Possibility

I've been developing a sort of nautical obsession lately. Daydreaming about sailing, and the open sea. I've been dressing the part, too. I recently started wearing my pea coat that has anchors on the buttons again, and I've been thinking that instead of getting a tattoo sleeve in just fairytales it'll be ocean themed instead. For a while I thought this whole thing was stemming from my newly-acquired Disney obsession, especially with the Little Mermaid. But I've been ruminating on it a lot lately, and I think it's actually a bit more of a personal development.

I used to be terrified of the open sea. The idea of all that vast emptiness scared me, and for the longest time sailing seemed like a terrifying idea. I think the whole thing was just symbolic in my mind, though. I think that, to my subconscious, the open sea represented all the options and potential life held. It was everything that was outside of the little box I had made for myself, the comfort zone I had carved. And now, the only thing I want out of life is possibility. My comfort zone isn't enough. Even more so, it's starting to feel like a prison instead of someplace safe. I want options. Hell, I need options.

I'm stepping out of my box, more and more, and I want that open sea. I want to look into the horizon and know that regardless of which direction I take, there's something out there. Possibilities. I want adventure, I want love, and I want to live life, not just go through the motions. So that's my little revelation of the day. Seems like I'm having more and more lately. Tomorrow is a brand new year, and I'm looking forward to it. Because I'm a brand new me, and the new me could use a fresh start.

Panic! at the Diner

I freaked myself out today. For just a moment. I was at the Family Diner, a favorite place of mine, with my sister and she went to the bathroom, leaving me alone at our table. Suddenly, I became incredibly aware of my septum piercing, like it was the most physically uncomfortable thing. A moment later I absolutely hated not only the piercing, but all the changes I've gone through that I've been writing about recently. It was the strangest sort of panic, this feeling that everything I was doing was wrong. I felt like my whole world was being ripped to shreds and I wasn't even really sure why, but it had to do with all the changes in my life. The septum piercing was just the catalyst. I even seriously considered taking out the piercing for a couple moments.

I didn't take it out, of course. For that moment, when I was panicking about all the changes I've been making within myself, I even considered undoing it all. I'm honestly not sure why, but for those moments all those insecurities I had before came rushing back. Everything in my life was just wrong. I think my brain just couldn't handle the stress of the real world for a second. It wanted me to revert back to a simpler time, when all it had to do was focus on daydreams and not scary things like the future or change. The moment passed pretty quickly, and by the time my sister got back from the restroom I was back to the Me I've been getting to know lately. It was just a strange panic I felt worth mentioning. It hasn't disheartened my efforts though- if anything, it's made them stronger.

I've been weighing in my head whether to go to Anchorage in a couple days to see my step-sister and step-brother, because their mother is dying and I feel like they'll need me there for them. The closer it gets to when I'm planning on going, though, the less inclined I feel to do it. Scared of the unknown, scared of what will happen if I leave while I'm scheduled for work. I hate my job, I love my step-siblings. How was this even a difficult choice? Besides, New Timmy is far more adventurous than Old Timmy. And right now, I am in dire need of some adventure.

Metamorphosis

One thing to know about me: I never let go. This is true of almost everything in my life. I don't like endings, so even when I leave something I don't consider it ending, I consider it unfinished. I've got multiple books on my shelf that I lost interest in after getting half-way through. They've still got bookmarks in them, because I'm sure that I'm going to come back to them at some point. I'm still friends with the people I grew up with in McGrath, and the friends I made in high school. Even if I drift apart from them or have arguments, I never consider a friendship truly over until one party says so; and, generally, I end up drifting back from time to time.

This is also true of my interests. This is, in part, why I'm having such difficulty choosing a career path and area of study. Take astrology, for example. Astrology was something I became interested in a couple years ago, and sporadically throughout my life before then. And, like most things I take interest in, I became disinterested and more-or-less forgot about it for a while. And then I started becoming more interested again recently. This is also true of my writing, and this blog is a perfect example. Look at the dates from my posts, and you'll find them scattered throughout months at a time. There have been times in my life when I have been entirely sure writing would be completely intertwined with my future.

It's not so much that I'm against having a writing career. Quite the opposite, I'd love to have a future in writing. I'm just skeptical right now because, knowing myself, I'm going to lose that interest again when something "shinier" catches my interest. Maybe that's not such a terrible thing. A writer needs to have varied interests, right? But if I don't work on my self-discipline and focus, I'll never get anything done! Which is kind of what I've done for the past 22 (verging on 23) years. The big revelation I'm trying to make here is I'm changing. Not slowly, not even subtly, but quickly and obviously. It's a physical, mental and emotional transformation, something I can feel in my bones and my soul. A mixture of both big and little things.

I'm growing a beard and a mustache. Doesn't that sound like such a completely mundane change? But this is not only a physical change, but a change in mentality. I used to hate my facial hair, having to shave almost every day just because I didn't want to look scruffy. Now, not only am I okay with looking scruffy, I'm embracing it. I feel better about myself when I look kind of scruffy, I think I look more attractive. I've pierced my septum, which was something I've always thought was really stupid looking until recently. After years of completely ignoring the fact that I'm nearsighted I went to the optometrist and got glasses. I'm considering some changes to my hair and some tattoos, decisions pending.

That's just the physical. Maybe it's my mind's symbolic way of coping with the idea of change. A symbolic "life, death, rebirth" kind of thing. Full circle, and all that. Physical change have always been a constant with me, as ironic as that sounds. My hair has gone through every color on the spectrum (and that's only a slight exaggeration) and my style has gone through goth, grunge, and overtly-gay themes. I have these amazing revelations almost every half year induced by my romantic nature. I'm not sure if this is what is happening to me right now. Maybe, once again, I'm simply following my own pattern. But I really do feel like this is a breaking point for me. For once, I've found an ending that I can not only live with, but think I need to live. I don't mean that in a "suicide watch" kind of way either, but it's only been recently I've felt like my life's started to begin.

I'm making serious plans for my future. I'm losing all those strings that were holding me back before. The insecurity is beginning to melt away, and after finally getting a good look at who I am, I think I'm finally figuring out who I'm meant to be. Or, better yet, who I want to be. I'm finally getting there, guys.

This Whole "Indecision" Thing

Every time I think I've figured myself out, I throw myself for a loop... I'm a tricky son-of-a-bitch. I was so sure for the past couple months that I was going to be a teacher. I started the semester thinking, "Hey, teaching! That's something I would probably be good at and enjoy!" And that's been my mindset for the majority of the semester. I thought I had it. That was the longest time I've ever been sure about anything! ...and then my personality happened.

I was looking for classes for this upcoming semester, and I started going through the Journalism stuff. Now, to be fair, Journalism is something I have a bit of history in. When I graduated high school I even briefly considered studying journalism, and during high school I wrote for our school paper for two years. I was even an editor during my final semester. Journalism has always been something that has interested me, but that's pretty much true of any of the majors I considered.

I think my main problem is that, no matter what I do, I romanticize the career I think I want to have. But after actually chasing that career in the form of school, and thinking it over, I realize the reality is so much less than what I hoped for. When I think of journalism I imagine tough, exciting, undercover work and investigative reporting, when the reality is most reporting is fluff, especially on a local level. Hard-hitting stories are much more difficult to find than my imagination lets me run away with.

