#wyseinkjournal

[animezinglife]

I know I have patterns. I had a great, productive day with several old friends and a lot of new ones. I walk in and am greeted so warmly, am given credit for my efforts, and treated like a smart, capable woman. Like an old friend, or like family. I spent the most of the day with this group. We had lunch together, hung out, and got work and planning done for the fall.

There was a moment when my mind started wandering again, back to someone who didn’t have anywhere near the feelings I did for him. I started wondering too many things and got trapped in my thoughts for a bit even though I was having a good time. I snapped out of it a bit, but I’ve felt weird ever since.

As an ongoing project, I’ve been in the process of de-cluttering my apartment. Part of that process has been actually making it to where I have a bookshelf again. There were so many books that I bought but didn’t enjoy or couldn’t get into just lying around--a lot of stuff from old literature classes in particular. I never liked any of them, so instead, I’ve begun taking them into these stores so they can have their second (or third, fourth, fifth, etc. in some cases) life. I keep everything in good condition, so I can trade a few old, used books I don’t want for a new one I do. So I’m cleaning out my shelves, but also improving the quality of what’s on them. They’re books that I want, not ones I “had” to read.

I used to be the person who never wanted to get rid of a single book, but now I feel there’s so much more value in keeping the ones you genuinely want and letting the ones you don’t go to someone who will appreciate them more. The gentleman who runs the bookshop I used today is a retired professor--he knows and loves books, and the ones I left with him today are ones I know he’ll put to great use. He always has other professors (including my favorite professor emerita), hipsters, and students in there all the time that will eat them all right up. Especially on the rainy fall days, when they sit around with their coffees and a local author reads. It‘s a thought reminiscent of my undergrad days and later working on a literary magazine, and in some ways me bringing those specific books I read in class back to that setting is like leaving a mark of my own in the present.

I left with a new and promising book in my hand with store credits to come back and make other selections later. Yet somehow while driving home, I sunk right back into that inevitable, melancholy, and lost feeling.

For dinner I went to my favorite place: a sports bar with the best burgers in town. The bartenders always hit on me a little and it’s never unwelcome, but today it was the quieter one working (though he’s always sweet and a little shy) and a woman I always enjoy talking to. It didn’t pick me up, and I just came back home afterwards. 

No matter how much I de-clutter and organize, my apartment’s still empty.

I love being around my old friends again. The fact that they took me back with such open arms after the shit I pulled and everything I thought I knew at eighteen and nineteen is nothing short of a miracle.

I’ve been blessed with a second chance in so many ways. Yet being around them also reminds me a bit too much of my mistakes and the other chances I’ve missed out on simply because I was too stupid to see the value in them at the time. Or, because I was too insecure and scared. There are so many things I’ll dive headlong into that most people couldn’t and yet I’m an absolute coward when it comes to any vulnerability; any kind of openness that could lead to me getting hurt.

Even when that chance came up a bit later on in life I still didn’t do enough. I never do. Granted, it was probably for the best, but that doesn’t mean I don’t wonder if things would be different had I kissed him when I’d thought that was on his mind. He had no right to look at me like that if he didn’t mean it. Obviously, in the end, he didn’t. Not enough, anyway.

Knowing me, it probably would’ve ruined the friendship and made things awkward. Even if we haven’t talked in a while I at least still have my dignity.

I’ll keep going like I always do. I need to be better at appreciating all the good around me and in my life.

I don’t know how to fix the things that never change. I’m no closer to figuring them out than I was in college. I’m at a loss, and I am lost despite everything.

I’m over it. But I have yet to overcome it.

[wyseink]

On a Deeply Personal Note

Nothing hits you with a dose of home quite like going through old videos. Home, family, and friends are the most important things in this world. Never forget your roots.

I watched these old videos, of friends, family, and everyone in-between. I watched those good ol’ boys at my old church picking their guitars and banjos in that true American bluegrass fashion. I watched guys get thrown and trampled by a bull for a little prize money. I watched my pastor inspire the hearts of many and lead them to God or hold someone going through a tough time’s hand. I watched my family playing catch in my grandparents’ yard--while my now-late grandfather may be with us in memory and spirit now, he’s alive and well in these videos, preserved in a better time. The lessons he taught us all--the example he set--will live on through us.

