Even now. I’m spending all my time writing. Reaching out and connecting. I’m doing the hard work. I’m growing and I find it fulfilling. But when I get home at night I still look at Mason with puppy-eyes and hope he’ll agree this is significant. I still feel like it doesn’t count if people don’t share the stuff I write, don’t comment, don’t hit “like”. As if what I get out of it is somehow tied to what you get out of it. Continue reading →
How we spend our time doesn’t only change the time we’re spending. It bleeds into everything. Your existence becomes tinted. Our thoughts, our habits. We reflect them back to ourselves. Constantly shifting. Our creativity is like any muscle that grows or atrophies depending on its use. A central theme to build around. Something to color everything. Continue reading →
The number used to be lower. It was 30 when we were 25, it was 25 when we were 20. It keeps moving, but I wonder if we do. I told him I’m not so worried about the world. I want to make a mark on myself. I want to look at my life and know I did something that matters to me. No longer satisfied with the idea of just staying alive. I want to build something. Continue reading →