But this realization, mixed with some other facets of my life, have me coming to a greater realization than I'm losing my "head-in-the-clouds" mentality. My feet are beginning to touch the ground, and I think I'm okay with that. Even more so, I think I need that. I'm going to miss the view from up there, but it'll be good to have some down-to-earth perspective. So now, it's a matter of actually taking a long, hard look at the things in my life I'm clinging to due to my romantic nature and evaluating what purpose they actually have in my life.

I need to figure out what my major is. I need to evaluate what I've chosen carefully, and then file the paper-work for that major. Just to cement it in not just my own head, but in the great, wide world of academia. Even if I do change my major at some later point, the fact that I had chosen a major, officially, at least once before will constantly be on record. Maybe it'll motivate me.

"Timmy Snow reporting", does have a nice ring to it though, right?

Self

There's something in me that's changing. And for once, it's a change I'm not afraid of. I feel more comfortable in my own body. I can look at myself naked in the mirror and not recoil in disgust. I can see things in me that others have told me they've seen, but have always been too full of hatred for my own appearance and personality that I never understood what they meant. I'm gaining this wonderful sort of confidence that I've never experienced before. I've always considered myself an outgoing person, but it's only recently that I realized what a shell I've been living in.

When I first came out of the closet, I felt like I had to defend this image of my masculinity. Not that it was especially prevalent to begin with, and it's not like I wanted to be some macho-bullshit-asshole, but I avoided anything that I thought would associate me with the whole gay stereotype. And then a couple of years ago, I started to embrace the things in me I found stereotypical, but I think I got overexcited at my new-found acceptance. I started playing this ridiculously sassy gay caricature of who I thought I was or should be or who I thought others wanted me to be. Now, I'm beginning to find this middle-ground that just doesn't give a shit about gender barriers. And, strangely enough, I'm finding that this whole perception I had of what being gay meant directly affected my self-image.

It's only recently that I realized I'm not actually fat. For the longest time, I've thought of myself as a relatively big guy, despite the fact that I've pretty much been a stable 150 lbs. since I was 14. Sure, I'm not a twig, and I'll never be a twig. I don't have the body type. But I thought that's what gay men were, or what they wanted. I thought I needed to fit this stupid "twink" mold because that's what other people were telling me I was. This also made me hate my body hair, because this was also outside of the twink mold. I have a lot of body hair. I guess in gay terminology, this would make me an "otter," but... fuck that.

I'm so fucking tired of being defined by other people. I'm sick of letting myself be defined by other people. It's become such a way of life for me that I would do it even when I didn't need to. While I was spending all my time with the Court, when I started to embrace the "stereotypical" aspects of myself, I turned into this Kurt Hummel clone because I felt like that's what people wanted from me. And the more I acted like this character, the more compliments I got. I was told I was "fashionable" or "witty" or some other compliment, and that was what fed my self-image. Not my own perception of myself, but this positive feed-back I was getting from other people.

I didn't like myself, then, but I could never figure out why. I remember having conversations with Emily and Lavina about how I just didn't like who I was, that I wanted to change, that I wanted to be myself, but I wasn't sure of who that was. I think, in part, I am still all the people I've been. I'm still the quiet, creative goth kid in high school who spent way too much time by himself writing poetry about suicide and love. I'm still the kid I became later in high school, after shedding the goth clothing, who got along with everyone and bounced around between social groups because he never really felt like he belonged anywhere. I'm the newly-graduated young adult, so full of confidence that everything would just work out in his favor without actually having to put any effort in. I'm the disillusioned youth who lost faith in himself when he couldn't even afford to keep his home. I'm the optimistic young adult who applied for college, thinking he was major in theater and become an actor. I'm the reflective, lonely young man I am now, who's about 85% sure he finally knows what he wants to do with his life.

The only real difference with all of those people I am and have been is only the last one has a sense of self. Only the last one has realized, or just started to realize, that he's not ugly. He's not stupid. He's not a bad person. He's not defined by what others see in him, but by what he sees in himself. He knows he's got some pretty bad personality traits, but he's got some pretty great ones, too. He's starting to find out what he wants, not just out of the people around him, but out of himself and his life. And that's a pretty fucking fantastic feeling, let me tell you.

Author's Note to the Court: I hope it didn't sound like I was blaming any of you in this post. I'm not. The entire purpose was to demonstrate that I was my own biggest hurdle on my race for happiness. I changed myself to match what I thought you wanted, but I think the person I was at the time was probably a much less likable person than the person I am now/am becoming.

I want to...

I want to feel your palm against mine.
I want to feel your hair against my face.
I want to look into your eyes and know you're thinking the same thing I am.
I want to taste your lips, and drink in your breath.
I want to hear you say my name with nothing but a moan or a whimper.
I want to explore your body with a curious hand.
I want to lock my arm in yours and walk proudly down the street.
I want to yell at you and tell you what a fool you are.
I want to be the center of your universe.
I want to make you the center of mine.
I want to write shitty love songs about you.
I want to see your breath catch when you see me, the way mine does when I see you.
I want to dive into firsts and unknowns with you.
I want to be the thing you dream of.
I want to scream your name like it's the only thing keeping me alive.
I want to be that guy that you want.

Break My Stupid Little Heart, the Pisces Adventure

Nothing is ever simple, is it? There's always so much pressure. Pressure I'm putting on myself, and pressures others put on me. I'm so tired and heavy all the time, it's a familiar feeling though not a pleasant one. It reminds me of my teenage years, a constant depression hanging over my head. I used to sleep for hours, simply because it was easier than being awake. Or I would lay in bed and simply wish to be asleep, or gone from this world. This feeling isn't as strong as the feelings I got in high school, likely due to my hormones having evened out quite a bit over the years, but that doesn't make it a less crappy feeling.

I met a guy. His name is Skye. No, I didn't intend for that to rhyme. Anyway, we met about two weeks ago, and we've been pretty inseparable ever since. Since we first met we have literally not had a day when we haven't seen one another. Sounds ideal, right? Wrong. Skye doesn't date. Skye only wants a friend. Skye has said that I am "friend-zoned." In his defense, he's been pretty up-front about that since we met. Not that it stopped me from developing feelings for him, anyway... Really, though, how could I not? I finally meet another gay man who's actually interested in the things I'm interested in, and who's first order of business ISN'T to get in my pants.

We click on a level that even he acknowledges, just not a romantic one, apparently. Not that I've really approached him about my feelings. One morning, after staying over at his place (I just crashed there, no hanky-panky), I quietly told him, "I think I'm getting a crush on you." His response was to squeal in disapproval and say, "DON'T MAKE THINGS SOCIALLY AWKWARD!" I haven't broached the subject since, just tried to let it go. Not that is stemmed my feelings for him. I even sacrificed my Thanksgiving so I could spend it with him, because he doesn't have any family here and would have spent it alone otherwise.

He spent most of the day complaining about what a crappy Thanksgiving he was having. Guess it wasn't enough that I gave up my Thanksgiving with my family to spend it with him. Finally, we decided to go out to the Pumphouse, a bar that a friend of his bartends at. I assumed Skye knew it would be open, since his friend works there... well, it wasn't. Not knowing what he wanted to do, but knowing he "didn't want to go home," I decided we'd stop by my friend's house since he was having a big Thanksgiving dinner for a bunch of friends. The whole time we were there Skye just looked and acted miserable. His only solace seemed to come from his phone, which would buzz every so often with texts from his friend who worked at the Pumphouse.