Nostalgia, love, and faith hit me hard once again. 

God bless my family, my friends, and country! 

[animezinglife]

It’s been almost four months at this point. It’s staying light out longer, and it’s certainly warmed up. The fact that I’m able to wear at tank top and shorts to walk means things are exactly as I’d hope they’d be in March. I’m blessed to be able to work from home right now--it’s done wonders for my psyche, and I can put love and care into good, healthy meals (and eat them fresh), get sunshine/fresh air/exercise while at work, and I get to wear whatever I want. It’s the dream, quite frankly.

I’ve been taking advantage of every second, and in the evenings, I go outdoors. I stay there for a while to clear my head. 

For the most part, it’s worked well. Some kinks got thrown into my baseball, spring, and mini-road trip plans, but other than that, this is ideal. I haven’t even had to take a sleeping pill, my anxiety’s been practically nonexistent, and I haven’t once felt the stress the usual routine puts on me (and leaves me miserable).

To say I’m a bit surprised by how much of a roller coaster I’m still on where this guy’s concerned is an understatement. Four months wouldn’t be a lot of time for someone to get over another if they’d been in a relationship. It’s about half the time from when I met him to when he left, and we never were together. It feels crazy to me given my disposition and even how I define love that I did have that epiphany that I was in love with him. Logic and my own concept of love say one thing, everything else says something different. Maybe a more fitting way of describing it would be to say that I’m “halfway” in love with him. Or was. Or am. It’s hard to tell anymore. 

Fortunately telling the difference between love and lust is easier. To me at least they’re very easy to separate no matter how present both are. When I want to kick myself for the complete lack of rationale (when I normally have a lot of common sense and think things through), that’s when I know that whatever crazy idea I’ve come up with is definitely not coming from the love side. The love side is me missing our talks, hanging too much onto certain words or the way he says things, and how much fun we had together. 

We’ll have weeks where we talk to each other more and others when we don’t at all. It’s not a pattern that to me says equal investment (or close enough to count). We’d planned to chat last time, and though he was busy he never once tried to rush me off the phone and listened to everything I said. He said some things I really loved and, while I’ve never really considered using the term “sweet” for him, he was and sounded so painstakingly sweet that I could feel it quite literally aching in my chest. 

Heartache, it seems, is an accurate term.

I spend a lot of time outside. He does, too. Every now and then I’ll see guys that remind me of him and part of me wishes I’d just stumble across him one day even though he has no reason to be back in town right now. I’ll see them out playing catch, frisbee, or running on the same trail. So maybe that’s part of why I’m so wish-washy about this whole thing: nostalgia, fondness, and still-lingering-yet-unresolved feelings combined with the reality of distance taking its toll. I knew it would. I know it will. 

The few I’ve talked to think it’s worth telling him something, but I don’t want to overstep my bounds and weaken what’s left.

“But what if it works out?”

And what if it goes exactly the way I think it would, with him nicely turning me down and the “friendship” aspect of it all dwindling with the rest?

Even if I could muster up the courage enough for that, I would want it to be in person. Regardless of the nature he and I feed off of each other’s energy in a very distinct way. I’ve always read him better than most, and he knew that. Rarely people can figure out what’s going on in my mind, but pretty much just barged right through that barrier in more ways than one.

But that’s the optimistic side in which some sort of closure is realized, and that doesn’t always happen. 

“You’re rushing it! You’re still young. Give it time.” 

For now, I just want to make sense of it all. Maybe I’m still halfway in love with him. Maybe a little more than halfway. Or, maybe I’ve just confused myself in the idea of what I’ve unintentionally been clinging to.

I’m at a loss at this point. I’m smarter than this. At least, I should be. 

The thing is, this isn’t the sort of situation where whatever happens--if anything--is fully dependent on me. It falls on him, too. So once again, I circle back to not wanting to cross that line and push if he’s not meeting me halfway, wanting to respect any feelings he may have for someone else, and being frustrated for lack of closure one way or the other. All the while not wanting to damage our relationship. 

All the while wanting to know that if this isn’t going to happen that I need to figure out ways to be open to other guys who might come along. I don’t want to be hung up on someone with whom I have no potential of being in a relationship with.

