A
new year has started. A new month a new
semester, brand new everything. And I am
in a completely new place. Gone are the
gripes of yesteryear and all those previous blog posts. I have none of that to co,plain about
anymore. Now there are brand new gripes such as: being unemployed, new and
strange cultures, same old cultures, and many more. Honestly though life is...smoother. Which isn't to say that student life is easy. Its a brand new set of difficulties. And of course my own personal hang ups. But we'll sort that all out as we go along, won't we? And I guess that attitude, and the freedom to actually hold that attitude is what's keeping me sane lately. I've also been doing a lot of thinking and developing my own mini philosophies. Among a great many other things, the new me is greatly concerned with School and focus, fashion and personal style, and (of course) expanding upon the adoption of RISK!
(Did you like how I did that, by the way? See, its still an informal blog, but with a thesis statement and subtopics. I find it useful since I tend to meander a lot as I'm typing these things.)
My education and the focus I devote to it are really important to me right now. It took a lot for me to come here. A lot from myself and a lot from those supporting me. My first semester I managed to pay off mostly on my own thanks to the generosity of my previous employers. I suppose I also earned that generosity after suddenly growing a pair after six yeas, even though I started dying a little inside each year since about 2007. At that point it was the longest I'd ever held a job, and I thought that staying in one place was the proper, adult thing to do. It might have been but that wasn't the kind of adult I wanted to be. I was basically working for the weekends when I could cut loose and be myself, and for the free stationary and print and copy services that I could use for my other projects. My other projects being the poetry, short story, art, and cultural events and publications that I really should have been doing in the first place. No one ever told me that a job is the thing you do on the way to building your career. Or perhaps they had told me and I'd simply forgotten. Regular paychecks tend to do that.
But I did grow a pair. Yes, it was either that or lose my mind completely; I realized that when the times I left from work and started driving down the highway considering whether I should fake my death and run away or actually make it a real death became an almost daily activity. But that's not the point. I'm here. I left. And after beating myself about it for an entire semester, still wondering whether or not I was doing the right thing, I've come to accept that the investment has been too great to squander. I am still me. I am still loved by those who I love. (Long distant texts, calls, emails and care packages prove this) I do still hold a certain level of celebrity somewhere (google me sometime). And most importantly I am indeed doing what I'm meant to be doing. There's no need for external evidence in this case. I feel it. I feel it every time I sit in a class and am overcome with exhilaration just from being there. I feel it when I look around and everyone seems to be struggling with what feels like leisure to me. I even feel it when I'm the only one guffawing loudly in a class because I'm the only one actually paying attention. This doesn't mean I get to relax. No, quite the opposite. I have to excel in this case. I have to be the one that the lecturers and professors remember. I'm learning, yes. But I'm also networking. This is going to be my career at some point. Somehow. Haven't quite figured that bit out yet.
I've also become a bit concerned with my own personal style and sense of fashion. Being here hasn't just changed the way I feel about myself, its also changed how I look. Though you probably won't be able to tell after the Christmas break, I've lost a lot of weight. I'm swimming in my clothes once again. My t-shirts fit me like clothe sacks. On windy days I feel like I'm wearing a spinnaker. (I'd like to go sailing someday). My pants are even more ridiculous. I don't even unzip or unbutton them anymore to get them on or off. And if I want them to stay where I put them, I have to put them just under my ribs. I'm also 28 years old. A fact which makes me cringe every time I think of it. I shouldn't be dressed like a hip-hop video reject. I'm not a wannabe thug. I don't think I ever have been. Not seriously at least. (GCG fo life tho!)
As I was thinking about this, wandering around Manhattan this holiday, I realized that the way I dress says so much about who I am that I really aught to take a more active role in it. I should be projecting my personal image of myself; the me I want to be. Even if I don't believe I am that person yet, I should be taking steps in that direction. What type of man is that, you ask? Well, a writer and a thinker for one thing. A carefully put together wardrobe should indicate that quite nicely, I think. Luckily I already started with the glasses. I didn't know what I wanted at first, but I did know I didn't want any brand name markings that were readily visible. That's one of the first points. I am myself. I'm not Nike or Playboy. I refuse to be a walking billboard. I refuse to be a swoosh. I still like Adidas stripes though. That'll be a struggle to overcome. The point is, no more branding that isn't my own. I may make a few t-shirts in the future. Make celebrities out of the people I choose to honor. And Milner shirts are definitely in. Even if its not shared by everyone, my opinion of what I see as the Milnerite ideal is still pretty great. I'll get the whole collection and wear the MH proudly. The rest is really too long to go through without a very long explanation. I'll probably save that for another post. Several other posts. I'll save that for a publication of some sort. The point is...no more spinnakers. No more clothes that don't fit. I'm not trying to be a gangsta. I'm not so insecure as to try and make myself look like something I'm quite obviously not. And definitely no hoodies. This is the year of the button downs; the boat shoes, and on special occasions, the blazer & graphic tee.
My motto of RISK! isn't exactly a new thing, but I've been putting new thought into it. Last year, it came to me without me even knowing what it was. That New year celebration filled with drunken fireworks and friends and frightening displays of spontaneity (I really did think of the party at the same time that I put the ham in the oven that day) filled me with a feeling that I would carry with me for the rest of the year. I stared at the scraps of red firecracker wrappers and shattered pieces of newsprint that replaced the topsoil in my backyard all day as I tried to put a name to the feeling. It was my cousin Delsia who gave it to me in one of our conversations that displayed how frighteningly similar we are. We'd been thinking the same thing at the same time, and it took us coming together to figure out what that something was. "RISK!" she said. "That'll be our secret word for this year." RISK! in all caps, with the exclamation mark. Not a noun, it wasn't just a thing. Not an adjective to describe the things. It was a verb. And the explanation made it a demand. A challenge. No point sitting around waiting for something wonderful to happen. RISK! Take the chance. Make it happen. Of course now that I've made it happen, I don't think I ought to stop.
There are things that scare me. There are things that I'm afraid of. Failure is chief among them, but there's also embarrassment. Ostracism. But these are all things that I learn from. Failure is important to the learning process. If I don't know when I'm wrong, how can I ever be right? Embarrassment? Well, that's just pointless. If I'm being myself; my wonderful, corny, overly sentimental self, then there's really nothing to be embarrassed about, is there? Somewhere out there beautiful women smile wide at my corniness. Somewhere out there a troupe of cocksure men want to hug their brother and talk about the last movie they cried to. I'm 28 years old. I've found my place. It was hard to get to, but I've found that place where I belong. I'm all out of embarrassment. I am also away from that place, and I have been before. I can always go back there. Its always waiting and sometimes I carry a bit of it with me. I am an outcast everywhere I am. There's nothing to fear there either. But more than that, fear itself keeps me from living. I am a writer, and inspiration comes from life; from living and observing. I can't afford to have anything get in the way of that.
So lets see where this all takes us, shall we? I have a feeling its going to be a good year and that at the end of it I'll be closer to who I want to be. I'll be that unparalleled scholar, not only gaining knowledge but applying it daily. I'll be identifiable to myself and others, and a whole lot more confident in my own clothes. And I'll be prepared to take greater risks, and that will make life so much more...more. Its going to be a good year, even if its going to be the last.