I told him we could do whatever he wanted, and he decided he wanted to go to the Big I to meet the friend he'd been texting. We sat at the Big I, him loading up on a couple beers, vodka tonics, and rum and coke, while I nursed a couple beers since I was driving. He was constantly distracted, looking behind him towards the door to see if his friend had made an appearance yet. When he wasn't looking back at the door, he was talking about his friend and telling me how they had a connection he'd never felt with anybody before. This friend of his, Patrick, was apparently the first guy Skye had romantic, not just sexual, feelings for. I played the avid listener as usual, hiding the hurt I felt at the guy I had feelings for.

Finally, Patrick arrives with a couple of his friends. He seemed like a nice enough guy, though not what I was expecting. Skye is ecstatic at his arrival, since they'd had a falling out before I met Skye and this was the first time they'd seen each other since. Skye did his best to hang on to Patrick while we were there, but Patrick ran into someone he hadn't seen in a while and spent a large chunk of time talking with her. While he did that I sat at the table with the friends Patrick brought with them, especially socializing with an interesting woman named Buffy. I refused to let my hurt ruin my night, but my mind kept flashing to what would happen later on.

I honestly kind of expected Skye to ask if I could take Patrick back to his place when we left the bar. Being the passive little person I am, I would have readily agreed. I already knew how it would play out, too. We'd get to Skye's apartment, Skye and Patrick both being drunk messes. Maybe they'd even both sit in the back, perhaps even make out a bit. When we arrived at his apartment, Skye wouldn't say I couldn't stay but might imply that he wanted some "time with Patrick, since we haven't seen each other in a while." I would smile and say, "No problem." I would drop them off and let my mind torture my heart with images of them together.

None of that happened, though. I sat with Buffy and talked with her, even seeing a couple people I recognized. One of them, Sam, was a guy who I had spoken to before but found I was completely uninterested in when it was evident sex was his primary concern. I didn't talk to him, just noticed him floating around the place. He seemed to know a couple of the same people as Skye and Patrick's crew. Eventually, though, Patrick disappeared from the main bar area, prompting Skye to go look for him. Skye found Patrick in the bathroom, and I thought they were in there forever. I assumed they just didn't want to wait to get back to Skye's apartment, and my stomach turned as I waited for Skye to emerge from the bathroom with Patrick, both of them smiling happily with disheveled hair and clothes.

Instead, Skye exited the bathroom and walked straight up to me and asked if we could leave. He said it in a way that was both nonchalant and urgent, and I maybe too readily agreed, happy to avoid the fate I had thought the night would take. I found out later, on the drive back to Skye's apartment, that Skye had found Patrick in the bathroom stall with Sam. Skye was a mess in the car, telling me I "didn't know what it was like to see someone you like act like that." I gritted my teeth and said nothing, though my mind screamed, "I know exactly what that's like, you idiot! That's how I felt all night with you and Patrick!" But he was drunk, and I knew I didn't really have any right to be mad at him. After all, he'd made himself very clear on what our relationship was.

I spent the rest of the night consoling the guy I like about the guy he likes. For about three hours I laid with him as he cried and told me how miserable he was, how he sometimes thought of suicide and how he wanted a better life than the one he had. How he had finally felt romantic feelings for someone, only to have them turn around and hurt him. I cleaned the snot from his nose as his emotional out-pour created a nasal out-pour. I did my best to play the diligent friend and not let my own pain become too apparent. I didn't speak much, because I felt like I could never find the right words. I just laid there, cleaning his snot when it seemed necessary and holding him close when I thought was appropriate. I listened to him complain about how his Thanksgiving had finally taken a good turn before plummeting back down into crap. I did all of this until he stopped crying and seemed to fall asleep.

In the morning he seemed more like the Skye I knew. He was obviously still hurt by what Patrick did, but he tried to cover it up with feigned disinterest. "I don't give a fuck what Patrick does anymore" he told me, and all I could think was, "Then why are we still talking about him?" Later, his friends Jordan and Joclyn came over to his apartment. I stayed for a short while, but feeling like he didn't need me anymore, and having my own emotional drainage to work through, I decided I needed to go home. I made plans with my friend Lavina to go to Family Restaurant later than night, though. I needed someone to talk to, any Lavina has always been that friend who not only knows how to listen, but relate.

I met with Lavina, and we complained about the current problems in our life and about how guys sucked and that we needed to quit being attracted to "Takers." Skye starts texting me, and he's not making any sense. He just starts talking about some conversation that he thinks I should have knowledge of, then reveals that he's at Family Restaurant, also. He comes over to the booth on the smoking section Lavina and I are sitting in, and tells me that his friend/co-worker who had been giving him rides to work has decided he doesn't want to do that anymore, and that if he doesn't find a cheap car soon he's moving back to Wisconsin. He also told me that Patrick texted him and apologized, though I'm not sure if Skye's forgiven him just yet.

I had been feeling so much better until then. Seeing Skye didn't bring me back down, the possibility of him leaving did. If you have a negative image of Skye because of this story, then I feel it's only fair to point out that he's not always like this. He's a generous, fun person to be around. This was just the bad day that I suppose we shared, and it wouldn't be fair to judge him entirely off of this story. I like Skye, and even if he doesn't feel the same way, he's still my friend. I'm a glutton for punishment like that. Part of the Pisces persona, I guess.

There was a metaphor that Lavina and I discussed while we were at Family. It stemmed from both of us being water-signs in the zodiac- she's a Cancer, I'm a Pisces. We're both these water creatures, and we're stuck in this fishbowl. The fishbowl could be a number of things. It could be the city of Fairbanks, a place we both feel trapped yet at home in. It could be our own emotions, our own brains, this space that we can't ever seem to escape and just have to cope with. As a Cancer, Lavina hides in the corner of the bowl, claws at the ready to punish someone who threatens her. As a Pisces, I am the two fish swimming at the top of the bowl in infinite circles. So close to the freedom that exists outside, but unable to leave it.

We both dream of the ocean. It represents freedom from all things. It's the place we'll get to when we don't have to worry about boys or Fairbanks or all the shit that seems to accumulate in a tank. It's the freedom to be who we want, without fear. It's the rest of the world, all the places we have yet to be but want to see so bad. It's the end goal, the paradise we seek. If we could only find the right stream, maybe we could find our way to the ocean. But first we have to get out of this tank. Maybe it's terribly selfish of me, but I'm glad I'm not alone in this.

Firework

For so long I've been told that I'm a smart and creative person. That I am too smart or creative to not do something awesome with my life. It's not something I see in myself, so I've honestly never taken it to heart too much. But parents, teachers, even friends have said it to me at different points in my life. It's not like I think I'm stupid or unimaginative, I'm just not sure how to exercise this potential they see in me. But if it is there, it's something I'd like to get in touch with, which is why I've been stepping outside my usual safety net lately. Taking public speaking class to get over my fears and voice class to finally learn a skill I've always wanted were two ways of doing that. Yet, it still doesn't seem like enough.