I’m starting to realize why our intern came into my office, announced that “love sucks,” and proceeded to put his head down on my table desk and not say anything for an hour while I worked, listened, and gave him chocolate.

[wyseink]

Those We Let Close: Goals for the Personal Life

Based on an exercise that was given to me. Ramblings.

WyseInk Journal, Entry 5

Friendships: The question at hand is which qualities (or which sort of qualities) I like to bring to my friendships. If I could be the best friend possible, how would I behave toward my friends? What sort of friendships would I like to build?

In recent years, I’ve found it increasingly difficult to be close with people who do not share my values. That is not to say I’m not socially flexible--I fully recognize that the choices others make in terms of values (within reason) and lifestyle will usually have little to no impact on me. More importantly, I respect their freedom to choose their life for themselves, just as I expect to be able to choose mine. Therein lies the problem, however: in this hyperpolitical environment we’ve condemned ourselves to, it seems we’re less often able to find the middle ground. 

I respect others’ freedoms, but I am unyielding when it comes to the choices I make for myself.

What I’ve learned is that respect no longer works both ways when there is such a stark difference in values, at least in my life. I have been berated, publicly humiliated, harassed online, and ganged up on. I’ve been yelled at in a restaurant by an unstable man who didn’t know where he stood on anything, and could not handle that I didn’t agree with his political views (and frankly, had outright told him I thought those discussions were no longer productive because of his reactions). Of course this was someone I eventually severed ties with--something I should have done sooner. Yet that didn’t take away from how angry with myself and embarrassed I was that I allowed that to happen. I’m regularly chastized by my classmates because I take things with a grain of salt and look for both the good and the bad in a problem and seek solutions. For some reason, people always want to focus on the problems, specifically their perception of them...no matter how misguided or uninformed.

Recently, I responded to an article I still hope is satire that ultimately tries to inject a human concept with politics. Of course, it seems that is the case with everything these days--I also managed to drive several middle-aged women to hysteria in one of my recent business plans, where I made the grave moral error of recognizing that finance was a part of running a business and building the best possible plan around it. Of course, in her anti-capitalist rage, she proceeded to squawk about the philosophy behind this business and how considering the finances “destroyed” it.

Never mind, I guess, that the philosophy was still fully intact and that this was just a matter of keeping the business alive, or the fact that with my plan the business was easily able to save $5,000.

This is the kind of thing I’ve become increasingly met with, and that’s becoming a growing trend among anyone who prioritizes rationality over feeling. Taking feeling into perspective, though, I often feel like a complete outcast who was born in the wrong decade. Then I find someone else who’s enduring the same and just trying to bring logic and sense back into their own lives, hoping that will rub off on the outside world by mere association.

People are different. We have different experiences, different approaches to life, and different beliefs. What should not be different, though, is prioritizing civility. A casual discussion about my personal faith should not turn into me getting shouted at and ridiculed in public, despite the fact that this man’s Christian family has given him everything he’s ever wanted, including love and acceptance when he came out as gay. Yes, they’d asked him if he was sure, but it’s hard to fathom a simple, rational question directed at a then-teen’s sexuality being interpreted as hate when every other action plainly demonstrates the opposite. Of course that was extended to another then-friend when she began getting in with a bad crowd who did not have her best interest and I expressed concern about her growing radicalization. She had fallen prey to the trend so many young adults do with feeling or adrenaline-based politics. She and the man fed off each other, and their frustrations eventually moved away from their parents and siblings and focused almost solely on me. 

This was all ongoing, of course, when I was losing a beloved family member to cancer, and when I did lose him, they could not even find it within themselves to offer a single condolence. 

I don’t believe I was a bad friend from them. I have no regrets. My only regret was that I allowed their treatment of me to continue for so long, and the worst of it spanned for two years. At times I’d wondered if the friendship would still be intact had I just remained my more agreeable self. Yet there’s only so much a person can take, and there’s only so much a person should tolerate--my collected approach to standing up for my own values was fair. 

The shrieking, relentless online harassment, and angry and condescending personal attacks they committed were not.

It’s hard to see someone you once considered family shove your relationship aside for something so trivial.

