I have a running joke with most with myself (because I was raised an only child) about the IHOP senior citizen discount. Basically when you hit 55--or one of those ages--you get a discount on your meal apparently. I don't know if this is actually a thing but I saw it at an IHOP one day and 'dreamt' (how is dreamt not a word red squiggly line?!) about having all the short stacks on my plate. What that's turned into is me looking forward to these birthdays and instead of frowning about the age counter going up, really looking forward to it.
I could get very specific about everything I've learned in the past year and I have those handy as I tend to get reflective on the year that's passed and what I want to focus on for the next year but I'll keep this light. I want to write more. I can recall those fights with my mom when dealing with anything about writing. Her grammatical corrections. I used to hate it and then I became the grammar/spelling police (still not perfect, hence my surprise over dreamt). I wrote in college. After a writing prompt my professor said I should write for the school newspaper. Took a while--confidence issues and doubt--but eventually I did it. Had athletes (I covered sports OF COURSE lol) compliment me saying they liked my articles. Had a former boss tell me about a connect she had at the Boston Globe. Ultimately, I didn't think writing--while I had confidence in it-- was something I wanted to do. Yet in spite of that thought I still kept up with the blog I had. Not as frequently as maybe I should've but that itch was always there. After doing a post inspired by Nipsey Hussle (RIP King) on said sports blog I felt that itch come back. My girlfriend has a spot for writing on her website and after reading her posts I wanted in again. After three posts and a sample post for my boy's podcast website here I am. But I needed this journey with writing. I needed to walk away. Chase this other dream for a while. Before realizing happiness was right here all along. My family is filled with artists. My uncle was an art teacher. My great-uncle has a record label. Every Mungin had that art bug. I hated that I couldn't draw and while it took 28 years I finally learned that my art was words. Nevermind that people have been saying this about me because of how talkative I am lmfao! Are things perfect? Abso-fucking-lutely not. But things are exactly as they need to be. And that's life honestly so I've learned with 28 years and a little over 3 hours on this Earth. I've learned not to be so hard on myself--we'll see how long that lasts--and to chase/do what fulfills you. Who fulfills you. Cherish family. Cherish moments. I thought about my great-grandmother affectionately known as Mama today. I miss her and her stories like CHiPs and As The World Turns. All I want is to make her proud. I suppose this is my art, my expression, my openness. After all, all you have to speak for you when you're gone is how you made people feel and the art you left behind. Comments are closed.
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Ty FosterQuestion everything. WQHC Archives
June 2020
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