Like the Katy Perry song, I do feel like a "plastic bag drifting through the wind." It's such a silly metaphor when taken at face value, but when you feel as out of touch with yourself and the rest of the world as I usually do you get a much more meaningful grasp on it. The whole song has, since the first time I heard it, resonated with me on a very personal level. It's about how everyone has this beauty and capability inside of them, this fuse that needs to be lit so you can show the world what your capable of. For me, it's all about this potential I've been trying to tap into for years now. I just don't know how to let all my colors show. I feel like I'm still a work-in-progress, a fuse that's been lit but hasn't reached its detonator yet.

But I want so bad to reach this potential within myself, or in the very least to find my limits so I can say, "See everyone? All that stuff you thought you saw in me never existed in the first place." Mostly, right at this moment, I want to show my parents my capabilities. My dad has always been hard on me: when I was working and had an apartment of my own, he was disappointed that I had no plans to go to school. When I lost my job and apartment and decided to go to school, he was disappointed that I didn't have a job. Since I became a teenager it feels like he's always been incredibly critical of me, never proud of what I did achieve. Part of me just wants him to be proud of me, another part just wants to shove it in his face so I can say, "Look at me now, Dad. I'm more than you ever thought I could be."

My mom has always been a lot more accepting of me, to the point where I would even define it as coddling. Lately, though, it seems like she's getting disenchanted with me. I enrolled in school and she was happy for a time, then it wasn't enough. I got a job and she was happy for a time, and now it doesn't seem to be enough. She's told me that if I don't act more responsible, then I'm not allowed to live here anymore. I'm not sure what kind of responsibility she's looking for, though, as if balancing school and work wasn't enough. Maybe she's just pushing my limits, looking for the same thing I am, to reach this potential that she's always told me she's seen in me. Somehow I doubt it, though. I feel more like she's tired of having her 22 year old son live with her, while her other adult children live away from home.

Just to clarify, though, it's not as if I want to live at home with my mom and step-dad. Besides the obvious social implications, we live 20 minutes out of town and that's a tiring distance. The fact of the matter is, I don't have any options if I want to keep going to school. When my older sister moved out, she went to beauty school in Anchorage. But during that time, she lived with her biological mom until she graduated from her year-long program. One of my younger brothers dropped out of college and now works two jobs to afford his apartment. The other younger brother works at his grandfather's bar in the village we grew up in, living in a small shack on his grandpa's property. My younger sister never went to school, instead she works housekeeping on the North Slope, making enough money to live comfortably enough but also having to spend two weeks out at the camps they work from.

I want independence more than anything, I'm just not sure how to get it without giving up the future I want for myself. I want to keep going to school, I want to become a teacher, and I want to make a future for myself. I want to travel the world, meet exciting people, do memorable things. I don't want to live in Alaska all my life, and I certainly don't want to live with my parents the whole time. I know there's a lot of stress on their side, too, but what options do I have? How do I get everything I want in this equation? Maybe if I really had all this potential everyone sees in me I would already know...

I don't want this.

I don't want my heart to skip a beat whenever I see or think of you.

I don't want to go to social functions and hope I'll see you there.

I don't want to think of you almost every second of the day.

I don't want mental images of you to flash through my mind when I finally do manage to think of something else.

I don't want to wonder what kind of kisser you are.

I don't want to hold on to every brush of skin or quick glance.

I don't want to fall in love with you.

I just don't think I can deal with it right now.

Crush Crush Crush

One of the hardest things I've had to deal with as a gay man is getting crushes on straight friends. Which, I suppose, does make me pretty lucky; my coming out was super easy, I've never had any problems making friends who've accepted me for who I am, and I've never been the target of an anti-gay crime. So, I suppose I've lived a pretty charmed life as an out gay man. Still, matters of the heart are always complicated and usually pretty shitty, sometimes for parties who aren't even involved.

When you develop a crush on a straight guy, though (or a straight female if your a lesbian, or a gay member of the opposite sex if you're straight), you're completely helpless. You know that no matter what you do, how you change yourself, how well you treat them, they will never feel the same way about you as you do about them. And because you've already accepted these truths, it becomes even harder to distinguish a crush from love. Or maybe you don't allow yourself to realize it; you pretend you don't know you're in love or not because of the futility of it all.

As you can probably tell, I'm no stranger to these affections. Almost all of my crushes have been straight men, and I've even fallen into desperately unrequited love with some of them. And it may be happening again. "Luckily," because I've been through this all before, I've become much more adept at handling these emotions. I used to fall into deep depressions because of them, wanting someone I knew would never love me back. Eventually you find ways to put "positive spin" on your feelings though, expressing them in subtle ways so you don't reveal them, but you also don't bottle them up.

I feel like love, real love, is best expressed through the object of your affections happiness. I know this person will never love me, so I just want to see him happy. I know he won't be happy with me, so I gladly accept whatever person in his life he has that makes him happy. I'll be the best friend that I can be to him, because friendship is the best love I can get back from him. It's not perfect, and sometimes you do have moments where you just think of the utter hopelessness of it all.

It's difficult to not see him without your heart skipping a beat or getting caught in your throat; you have trouble thinking about things that aren't him; you wonder what kind of couple you could have been, but you know will never happen. You don't want to, but your mind won't let you think about something that doesn't involve him. It's almost like a sickness you can't get rid of. But, speaking from personal experience, you will move on.

You won't stop loving him. But you can deal with seeing him on a daily basis without longing for something more. You'll think about someone else in those quiet moments when you daydream about falling in love. Maybe you'll even find someone else who catches your eye, someone you can find a way to be with. And a small part of you will continue longing for that person, and the rest of you may not be happy, but you will be content, which is a blessing in itself.

Worst Enemy

I miss my friends. I miss all of them, at the same time. I miss the ease with which we used to hang out. But, I suppose things always fall apart in the end, don't they? Maybe this is why I used to place myself on the outskirts of so many different social groups- because somehow I knew the group I found myself with most would fall apart, and I would need another one to pick myself back up. Maybe that's one of those wicked personality traits you get being the child of divorced parents. I had always thought I'd avoided any sort of psychological damage from my parents divorce, but a lack of trust that relationships won't fall apart? The ease in which I simply phase people out of my life, with an unconscious effort? Could these be the far reaching effects of being the witness to my parents volatile relationship? Could I have developed this strange self-defense mechanism that caused me to distance myself from relationships I knew would fall apart?

Years after we'd known each other, after we'd identified one another as best friends, Emily told me she didn't actually know much about me. I'd like to think she knows a bit more about me now, but thinking about all my friends, who really knows that much about me? Inside and out? Sam has known me for years, we've shared our childhood, but been apart most of our adult life. She knows the person I used to be, but I doubt she knows the person I am today; at least, not well. Meghan knows me fairly well, due to my mom and having seen my family life first-hand. And then Emily probably has the best idea of my character, due both to our friendship and her strangely perceptive mind. But, in all of these scenarios, its not the fact that I let my guard down that gave my friends this insight, its a shared past or experience, learning through trial rather than communication.

It's been my biggest difficulty in pursuing an education in the performing arts. Even for someone interested in acting, which may seem silly to some; though it seems like an outlet to escape being yourself (and it can be) you're also leaving yourself bare. You're giving up the walls you create when you perform, boring holes in it to allow people to see something real in the facade you're creating. I remember in Fundamentals of Acting we were tasked with performing a monologue, one we were to write ourselves. I could have done the easy thing and just wrote a funny one- as a matter of fact, it's probably what I should have done- but instead, I wrote a monologue about being abandoned by one of my best friends, Jake. I thought it would be a simple thing to give the monologue in front of everyone. I had the lines memorized, but I hadn't realized how hard it would be to convey this feeling of abandonment in front of my classmates. I stared at the floor and avoided their gazes, as if that would spare me from their judgement.