So, referring back to the question at hand, I will no longer let just anyone into my life. I haven’t lost my accepting nature, but I have lost a lot of my trust. I’ve lost trust in myself to make decisions about the kind of people I let into my life, and I’ve lost trust in others’ ability to reason.

What I want in a friend now is someone who doesn’t feel the need to bring politics into everything. I want a friend with whom I can bond over life experiences, share a love of thoughtful and calm--and yes, friendly--discussion. I want a friend I can laugh with and be myself with without having to worry they’ll be offended. 

And to be clear, I do have that in a few now: my sweet writer friends, who’ve never once turned their back on me and who’ve helped me through one of the most difficult times in my life (something I will, perhaps, discuss at another time). I have my best guy friend, who’s scientific and logical at times almost to a fault, but I don’t dislike that fact. I have my fiery opera singer friend, who travels the world and isn’t afraid to dive into some of the biggest and most controversial job openings a young woman can have right now.

They love and support me, good points and flaws, and I give the same support to them. We’re all honest with each other. We give advice and we listen. We strive, constantly, to make each other better. None of us allow ourselves to be swayed towards the drama that’s so rampant right now. We simply live our lives and do the best we can.

I want to offer a friend someone who they always feel comfortable talking to, even about the most difficult and most painful topics. I want to be a friend people can joke and speak with freely without fear of abuse and attempted character assassination (which in my case was extraordinarily unsuccessful when it was directed at me, in case you haven’t guessed). I want them to feel they can talk to me without losing their jobs and our friendship. 

I feel that I’m already achieving that, and no one can change that part of me. 

I’m cautious, but I’ll always be honest and respectful. That’s a quality I hope the people I let into my life will always return.

[wyseink]

For a Friend: Lessons on Life from God and Love from an Unexpected Anime

WyseInk Journal, Entry 4

There’s something to be said in patience, and also one in the importance of taking risks. I’m certainly not one who’s good at the latter, which is unfortunately something that slowly begins to creep into the back of your mind in your twenties in more ways than one. There’s a topic that’s unpopular in today’s society, especially among young, career-oriented women and men, and that is the cold, hard truth that a lot of us start to have our doubts when it comes to the prospect of marriage.

No, I’m not talking about prospects in the archaic sense, but rather the somewhat harsh realization that after college, your number of potential romantic partners dwindles significantly. All this happens about the time you’re getting into a serious career and work begins to take priority. 

But you aren’t without your options either. Yes, God has a plan for you, and He knows there is someone out there who’s perfect for you. He’ll help you along, but there’s another side to this, and that is the risk you yourself must take. 

My pastor had a joke once about the power of choice when life or these types of thoughts hit you hard. His was admittedly cruder than the version I’ll give here and immensely funnier (the benefits of having a down-to-earth cowboy for a pastor), though the gist of it goes something like this: 

If you’re in the water and you see a cottonmouth, don’t sit there praying for God to save you: get out of the water.

This is to say that you have to take action in your own life. If something isn’t working, change it. Whether it’s a water moccasin or your love life, you have to keep your eyes open, and sometimes, you have to take a necessary step. The concept applies to both good and bad situations: keep your eyes open for danger, but also for opportunity. 

If you are, that opportunity just might come in the form of a person. 

Now, I know neither of us are the type to ever keep things strictly religious, regardless of our own beliefs. So, let’s look at it from another, more light-hearted angle.

We both love a certain anime about a figure skater. We love Yuri, feel like we know him personally, and want the best for him. Yuri is also our age, and while he too can offer us an excellent lesson in taking chances in love, I’d rather focus on Victor. It takes us a bit longer to truly know Victor, but once we do, we can look at his journey through the prospects lens.

Victor could have anyone in the world he wanted. He’s young, handsome, and successful, as well as having a heart of gold that he initially seems to keep a bit guarded. In every sense, though, he’s a man who’s put his career first, which he admits himself in a later episode of season 1. He’s never prioritized his personal life and love until he meets Yuri. While on paper Yuri may not be the most obvious person to do so, he’s the one who shows Victor the importance of both; the one who shows him how to live and love. Yet we can’t only credit Yuri for that: Victor has earned every bit as much the moment he took the first step in prioritizing his life and happiness. He saw an opportunity in Yuri and took it with no knowledge of how any of it would turn out, especially in terms of potential love. 

