Found here. If you know the artist, holler at me.
Happy Monday, you beautiful babies. I have, as of yet, no plans for this post -- in the seams of my guts and marrow, the chromosomes to make me a lady with intent were stitched in as a merciful afterthought, which makes for an often fun but not always fruitful way to live. So. This should be wild.
Along those wiggly lines, I'm trying to be more specific about my heart's desires lately. I've always vaguely wanted to be somewhat known in the creative circles of my city, but that's not a destination, it's just a vanity plate, you know? #cartalk Pointedly, I want to write personal essays and I want to pick the impressive brains of my colleagues and successful acquaintances like an Egyptian plover picks at the rot on a crocodile's lateral incisors. Look it up, dude. Oh, and I want to weave those wants together and make a happy, thoughtful little life. Now the trick is to somehow make my supposed life's work a priority, even though my fabulous job-job is demanding and it's summer and everyone just wants to hang out/make out. Distraction City, U.S.A. But life is rife with beautiful distractions, no?
It's all part of it. By that I mean, everything we react to shapes us. For some reason, that ambiguous thought always brings me comfort. If I'm hurting or feeling like my scenery isn't changing quickly enough, I tell myself "it's all part of it." And I start to hear a Kelly Clarkson anthem in my inner ear and I remember that every truly tough thing that hasn't killed me thus far has, indeed, made me stronger.
This weekend, I asked a friend what she was like when she was 23 years old. The impetus for that question was weird and twisty and not meant for the internet, but her answer was "naive," and then she explained herself and my head exploded. Just think of how much we've all grown -- and what causes growth. Hurt causes growth, and feeling like your scenery isn't changing quickly enough. And feeling like you, personally, are not enough... It's all part of it.
When I stop flapping my arms/jaw for a hot minute and meditate on who I am, I realize that I'm exactly who I wanted to be four or five years ago. I wasn't mature enough at the time to factor things like money savvy and wanton courage into my visualizations, but I'm making up for that now so future me is more fleshed out than "Works in artistic field. Has freedom to roam and purple hair. Doesn't play the victim card. Doesn't have an eating disorder." And that's what I suppose planning is good for -- fleshing out future you.
Because it's Monday and feelgood vibes are in order, let's acknowledge how far we've come. Because I'm maybe 50% more of a badass than I was a few short years ago, so my capital growth looks damn promising.