Writing articles is personal. An author tries as hard as they can, but sometimes personal opinions seep into a seemingly perfect piece of literature. And sometimes when it doesn’t, the reader can misconstrue, extrapolate or even hammer out wrong ideas to give false life to idols built for self-use. For me it is easiest and most honest to admit that all of my word are and will be, personal. This isn’t a news site or click-bait, it is just me.
I don’t write because I feel like I have more experience than anyone, in fact that is far from reality. Many people have felt and lived through minutes that put mine in a pale comparison when they are placed next to the examination light (Anne Frank, Gandhi, Steve from accounting). And I don’t write because there is some hidden truth that man has yet to discover and put into words between the lines of my ideas. There has been more truth lost than I can ever even understand or hope to scratch the surface of. I write my articles and thoughts simply because I want to better understand myself.
I crave knowledge in all of its forms, especially the small details that are probably insignificant. Like that whisky/whiskey changes spelling depending on the country of origin or that the youngest president of the United States was actually Teddy Roosevelt (if we go by elected it is a different matter altogether, JFK for the win). But the thing I need to know the most about is exceedingly personal, myself. When lessons are learned, do I keep them locked up in a safe place or discard them as time drags forward? Where do I draw the line when it comes to how I handle situations? As I write these pieces, the chance to chronicle my life and mark down where I have been and where I think I want to be becomes a much more solid moment, an object that I can visualize.
And the reason I post them isn’t that I want attention (while it is nice to know some people are reading them), it is because it holds me accountable for my actions and makes me really examine the evidence placed in my hands. If I were to type out things that happened and never show them, I can hid each thing behind a coat of paint. Blaming other people for my own shortcomings is what I did a lot of, however when writing down the past, these opaque mirrors really do show flaws hidden under the make-up of lies. I have been at fault more times than I can count. I have lied, cheated, and done acts that are less than savory to accomplish goals (which in the end suck). There have been screenshots of my life where I wish I was a different person, but I can’t change that. I can only change who I am going to become and where the path my feet want to follow.
There is a lot of change I have to do before I die (morbid really that we don’t stop until that point…..). I am nowhere near perfect and I don’t want to be, there doesn’t appear to be any fun in perfection, just the pursuit of it. While I sit here in my room sorting through things that own me, who I was keeps flooding back in rushes of embarrassment, shame, and pride. As I look at old poems and songs I wrote (most of which will never see the light of day……) I realize that I was selfish and downright weird(er) than I am now. I still lose my temper, ask questions that are pointless and don’t have a filter. This isn’t an apology or rationalization of those things, it is just fact. I want to become a better person (not grow-up, because if movies have taught me anything, adults are terrible people and so are kids) for my future, for my children and those who I surround myself with.
Thank you for reading what I have written so far and I hope that you continue to follow along with my journey of self-discovery and point out where I can grow and change. (Mom I promise my next article will be more positive, and more coherent).
I don’t write because I feel like I have more experience than anyone, in fact that is far from reality. Many people have felt and lived through minutes that put mine in a pale comparison when they are placed next to the examination light (Anne Frank, Gandhi, Steve from accounting). And I don’t write because there is some hidden truth that man has yet to discover and put into words between the lines of my ideas. There has been more truth lost than I can ever even understand or hope to scratch the surface of. I write my articles and thoughts simply because I want to better understand myself.
I crave knowledge in all of its forms, especially the small details that are probably insignificant. Like that whisky/whiskey changes spelling depending on the country of origin or that the youngest president of the United States was actually Teddy Roosevelt (if we go by elected it is a different matter altogether, JFK for the win). But the thing I need to know the most about is exceedingly personal, myself. When lessons are learned, do I keep them locked up in a safe place or discard them as time drags forward? Where do I draw the line when it comes to how I handle situations? As I write these pieces, the chance to chronicle my life and mark down where I have been and where I think I want to be becomes a much more solid moment, an object that I can visualize.
And the reason I post them isn’t that I want attention (while it is nice to know some people are reading them), it is because it holds me accountable for my actions and makes me really examine the evidence placed in my hands. If I were to type out things that happened and never show them, I can hid each thing behind a coat of paint. Blaming other people for my own shortcomings is what I did a lot of, however when writing down the past, these opaque mirrors really do show flaws hidden under the make-up of lies. I have been at fault more times than I can count. I have lied, cheated, and done acts that are less than savory to accomplish goals (which in the end suck). There have been screenshots of my life where I wish I was a different person, but I can’t change that. I can only change who I am going to become and where the path my feet want to follow.
There is a lot of change I have to do before I die (morbid really that we don’t stop until that point…..). I am nowhere near perfect and I don’t want to be, there doesn’t appear to be any fun in perfection, just the pursuit of it. While I sit here in my room sorting through things that own me, who I was keeps flooding back in rushes of embarrassment, shame, and pride. As I look at old poems and songs I wrote (most of which will never see the light of day……) I realize that I was selfish and downright weird(er) than I am now. I still lose my temper, ask questions that are pointless and don’t have a filter. This isn’t an apology or rationalization of those things, it is just fact. I want to become a better person (not grow-up, because if movies have taught me anything, adults are terrible people and so are kids) for my future, for my children and those who I surround myself with.
Thank you for reading what I have written so far and I hope that you continue to follow along with my journey of self-discovery and point out where I can grow and change. (Mom I promise my next article will be more positive, and more coherent).