It’s always been my thought that their romance was somewhat accidental, even if there had been some intrigue or attraction before. What wasn’t accidental was Victor keeping his eyes open for an opportunity, be it in the form of a career or person, and his daring to take that risk led to more than he ever could’ve imagined: his rediscovery of self and his falling in love. Both of which Yuri helped him to realize in their fullest form.

So to my friend, who’s doubting herself and her chances at love, don’t fret. There are more cogs in this wheel called life than we can even count, and most are those we can’t even begin to understand. Yet they all work together to create a working whole, and sometimes all it needs is a bit of faith and that ever-difficult first step toward it. 

You’re doing just fine, and even if it’s hard right now, you’ll find your happiness in life and love. 

Have faith in God, but have more faith in yourself and the process too.

[wyseink]

On Character Wants and the Little Things

WyseInk Journal, Entry 3

It’s true that as you start to get older, the clock starts ticking. I’ve hit what some call the quarter-life crisis in full force, and in recent months, it’s caused me to take a serious look at my writing.

I think that to some extent, we as writers like to lie to ourselves in how much our characters reflect us. More specifically, there is usually some aspect of them that mimicks something specific we want. Often, my original characters are driven through some small, average event to a crossroads.

And they never take a path.

This is a problem I’ve had in my own writing for years. I get stuck in the most extreme of ways, with neither a character or exterior catalyst to propel them to action or change. One of my short fiction works follows a young man nearing thirty, who in every way ought to be in his prime. Yet in reality, that couldn’t be farther from the truth. He’s utterly lost, ambitionless, and seems far too comfortable in this way of life. At twenty-nine he’s settled down, not in the traditional sense with a wife or girlfriend, but with a minimum wage job at which he just goes through the motions. 

Yet he’s not the only one of my characters like this. Even my fieriest characters seem to run into this in one way or another in just about every story I write. I’m constantly stuck asking the question of what it is they want. One character has had an easy life and was raised in a loving family. Another has a broken family, but friends and mentors who love him dearly. One has just gotten out of a long-term relationship, another slowly falls for a girl with a sharp wit and gentle eyes. A bitter young woman wants nothing more than to loathe the man she’s been forced to work with, and yet he utterly captivates her. For each, love becomes a common theme, and I ask myself why.

There’s a part of growing older that women in particular really don’t want to talk about these days. We can talk about the powerful woman who puts herself and her career first. We praise the woman who treats sex and relationships casually, classify them as her “needs,” and treat that as the new normal. We build up the tearing down of gender norms and expectations and pretend that we aren’t harming a lot of people in the process. I don’t think any woman has ever fit a perfect mold. We want to be successful, we want to prove to the world and ourselves that we can tackle any challenge thrown at us. For the most part, we can, but therein lies the fork in the road: why should we want to do that alone?

I’d never claim another woman didn’t have a right to choose her own way of life. Yet I also know that not all of us--myself being one of them--thinks in the way that’s necessarily compatible with the modern mentality, at least in terms of relationships. Or, even more like me, there are bits and pieces that we would classify as a type of goal for ourselves when it comes to that part of our lives. Maybe we want to date with the intent of eventual marriage, but not have children once we get there. Maybe we want a successful career ourselves, but understand and admire women who’d rather dedicate their lives to being wives and mothers. Or, maybe like my characters, we don’t really know what we want.

There’s something that isn’t necessarily talked about though, and that is how big of an impact loneliness can have. It’s something that applies to men too, and ironically in this new Era of Feelings, it’s an idea that’s largely swept under the rug. Maybe it’s love in the romantic sense we’re missing or something closer to familial love. Either way, one thing that’s becoming increasingly evident to me is that we--writers in particular--project these feelings onto our characters.

In short, we want them to have the love that we don’t, even if that means something different for everybody.

When I began reflecting on my writing, I noticed a few common themes. The first was that I tend to latch onto characters close to or within my own age range. Two of my favorite characters to write in fan fiction are both twenty-four (my own age). One deals largely in her loneliness, trying her damndest to fill a missing void through her career and focus. After all, she knows that her focus is needed, and that her career is technically more important. Technically. The other character is a man who’s recently entered his first serious relationship, one that borders on the idealistic but is undoubtedly and wholeheartedly fulfilling.