I'm not sure if anybody actually judged, though. At least, not maliciously. Perhaps it was because we all had to do the same thing, we all had to bare our souls before our classmates. We could empathize with the feeling of discomfort we all felt. Maybe all it takes is a bit of empathy to nullify your own, personal judgement. Artists play at CCH all the time, some of them great, others... less so. But, regardless of their performance, I'm always impressed with and envy their ability to be on stage, to be brave enough to face the crowd. I imagine even those that don't look nervous are far more fearful than they let on. I would be.

Returning to the point at hand, these walls I've built have kept me confined from my friends. I speak my mind when it doesn't pertain to me, when it's not revealing anything about myself. Luke needs some advice on something personal? I'll give him the answer I think is the best course of action. Somebody asks, "How are you feeling, Timmy?" I say, "Oh, I feel fine," regardless of what I'm feeling. Is it wrong to do that to your friends? To block them out of your personal life, when they continue to let you in? The longer I get to know someone, the thicker the walls get. The closer I get to someone, the more indifferent I act around them, when in truth I love them very much. All my friends- the ones I long abandoned, and the ones who long abandoned me, and the ones who stick around today. But I love them at arms length, too uncomfortable with myself to let someone else in my head. I don't let people know how I'm feeling, when all I need is someone to talk to.

My insecurity is my enemy. I am my own worst enemy.

The best laid plans

I'm scared. I'm scared that everything I've ever tried to avoid in my life, all that normality and mediocrity I talked about in my last post, is catching up to me now. I work at a gas station, not quite 9-5 but still incredibly menial. I suppose some people think I should be happy about that. I should be content with my completely unimpressive and depressing job and just be glad I'm a tax paying American citizen. But fuck those people. Fuck the life they think I should have, or the way they think I should live my life. Fuck me, for being incapable of getting out of this life. For being too much of a coward to have followed my dreams before, for not trying out for plays when I had the chance, or moving out of Alaska, or in the very least Fairbanks, when I thought I could.

As much as I disagree with the lifestyle choices Kylie's making, as well as the fashion choices she makes, I'm completely envious of her courage. How she was able to pack up and leave her life in Fairbanks behind and just start new and fresh in San Francisco. I'd love to be able to do that. Maybe I can. Work off the student loans I've accumulated so far and see what they'd make of me in San Fran? Maybe even apply for school down there? Kylie's one of the few success stories I know of, though. Most people who've moved to the lower 48, that I know of, have ended up moving back due to homesickness or financial reasons. People I would consider much stronger people than I. What's more, I've made this case to myself before, also. I told myself I was gonna move out of Alaska in a year... two years ago.

I barely even know how to be an adult. Credit? It's probably crap, in all honesty. I'm pretty sure I'm in debt, and I haven't even started paying off my student loans yet. Still, there's always those stories that give you hope, that make you wonder if maybe you could also be special, meant for great things. Madonna moved to New York with $30-something in her pocket. Chris Colfer was an unknown kid from the midwest, and now he's a huge gay icon who's best known character was literally written into the show he stars in because they liked his audition so much. I don't think I can hold a candle to Madonna or Chris Colfer, or any number of talented celebrities with humble backgrounds, but I don't know if I could live with myself if I didn't even try.

Which has always been my downfall. I fear failure, and so I never try anything. I never audition or try to pick up a new skill, especially a performing skill, because then not only is there the possibility of failure, but there's the possibility of failing in front of an audience. Fear has always been the primary motivator of my inaction, so it only makes sense that the only way I could get out of this sickening rut would be an equally terrifying presence in my life- mediocrity. If it's gonna work this time, though, I need to stick to my guns. I don't have the luxury of giving up this time, I can feel it. So, here's my plan:

The next audition I hear of, I'm trying out for. I've already asked Hannah to keep me in the loop, and I've got a couple of the theaters in Fairbanks set to send me an e-mail alerting me of upcoming auditions. I need to go to school here for at least another semester, in order to get my GPA up. Then I'll start applying for schools in the lower 48, and scholarships. Maybe I'll even focus on theater magnet schools. I just know that if I don't motivate myself enough this time, I'm gonna fall back into that same rut I've been in and I'm don't think I'll ever be able to climb back out. Not the way I want to, anyway.

Mediocrity

It's really frustrating having so many talented friends. I mean, I adore my friends, and I really love the fact that they're talented, but it really makes you realize how unimpressive you are. I can't play any instruments, I don't have any cool tricks or hobbies. I can't draw to save my life. I suppose if you need to ask someone about comic books or how to get to the next level in a videogame I'm your guy, but that's about as far as my talent reaches. Hell, even my little brother is learning to play guitar and piano. People always tell me I'm creative, but I've got no outlets for this creativity they supposedly see in me, so how can they even tell? Even my blog posts are sporadic and sometimes messy.

I was so sure of myself when I was young. I really believed that I had this creativity, this talent, that would take me places. I was sure I was gonna be an actor, or a singer. I was comfortable with that kind of attention, then. And I'm not saying I'm shy, because I love attention just as much as the biggest starlet, but I have a terrible discomfort with crowds. And stage fright isn't really a conducive trait for a performer. And I haven't acted in anything since, like, elementary school. I envy Hannah for her ability to thrive on the stage. She loves what she does, she loves the crowd, and I wish I had that. Because, as it stands, I'm going nowhere and fast. I'm gonna end up living the kind of life I've always told myself I wouldn't live because I have no other options.

I'm gonna work a 9-5 job, earn a steady income, live a mediocre life. There will be nothing impressive about me. I don't think I can properly explain how much I've tried to avoid living that kind of life. And it's not so much that I want the glamor of a performer, though that is a part of it, but I don't want mediocrity. I don't want to be someone who blends into the crowd. I want to be someone who turns heads when I walk, the kind of person you can't help but notice. I refuse normality, although I'm also pretty sure normality refused me long ago. But where do I go from here?

I need a push. Something that will get me really going on achieving these things. I need to audition for plays. I need to take vocal lessons. Maybe even pick up an instrument. I need to write more often. I need something to save me from the mediocrity I've been stewing in, because I can't do it anymore. I don't want to do it anymore. I refuse to do it.

Time Heals All Wounds...?

You know, I always figured this would get easier. You've been gone for 9 years, but I still think about you on a regular basis. I guess that's to be expected, though... It would be unfair to just completely forget you. And I don't think I'd ever want that. I just want this to get easier. I'm tired of wondering about the person you would be today, or thinking back to the days when we played hide-and-go-seek tag in your yard. The days I would stay the night at your house and your mom would record Pokemon for us to watch when we woke up.

I feel so bad for your family too, but what do I say? Sure, it's been 9 years since we all lost you, but is this an approachable subject now? I just don't know who else to talk to about you. I don't have the same friends we used to. Jonny is not the person I used to know... BJ is just as scandalous and stupid as he ever was. Jacob stopped being friends with me when I came out to him... That's another thing I always wondered about. Would we still have been friends if you had been alive when I came out? I'd like to think so. Sometimes I wonder if you maybe had the same secrets I did- I always remember you telling us you had a crush on someone, but you would never tell us who it was... was it a guy?

