I think I needed a boyfriend to be with me for them?  That's just bullshit no matter how you look at it.  Ya did it before, do it again.  So I did.

Traditions done the right way; with the guy who created them.

I woke up this morning and started the chili, listening to Halloween music as I chopped onions and got out the crock pot.  I enjoyed my coffee, watched Strangers Things 2, and sat with the cats.  Got an idea for a multiples picture, did all that, and then ran to the store for champagne to make a cider cocktail tonight.  I can't say I'll feel the same way for Thanksgiving, but who knows?  I shudder to think I'd say the same thing for Christmas or my birthday.  Maybe I'll get a tree and do all the lights.  Fill my vases with cranberries and snow, gather up the garland and string it around the house.  I don't know yet.  What I do know is how that's the funny thing about traditions.

When they go bad, you can always make new ones.  If they were never bad traditions before and really aren't still?  You can keep doing them.  People come and go, circumstances change and ebb... and maybe I'm starting to change too.  It's a little early still, but like the finality Halloween brings to fall and the traditions that are ingrained in my heart, it's there.  Just need to start reaching out for it.

Happy Halloween gang (c:

seventh iteration

I'm looking through the panes of a huge window right now, broken up by metal grids.  Outside it's 70 degrees and there are a dozen people sitting on a deck enjoying coffee and conversation.  An old couple; he has curly white hair and a bald spot on the crown of his head, she is holding his hand and staring absently at the traffic.  Two young girls; both in yoga clothes though I doubt they just came from yoga, messy buns and drape shoulder tops, and absorbed in their cell phones.  A table of apparently old friends in their 30's; they're vaguely hipsters, all wear wedding bands, and one has a teeny tiny little baby girl in her arms.  All of these people are at different points in life, all of them have a story, and I can't help but wonder what those stories are and maybe also why.  How'd they get here?  Where were they before, where are they going next?  I wonder this of myself too.

Frequently I feel that time passes slowly if it passes at all.  The day to day trivial nature of my life has at times felt stagnant and if it was moving, it was moving at a glacial pace.  Conversely, I've written about how quickly time can seem to pass us by without our notice, sort of a blink and you miss it type deal.  Not this last year... not for me.  Like water through a crack in the dam it does pass, and I now find myself facing the seventh iteration of this blog after what feels like a lifetime of waiting.

So without further adieu, I give you the announcement of the day:

THE SIX YEAR ANNIVERSARY FOR 

MUSINGS OF A 

SELF-PROCLAIMED AUTHOR

It's funny for me to look back at six years of blog posts and see where I've been, what my story was and why.  Moments of the past are easy to forget for most people but for me I've essentially been writing a guidebook to my life.  I have the luxury of walking backward through time and reading about all sorts of things.  Moments of panic, moments of lust, and moments of anger.  Times of laughter and times of joy and of course a few times of sadness.  I can see where inspiration struck, I can see where jealousy took hold, and I can see the benefits that came with a job well done.

The "iteration" blogs are peppered through all of that, the roadside markers of my half-written life, and they give me a little bit of guidance if not a little introspection.

When I wrote the sixth iteration a year ago I spent a lot of time mourning over the boo-hoo nature that came with living in Texas and how great living back in the north was going to be (which it largely has been).  You could argue how moving to Austin was an attempt to leave my comfort zone for something new and daring, and moving north was getting back not necessarily to said comfort zone but a place where I could progress the most.

2016 in large was spent white-knuckling the steering wheel of life.  My own reality was absolutely shooting past the windows at 100 miles per hour through changes in jobs, locations I worked and lived in, and the people around me.  After moving to Minneapolis and writing the sixth iteration, I wanted to wrap the year by slowing it all way the hell down.  Then I could follow with a 2017 where I'd preferably be able to focus my attention on (as I wrote back then) a "return to form."

Admittedly when I look back on the last year I do see the benefit of a life where time passes slowly.  The slow passage of time allows for plenty of moments to look at your surroundings and truly see clearly into what is good and what isn't.  If you're paying attention... as I was... seeing things clearly allows for tremendous change.  Life cannot always move at such a breakneck pace because if it does, or rather if it is, you're not present enough to notice what's going on around you.

Looking back at the sixth iteration it's with a certain anguish in my throat that I read how I wanted to "return to form" and get back to my roots.  Some of you know how I tend to put things out to the universe, my idle thoughts and hopes, only to see them become self-fulfilling prophecies in one way or another.  Only now as the year wraps do I see how this particular prophecy came to fruition.

A return to form with the blog meant going back to what started "musings" in the first place: heartbreak.

I think for Derek and I, everything was just always moving so fast.  Quick to say I love you, quick to move in together, quick to move across the country together... quick to move across the country again together.  It was only when things slowed down that we started to relax and look at our lives.  What'll make us happy?  What steps do we take to get there?  So on and so forth.  That's when the problems crept in.  Through hindsight I realize moving so fast kept the problems in a blurry state; I couldn't focus on them because they weren't huge, and they weren't very severe in relation to everything else that was going on.