Aside from their ages, these characters have nothing in common. Their personalities couldn’t be more different (she’s the epitome of control, he wears his soul on his sleeve). Their careers are polar opposites (she’s in a constant dance of life or death, he dances to the music). Yet one is a reflection of reality, the other of wants. He has someone at his side. He has someone to love him, respect him, bicker with and make up with.

He’s not alone, in any sense of the word.

Perhaps why that’s why I’m drawn to writing him. 

[wyseink]

On Twisters and Two Nights

WyseInk Journal, Entry 2

          As I’ve gotten older, I’ve noticed that each season of each year is attached with one very specific memory. The summer of 2013, for example, was all about spending long afternoons at the pool, soaking up the sunlight with a good book in hand, awesome music blasting on the radio. That winter meant putting the most into classes, hitting the gym nightly to help with my Taekwondo training, and even breaking a previous personal best on my mile run. Throughout the past year, though, I’d begun to wonder if those experiences were beginning to dwindle. Perhaps I just wasn’t paying enough attention to them: I was certainly less active, I’m ashamed to admit, and spent my time working to get into my current graduate program so I would have a more secure future than what my BA could offer me.

           Of course, to say I was also in a funk during this time would be an understatement. A gross understatement. I’ll not depress or bore anyone with the details. Instead, I’ll focus on the first change that sparked me returning to my old (but wiser) self.

           Storm season is serious business where I’m from, at least to members of my family. We’ve never quite gotten the hang of going outside to stare in the face of Mother Nature’s pissed-off vacuums, despite the number of run-ins we’ve had with them. One minute you can be walking to class, the next the sirens can be blowing. I’ve always been careful to keep an eye on such things, and knowing the time estimate of when a particularly bad system would be hitting, I made arrangements to stay with family (who would be passing through) at a hotel halfway, which also had a basement and place where we could each keep our vehicles. It was to be a party of sorts, or something like an exciting family sleepover in a new and fresh environment.

           I arrived first and checked into the room, taking up my two bags (one of which contained a nonfiction work and my laptop) up. The room was among the nicest I’ve ever been in, let alone stayed in. While I’m not sure in the true travel sense it can be considered luxury, it certainly was nice, and had rightfully earned its reputation. This particular room was bright and chic with a refreshing Parisian-meets-west décor, complete with large windows with long, white curtains that concealed a private balcony and a minimalist black desk just to the side. I set my book and laptop at the corner, not wanting to take up too much room for when my family arrived.

           Shortly after, I got the call. A supercell was forming over them at home, and they wouldn’t be able to make it. Which meant one of two things: either I could stay (and just pay myself since they weren’t going to be able to make it), or we could work things out with the hotel.

           For the entire summer, I’d felt stuck. I’d been stuck in what had gone from a cozy apartment to a dark and lonely cave. Sure, I had work and school, but for me, something else had changed too. I wasn’t happy, not in the least. My family, despite the plans we’d made, felt distant. I had no boyfriend and, while I had friends, I never could get them to do anything anymore.

           I took one look around the hotel room, and I took the chance. I’ve always been a very frugal person, and especially as a student, it had not been an easy decision for me to make. Still, I bit the bullet and did it anyway.

           The lightness of the room began to disappear as I studied it, turning the television on as I hadn’t done once that summer and wandering about. Rain began to pour down outside and thunder rolled in pleasantly, not at all the ominous sound I was used to hearing. I sat down then, watching it all settle around the hotel, watching the way the lights changed from bright to gray within the room because of the natural light that still poured through. I took in the décor, the layout and size of the room…and I began to write.

           The strangest things can spark inspiration. Sometimes it’s as simple as a change in scenery, perfect to stimulate a long-simmering obsession. I hadn’t an idea for my original characters at that point, but for the first time that season, I had something: the image of a Parisian hotel, a sense of rejuvenation, and the romance of gray lighting seeping into luxury.

           This was the start of Two Nights in Paris and the first experience I’d created for myself that summer that awakened me from my stupor. Perhaps I’d been stuck, but at my fingertips was the blending of two fictional paradises: one which already contained a love story and characters that I knew well, and the other grounded in my own world that I wished to journey to one day. I wrote fast and freely, for the first time in a long time, unconcerned with where the story would be going.