I miss you, Pat. I wish you were still around. I miss the way you used to say my name, or the way we would fight about something really stupid and you would always apologize first because I was/am far too stubborn to do it. I miss your laugh, and your smile. I miss how you always stuck up for me, even though I was the weird kid in McGrath. How you always made sure I was included in things, even things you knew I wouldn't like but would go do anyway because it was better than being alone. I wish I didn't have to do this without you. I wish I knew what would have happened to us if you hadn't died. I wish you were still alive, and still my best friend. I wish I could hear your voice again.

I Get By With A Little Help From My Friends

I watched an episode of How I Met Your Mother a couple weeks ago that really got me thinking. In the episode, Lily invites all of her friends to see a play she was in. They all go, of course, even if they do have to convince Barney to go. When the play was over everyone tells Lily how great it was, except Barney, who says straight-up, "That was awful!" (It was.) This sparks a debate between them on if friends should always be honest with one-another and sit through things they know they won't enjoy for their friend's sake, or if they should always support their friends endeavors, despite your own personal thoughts on the matter.

In order to prove his point, Barney writes a one-man show specifically tailored to be awful and make Lily hate it. Halfway through his show, Lily gives up and tells Barney he was right and that it was terrible. Proud of his endeavor, Barney is also a little bit disappointed that, with Lily's admission, he doesn't get to finish his show. Seeing his despondence over it, Lily tells Barney he can finish his show; she sits back down and continues to watch a show that was tailor-made for her to hate it. Simply because she knows it matters to Barney and he is her friend. This got me thinking about myself and my own friends.

There are a lot of situations in which I am the "Barney" to my friends. When Hannah was in the Vagina Monologues, a show she was really proud of, I told her I wasn't going to see it because the content didn't appeal to me. As her friend, though, wasn't it my duty to go to the show and support her anyway? Earlier in the week I received a message from my mom telling me she would be home soon. As she had been gone for months, and I am a terrible housekeeper and had been throwing parties almost every weekend, the house was a wreck. Many of my friends had expressed an interest in helping me clean, since they had been present at a lot of the parties that caused the mess. The first person to show up was Hannah, though I sent her off early because a friend of hers needed someone to talk to.

I have friends who are willing to come to my house and help me clean it, while I wasn't even willing to spend a few uncomfortable hours listening to a performance by one of my friends. This whole chain of events got me thinking about friendships in general, the concept of friends and the reason we keep the friends we keep. I examined some of my own relationships, like my relationship with Meghan. Despite the fact that I have housed her entirely rent free and that, due to her lack of job and finances, I supported the both of us with my student loan, she chose to get drunk at a party in town instead of coming to the house to clean with the rest of our friends. Still, despite the fact that I was angry at her for a couple days, I find myself enjoying her company from time-to-time.

I don't hate Meghan. I love her. I just can't depend on her, and I know she's lied and attempted to manipulate me, and so I also can't trust her. I still consider her a friend, though, and it's this idea that confounds me; if I think this way about Meghan, what must others think of me? Perhaps I'm more thoughtless than I should be. Having so many people come to my house and clean, seeing all of my friends get this house cleaner than it's been since my mom left, I realized how much I depend on my friends. It made me realize just how much the relationships I have mean to me and how much I must mean to them in order for them to go out of their way to help me.

I don't want my friends to look at me the way I now look at Meghan. I don't want to be someone they care for, yet know they can't depend on. I want to hold on to this feeling I have, this feeling of intimacy and compassion and trust and love that I have for them, and I want them to feel it, also. I want to know they feel about me the way I feel about them, even if it is selfish to want all of that.

I Dreamed a Dream...

One day, I'm going to fall in love. Probably with someone who's just as creative and tragically misguided as I am. Because I have so many music majors in my life, I imagine he will also be a musician. We'll live together in a cozy (translation: "small") studio apartment, working terrible minimum wage jobs and working on our creative mediums in our spare time. I'll write short stories and poems, and he'll write lyrics and melodies. We'll compliment each other on our work, and criticize each other when our work stinks, but instead of leading to an argument it'll lead to discussion on why we think it's good or bad.

Eventually, he'll develop a small fan base and I'll publish a book. Neither of us will blow up, but we'll both receive a boost in ego and bank accounts. We'll find ways to make money from our passions. I'll freelance articles from time to time while working on my next book, while he works the random, odd paying gigs. We'll finally have more money, but we'll save it so we can travel or spend it on something fantastic. One day, we might use it to move- maybe to New York or San Francisco or some place more exotic. We'll probably move into something just as cheap and small as our first apartment together, because we're comfortable enough with small spaces.

Eventually, one of us will propose. Whoever does it, and however it's done, it will only be in extremes. Either it will be a huge, lavish, romantic proposal, or it will be a casual, "Hey, wanna get married?" We'll become engaged, but being as tragically flake-y as creative people often are, our actual wedding day will not be for some time, as we'll both procrastinate on planning the wedding as long as possible. I'll want an outdoor wedding, preferably under the stars. He'll want a daytime wedding, or perhaps even a traditional wedding in a church. We'll argue about it for a couple hours until one of us finally gives in and the negotiations begin. Eventually we agree that we can have a traditional wedding in a church, so long as the reception takes place outdoors under the stars, so we can have our first dance under the stars. But we still have our wedding song to argue about. It'll be a long day for both of us.

Next comes the house. We'll both have steady jobs in some sort of capacity, and we'll have found ourselves being practically middle-class. We'll save up some money and take out a loan, and buy a house. Our finances will drive us both crazy and stress us out, and we'll yell and shout at each other in our frustrations, but we'll always apologize when we realize we were wrong to act that way. We'll get a cat, or a dog, if we haven't already and discuss having kids. The discussion will make me realize how old I am, and terrify me, but I'll still be open to the idea. I'll stress my belief in adoption, while he tries to explain to me why it's important for our child to share our genetics. In the end, I won't budge on my point, so we agree on adoption.

If our child is a boy, his name will be Bennet "Benny" Robert. If she's a girl her name will be Charlotte "Char" Amelia. These are also things I probably wouldn't budge on, but we'll see how that goes when he presents his baby-name ideas. The adoption will take forever, as most adoptions do, but in the end we will have a child of our own. We will let our child know the truth about his/her adoption, but always let him/her know we love him/her. We'll both be rather lenient as parents, and give our child freedom to make a lot of his/her own choices, but in the end I will be the harder of the two of us- though, not by much. We'll argue very lightly in front of our kid, but mostly in jest; we'll both have agreed that serious arguments are to be had in private, and even then we should make a conscious effort not to raise our voices. Parenthood will have changed us in ways I can't even conceive of right now.

Our child will continue to grow up, and will know his/her family exceedingly well- he/she will love his/her aunts and uncles on my side of the family. My husband might be an only child, or have a distant relationship with his relatives. Our child will be a complete hellion in their adolescent. After all, it's only fair after the teenagers we were. Still, we'll be accepting of our child and try to lead him/her down a safe and healthy path. We'll both bawl like babies during our child's graduation, and will try to stress the importance of college. We'll both hope our kid goes into a creative field, preferably our own, but try to be accepting of whatever he/she chooses.