They were always there though, and it was certainly easier to just ignore them.  I think that's true for many things in life, don't you?  It's often easier not to deal with the white elephant in the room; it's standing quietly in the corner not doing anything, why make a big deal about it?  The trouble with that is how the big white elephant starts to break the floorboards under it's weight, splintering and cracking the foundation until eventually it erodes beneath you as well.  Not the best analogy but you catch my drift.

You put out into the world what you want to get back and I got it back.  Not that I'm some crystal-ball wielding gypsy or that I can predict lotto numbers, but I tend to search for meaning in things any way I can.  In this one I found meaning quite simply.  Doesn't make me happy necessarily, but it does bring a little bit of contentment.  If that makes sense?

All this makes me look at the future with a different perspective.  One component of a return to form came about by writing through Blogger again and not a website I never fully understood or took advantage of.  Another component came in working to write solid blogs that told a story from the heart, not just fluff to get something out (i.e. monthly updates).  I have to remind myself how sometimes it's only better to speak when you can improve the silence, even though my every instinct is to just talk and talk forever.

I rewatched 26 Golden Things a few nights ago.  I'd been messing around on Youtube and stumbled across a song I'd used in the video.  Immediately I knew I needed to find one of the DVD's and put it in to watch.  First and foremost there was a lot of crying, lemme get that out of the way right now.  Tears shed over the movie in the past came about as a sort of lament for how things used to be.  "Look how much fun you were having!  Look how happy everyone was!  Why can't it be like that now?  What had to change?  Why can't you just try harder?"  I do that to myself often... blame myself for not trying harder.  As if to say I don't try hard enough on a daily basis which isn't a fair observation.

This time, unlike any other since I made the film, was different.  There was a familiar draw, I suppose, for lack of a better word.  It's easy to forget why I made the movie in the first place.  I think on the surface 26 Golden Things came across as "I have a bucket list and I'm gonna spend lots of money to do all the things!" but I really only did it because I was adrift in my life.

Confusion over who I was, what I was doing, why I was doing it... all brought about because of a breakup that disrupted my life story.  Not a breakup, but really the breakup, the one that would end up defining who I'd later become.  Me filming my life for a year didn't even start when it was supposed to, it began at the end of January in a split-second decision.  "I'm going to do this."  I'd been single for 9 months, went through a brief relationship that burned out way too fast, and ultimately decided I didn't want to find love again anytime soon.  With that decision came the first item on the list of 26 things and it was #1 - Letting it die: the realization you are finally over your ex.

I can look at 26 Golden Things now as a roadmap to eventual success.  Make a list, start crossing things off.  Involve your friends.  Involve your family.  Acknowledge the challenges, don't shy away from tears.  Be open and be direct and go after the things you want because each step you take forward will only put the past further into just that: the past.

Take what happened and learn from it, grow from it, and be better because of it.

I'm not over Derek yet, and no I'm not going to try to recreate 26 Golden Things this next year as... what... 32 Semi-Tired and Usually Cranky Things?  But I am going to do something.  I'm not sure exactly what form it will take yet but my plans are evolving and coming together and that's a step in the right direction, isn't it?  To have hope for something?  Maybe I'll announce it in the New Year's blog, maybe I won't.  Maybe I'll show up in 365 days and shout out loud in the eighth iteration "hey, look at this neat thing I did and guess what else, I'm happy!"

Happy.  I write it like it's some elusive thing right now, which in many ways it is.  I feel like I can get back to "happy," as if it were a destination, at the drop of a hat.  I also feel like it's at the end of a hallway that keeps getting longer and longer.  But like I said before, sometimes all it takes is putting it out there and then it comes back to me.  Maybe not how I anticipated, and maybe only in hindsight does it smack me in the face, but it does come back.  I think focusing on myself for a year, uncovering what makes me tick and what drives my passion, can only be a good thing for this iteration.  And while I'm at it, I might as well address that sometimes it takes a long while to make your millions, but sometimes it happens over night.

Never hurts to throw that anecdote out to the ether.

Last year for the music video component of this blog I posted one by the band Lucius for their song "Dusty Trails," choosing to focus on the lyric "we'll all be okay."  Listening to that song today I can't help but focus instead on a different lyric: "painful as growing is, we can't forget it's our ticket to taking the reins."  I'd like to take the reins again, I think.  I'm ready to be in charge again and start thinking for myself again.  I assume only good can come from it, but that is something only time and this next year can tell me.  The key is being open and mindful... and if you have the privilege of a slow-running life as I currently do, then it also just takes a little bit more presence.

This year it is "Crystals" by Of Monsters and Men.  The lyrics that speak to me are "But I'm okay in see-through skin, I forgive what is within.  'Cause I'm in this house, I'm in this home, all my time."  It's best with the volume turned way up, in my humble opinion.

That's all I've got for you with this iteration, thank you for reading and listening and a hundred thousand other things you have no idea about.  Thank you.

Ciao for now (c;