           There are times when I feel like I’m back in that hotel room, with the cool air pouring in and the lull of the storm. I wrote and wrote, taking breaks only to pick up a salad from downstairs (fancy restaurants sometimes put full anchovies in their Caesar dressing—who knew?!) and to take advantage of the massive, deep-set bathtub.

           I slept better than I had all summer that night, and woke up refreshed in the morning, cramming as much more of a story in as I could before it was time to pack up and leave.  I enjoyed a cup of coffee on the balcony and thought, pondering the story I was writing and my own in real life.

           When I think of summer 2017, this is the memory I most closely associate with it. I’m glad I decided to stay, to give myself the small, overnight vacation I hadn’t known I needed. I left feeling refreshed, inspired, and remnants of my former self flickered back to the surface. Once I returned home, I continued to write, and managed to complete my first-ever multi-chapter fan fiction work. It’s not perfect, not even my own best in fact, but it was the first product in a long time I was proud of, and to me, that meant the world.  

           Never miss out on a chance for inspiration. You’ll never know the ideas or chain of events it might spark, and you’ll come out feeling better for it.

[wyseink]

On Self-Care and Social Rebirth

I’d originally posted this to my fitness blog as a personal supplement to a motivational video, but I wanted to re-post it here since the video isn’t currently working.

I was in a really bad state not too long ago. My grandfather had passed away last year, my life was a mess, I felt depressed for reasons on top of that one, and I had no idea where I was going in life. Similarly, it took me entirely too long to realize just how much the people around me were bringing me down. I constantly had to be on the defense when it came to their mob mentality, and they always caused trouble, blaming my reaction just for trying to remove myself from it or bring logic to the table. They attacked my beliefs, my values constantly, and over time it wore on me, to the point where I was losing sleep over things I couldn’t believe I’d ever let them get away with saying to me.

And it was all my fault. That’s what I told myself. How dare I let them treat me this way? How dare I let them say these things to me? I wasn’t blaming them at all, I was blaming only myself. For what? They were the “tolerant” ones, but when it came to any person who didn’t fit their perfect mold? Even one they’d relied on and had convinced they loved for five years? They lied, they manipulated, and somehow, managed to attempt the mental gymnastics that told them it was acceptable to treat someone who’d been there for them in every circumstance for years poorly because in 2016 their politics had become more important.

My depression was worse than it’d ever been. I’d lost loved ones, I was gaining weight, I had no direction. I was being bullied for lack of a better word, like a grade school child, and because of my age, I’d told myself that it was “just part of it.”

It was embarrassing. I had other friends from college who no longer lived in the same city, shocked, horrified, and angry by the things these people were saying and doing. Some were amused, not because of how they went about it, but because the things they were saying were such a massive crock that it was hardly different than writing terrible fiction on someone else’s wall. But to them, I always just said, “I’ll handle it.”

And I did, for far too long.

Then I remembered myself. I remembered that I’m smart, I’m ambitious, and it’s not my problem if others have a problem with that. I understand the bigger picture, I understand what’s necessary and what isn’t. I love my family, America, God, and I don’t give a damn anymore if that offends or triggers someone. Let them scream. I remembered myself, and I was done letting them drag me down with them for their petty, selfish reasons.

I finally remembered to pick myself up. I got into one of the best graduate programs in my field in the country, I started working out again, I started taking classes, going out and meeting people, and enjoying the little things like the sunshine or walks at the park. I didn’t have the weight of worrying about what I’d find when I got home, that once again, the people I’d spent my college years with had ganged up on me online, only to claim the victim themselves for something they caused.

I started writing again, re-discovered my love for it. I remembered I’m worth something, that I’m good at a lot of things and when I’m focused on them or my goals, I don’t have time to worry about the negatives.

You have to face those things head-on. There’s no way around it. But once you do, you’ll be glad you did. Life’s not going to hand good opportunities or situations to you on a silver platter, nor are you entitled to them. You need to build the path to it yourself, with blood, sweat, and tears. You need to remove any obstacles you’re able to so you can focus on the real ones.

We can’t control everything, but in terms of what we can control, we need to make the best long-term decisions.