We'll grow old together and watch our kid have kids of his/her own. We'll cry together as we lose loved ones and laugh together as we recall all the good times and the past. I'll be more neurotic as an old person because I think I can get away with it. One day, one of us will pass away. Whomever is surviving will mourn with the rest of the family, and for the first time in decades will live a life without another half. It will be terrifying and lonely, but eventually I/he will find peace, and eventually pass away also. If there's an afterlife, we'll be together again. If not, we'll be buried together, or perhaps cremated with our ashes spread to a place that matters to both of us.

I dream of romance. All of it. Not just the fun, easy parts, but the difficult parts that test how much love really exists in a relationship. I'm a freak, yeah, but someday, somebody is going to love me for that.

People Change

It's an undeniable fact of life. People change constantly, and never has this been more apparent to me than it was today. I had tea with Lavina and Liam at Sipping Streams, and while I had a good time, the conversation that used to flow so naturally between us seemed a lot more forced than it once did. Often times we would substitute conversation with interaction with Liam, Lavina often adjusting his toy or myself delighting in making him smile (which isn't all that difficult, but it's fun watching his little face light up). I realize now that our friendship had been bound in similar thoughts and experiences before. Parties we had both attended, people we both knew. Sure, there was some of that, but our commentary wasn't what it used to be.

And it makes perfect sense. For the past year, Lavina has been preparing to become a mother. I spent the last year looking for the person I wanted to be. She was forced to deal with parenthood, while I was still trying to figure out how to be an adult. After I lost my apartment, I distanced myself from the wonderful group of friends I had before and during my life there. I think, subconsciously, I had associated them with my failure, and tried to stave off further failure by keeping distance from them. I began hanging out with a new crowd- Meghan and Luke and Amelia and so on- yet my failures still persisted. Because it was never my friends that caused my failure, it was myself. My lack of ambition, as well as my inhibition and general naivete, made me miss out on some great opportunities and experiences, and a large chunk of my friends life.

Now, I'm finding it harder and harder to reconnect with them, though I hope they realize I am trying. But being almost completely absent through Lavina's pregnancy, as well as most of new-born Liam, is definitely a blow for our relationship. David is practically non-existent in my life, also dealing with parenthood and his future plans. Hannah, perhaps, has changed the most though. While she's always been dramatic and avoided sharing her feelings of pain, it's obvious whatever demons that have been plaguing her are worse than ever. Her chipper, happy personality seems more like an act now than the girl I once knew. Emily is the most recognizable, and perhaps still the most present, in my life- and for once in a very long time, she seems to be doing generally all-right. She seems the happiest I've seen her since high school, if not a bit stressed out.

To my friends, to The Court, I want to apologize. I've always had a multitude of insecurities that caused me to project an image that was never me, or distance myself from the people who showed me those insecurities. I can't do that anymore. I'm growing up, and more than that, I don't want to lose you all. I hope my efforts to reconnect have been noticed, and I hope you understand that my distancing myself was never about you- it was about me dealing with my own short-comings. Which, to an extent, I have, though there are still some things I'm working on. None of you seem to hold any of this against me, and perhaps you don't, but it's something I believe I will continue to regret. Especially being absent for Lavina's pregnancy, when I'm sure she could have used as many friends as possible.

This is me. This is me attempting to grow up and become a better person. A person who would like to continue being in each and every one of your lives, and hopefully make them the better for it. I know I've never been the most reliable person, but that's one of those things I'd like to change. I want you to know that I am someone you can start to rely on, though I know it's not as simple as that. If nothing else, I am more than willing to earn that trust. Because I know we'll grow apart- with everything happening in each of our lives, it's bound to happen- but before that happens I'd like to make amends. I know we'll never forget each other, we've got too many memorable experiences to ever do that, but when you do remember me, I'd like you to think of the man I'm growing into and not the boy who ran away when things got tough.

I'm ready for change. I'm ready for all of us to change. And I want to be there to see all of us grow into better people.

Single on Valentine's Day

For some people they can't imagine such a thing. Some people actually go out of their way to have a special someone to share Valentine's Day with. Today will be my 21st Valentine's Day single. I'm not going to say it's a bit of a let-down, because it is, but you know what? I survived. And not only did I survive, but I actually had a really good day. I got to hang out with some friends I don't get to see often enough. I talked to one of my friends about her Valentine's Day plans with her boyfriend. I was a bit envious, yes, but I was also just really happy for her. Happy that she was able to find someone, happy that she's very much in love with someone, and happy that she was happy.

People forget what Valentine's Day is really about. It's not about couple's celebrating being a couple. It's about celebrating love. Of course two people in love are going to have an extra good Valentine's, but that doesn't mean those of us who are single are automatically down-in-the-dumps. I'm happy for all of my friends who currently have a significant other. I'm happy that they have a day to put aside the rest of the world, maybe even for just an evening, and lavish one another in romantic gestures. It would be hard to make every day as significant as Valentine's Day, I imagine, because everyone has so much going on in their life as it is. People say you should treat the people in your life as well as you do during the holidays everyday, and you should always treat the people in your life with kindness and respect, but it's hard to divide the kind attention for family and friends you have during the holidays throughout the year.

We live in a society were things are constantly getting more and more hectic. This becomes especially apparent as you grow up. School, jobs, children. It's hard to show all the attention and affection you have for someone all the time through-out an entire year as things pile up on an individuals life. And, honestly, showing this kind of affection year-round would probably get grating. I'm a creature of change- I, for one, need ups and downs in my relationships. It makes the ups all the more enjoyable, especially after a really low period. And I'm not even talking romantically, I'm talking about the friendships in my life. I, honestly, don't have any clue what kind of significant other I would make (as my first blog post makes known). As a hopeless romantic, though, I know I'll figure it out one day.

Which is another reason I can enjoy Valentine's Day. Because I get to see all my friends have wonderful Valentine's Days with their significant others, and I know that I have something to look forward to one day. I have my first Valentine's Day with somebody special to look forward to. And that feeling, the fact that I know I have that to look forward to, is wonderful.

Okay

For the first time since I lost my apartment, I feel okay. It's been a while since I've been able to just sit down and feel... content. For once in my life I'm on top of my homework, so I'm not stressing about school. I'm not spending my money all willy-nilly, so I'm not stressed about money. When I lay my head down to sleep there are no nagging, persisting thoughts to pester me. Sure, there are things I'd like to add to my life right now (a boyfriend would be nice), but they're not really things I need. They don't nag my mind when it's looking for a few moments of peace.

It's a wonderful feeling, "okay." Sure, we should all shoot higher, but simply being okay is a wonderful thing to be if those other, better feelings are just slightly out of reach at the moment. And when you feel something other than "okay" you tend to get distracted. If you're happy, sad, angry, or whatever, you've probably got things on your mind that keep you from thinking about the necessities. You think about the necessities when you're okay. You have an easier time remembering and knowing what it is you want, because there's nothing else there to cloud your judgement.

Or perhaps this is just maturity, and I've just never recognized it before. Maybe I didn't think of the practical before now. For the first time in my life my mom asked me what I wanted for my birthday, and I asked for something pragmatic. Maybe "okay" is simply growing up and finding out where you want to be in this world and figuring how you get there- even if it is one step at a time. Maybe okay is having numerous little things go your way once in a while. Maybe okay is a collection of all of these things, and just a feeling of contentment that can be found only when you've reached a certain psychological cue. I can't say for certain. The only thing I am sure of, is that I'm okay.

And I'm really glad to be okay.

Imagination

The greatest gift the human race has is the imagination. Without it we would never have advanced as far as we have. Without the ability to imagine a better future we never would have been motivated enough to create modern marvels, but we would simply live on instinct like the rest of the animal kingdom. So I suppose you could say it's our ability to imagine that makes us human. Growing up, I was always encouraged to stretch and exercise my imagination by my grandma. She also encouraged me to read and write, and was a huge influence on my continued interest in English to this day. My Grandma understood the importance of creativity, and I think she always knew I was suited for a more artistic job than a more logic oriented one. It makes sense that I'm a daydreamer today. I spend countless hours imagining fictional scenarios, some I think I will use as a starting point for actual story-lines I want to write, but most of the time it's just for me to escape into a better world than this one. Which isn't to say that I don't love the reality I live in, but I also can't deny that I'm a bit of an escapist.

I dream of supernatural things, science-fiction things, and even things set in reality. I dream of one day getting married and starting a family. I dream of having a career that I love and pays well. I dream of having a career I love that doesn't pay well. I dream of living in New York, or London, or traveling. I dream of becoming a companion (and love interest) of the Doctor. I dream of finding out I'm a mutant and joining the X-Men, or developing mystical powers and becoming a member of the Avengers. I dream of being famous and talking on the Late Late show with Craig Ferguson. I dream of getting a kitten. I dream of being a total Batman-style vigilante, or Catwoman-style super thief. I dream of mental instability. I dream of fairy tails. I dream of heroes, and villains, and sometimes heroes who are villains and villains who are heroes. I dream of good and evil and all that gray area in-between.

And that's just the tip of the iceburg. I daydream constantly. When I'm watching movies or TV shows I daydream myself superimposed in the show, a character added by me. I give myself different backstories, depending on the story, and even abilities. My imagination is constantly active, it's constantly feeding me and by living my life and absorbing any and all information that catches my interest I'm also feeding my imagination. Because even a powerful imagination is limited by what you know. Someone who's never seen the color red can't imagine the color red, and in that same vein someone who's never opened their mind and experienced what life has to offer is limited in their imagination. You need to be open to new experiences to fully develop as a person, and you need the imagination to understand your potential.

After all, a mind is a terrible thing to waste.

Onward and upward!

Like most people my age, I've spent a lot of time wandering aimlessly through life. It wasn't until recently that I realized I wanted to be a writer, and before then my lack of ambition caused me a lot of anguish. Feeling that my life was going nowhere, I started going to college. Even then I didn't know what I wanted to get a degree in- as a matter of fact, I started school as a Theater major. Throughout the year, I adored all of my classes, but I felt like I wasn't doing what I was supposed to. I enjoy acting, and I loved the class, but I just didn't see that being a career I would choose later on in life. And while psychology has always fascinated me, the class itself bored me to tears. The one class that I felt I did good in and completely enjoyed was English, the subject I've always loved.

I realized, then, that I wanted to major in English, and soon after that, I realized I wanted to be a writer. The answers seemed so obvious to me after that! Even in elementary school my test scores for reading and writing were high enough that that they wanted to bump me up a grade. I've always been motivated when it came to writing, and commonly complimented on the things I wrote. A poem I wrote for a mandatory poetry slam in high school was requested by multiple students to be submitted into an artistic compilation the school put together at the end of the year. I had simply written the poem for the extra credit my Creative Writer teacher was giving, so to be told that my poem was requested and that my fellow students had liked it was a big deal for me. It was something that I was proud of, and still am, though I don't really write poetry anymore.

The point is, I'm almost 22 years old, and I'm just now finding who I want to be in my life. Yes, I'm terrified of the future, but I'm also really excited for all the possibilities. Whereas the thought of the future terrified me before I realized what I wanted to do, now it looks a lot more promising. The fact that I know what I want gives me hope, and since I can now more accurately plan for my future, I have a lot more direction than I once did. I think a lot of people, especially around my age, are feeling that terrified feeling now. With the economy the way it is, the future is already a terrifying prospect, but to also have to work with that without direction? It's almost paralyzingly scary. But don't give up hope. If you're patient, and willing to take risks, you'll find your calling. Maybe it'll be something completely new that takes you by surprise, or like me you're calling will have been right in your face the whole time.

There's always hope. Always something to look forward to. Never forget that.

Introductions

My name is Timmy Snow. No, that is not a pen-name. I live in Alaska. Yes, I'm telling the truth, yes, I realize how ironic my name is, no, we don't have pet polar bears or live in igloos. I'm the kind of guy who laughs at funerals (yes, I did just steal that line from the Barenaked Ladies!) and pretty much any inappropriate social situation. I like indie flicks and mainstream comic books, and at this moment in time Christopher Nolan is my favorite director, but I'm a very fickle person, so that's subject to change. I dress like a hipster and talk about obscure things, and I'm pretty sure the fact that I do it to be ironic makes me an actual hipster, but I'm okay with that. I'm an English major who loves writing, and one day I hope to publish a book. Probably something science fiction-y or urban fantasy. Because those are the kinds of books I like.

I'm a vegetarian, for moral reasons. But I'm not a preachy vegetarian- as long as you respect my decision not to eat meat, I'll respect your decision to eat mutilated animal carcasses. I have a tumblr account, but I mostly use it for pictures and stuff, not writing. The reblog feature is just too tantalizing, so I decided to make this blog for all my writing purposes. I also have a seperate blogger account that I used to blog on, but I totally forgot the password... Oops. I'm gay, been out since I was 14, and I'm 21 now (but turning 22 in a week). I've never had a boyfriend, because the dating pool in Fairbanks is small and there are a lot of undesirables. I'm a hopeless romantic, which doesn't fare well in the gay world, as most gay men are just looking for sex. I did have a girlfriend in 4th grade, though.

I use humor as a defense mechanism, but I also use it for everything else in my life. It's pretty much one of my defining personality traits, which is why I chose Cheshire as my pen-name. Well, that and I frickin' love Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. Some of my favorite actors are: Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Neil Patrick Harris, Zooey Deschanel, Anne Hathaway, and Jake Gyllenhaal. I can be pretty shallow. I spend a lot more time in my head than I probably should. I'm a daydreamer and an independent spirit. I really hate it when someone uses the wrong "your/you're" (myself included). I can quickly switch between being completely logical to ridiculously illogical. It's quite the talent. I'm fantastic at arguing, because I'm good with words and a master at twisting them, or pulling random points out of my ass.

The point of this blog was so you, my readers, the people who may wish to start and hopefully continue reading this blog, can get a sense of who I am. A writer has to make a connection with his or her readers- I'm going to assume that most of the people who will end up reading this blog are people I already know. But, perhaps, I'll pick up a few people who just like my writing style, or the things I post, and this introduction is for them. So I'm not some faceless, nameless entity talking about whatever it is I'll be talking about, but somebody you can understand and connect with on a more personal level. And hopefully you like what you read, and if you don't, I hope you really, really hate it, because then I'll still have done what a good writer, or a good artist, is supposed to accomplish. I've caused an emotional reaction through my medium. And what more could a struggling, unemployed writer ask for?