Battlefield of the Mind

Weeks ago, I wrote a phrase that said something like “Sometimes some of the nicest people can also be the most terrible.”

But what happens when the person you’re talking about is yourself?

If you’ve followed my blog, you’ve known I’ve gone through ups and downs the past couple of months. I haven’t exactly been shy about my struggles and my internalizations of the world around me. Writing through it helps me process and digest. But it can be a double-edged sword in certain situations. It can build up but also destroy. Words can create a picture within the mind and sometimes that picture isn’t good. Sometimes it destroys.

When you think the way I do, when you see the world as I tend to, it’s easy to get lost within your own thoughts. It’s easy to jump to extremes. It’s far too easy to let the shadows of the mind twist and turn your perception into weapons that hurt others. You have all these anxieties and fears of isolation and abandonment and can’t quite see how harboring those emotions and feelings can often lead to self-fulfilling prophecies.

When you struggle with depression and anxiety and couple that with a childhood where manipulation and conditional love was made normal, it can twist situations in your mind into something it’s not. Perhaps I’m alone in this, but maybe there’s somebody out there who can resonate with what I’m saying–who understands exactly what I’m putting out there.

I grew up with a mother who was always around. She was the one who would tell me and my siblings how much she loved us. She’d take us shopping, out to eat, to the movies, and would actively spend time with us. Growing up, and for a solid portion of my adult life, my mom has always been a foundation. Well, at least until she found out I was gay but that’s another story.

On the flip side, my father was a man who was distant. He’d linger in the shadows quite literally. He worked night shifts. He’d sleep all day, locked in the darkness of his room until late evening. If we were to accidentally wake him up when he was resting for work, there’d be hell to pay. Hell came in many forms, but the worst was the belt. I can still feel the sting of leather on my bare skin.

We would constantly be walking on eggshells around him because if we did or said the wrong thing at the wrong time, he’d get angry and freak out. He was the type who would slam doors and throw things when he’d get angry. He’d ground us for getting Cs on report cards, calling us dumb.He’d freak out if he tried to help us with homework and we were confused. He taught me to hate the subject I struggled with the most: Math.

We learned to survive it best we could. He’d treat my mom like SHIT when he was in his moods, often going weeks without speaking to her. The tension was suffocating and traumatic. It broke us and my mom. Then one day he’d act as if everything was normal. There was no consistency with him. It was bizarre and confusing. We feared him and his wrath growing up. He’d get this wild look in his eyes and he’d be downright nasty during his freak-out sessions. When I became a teenager, I’d yell back at him. I’d argue. I was a rebellious teenager, deciding to go against authority–his authority. I know now that it was because I didn’t respect him–not after all he’d put us through. But, even still, I’d be slapped with the belt. Exiled to my room. One day, in my frustration, I said, “I hate you!” while washing my hands in the bathroom. He tilted his head, eyes wild. I knew it wasn’t good, but I repeated it. He shoved me into the wall so hard that the impact of my body knocked the towel rack off the wall. To this day, I’ve never received an apology about that. Nor would I expect it. Hell, he never told me “I love you” as a kid or teenager. He just didn’t. No, he was more interested in tearing me down with his words. When I got my ears pierced when I was 18 his first words were, “Now you look like a faggot.” I’m sure you can imagine how my closeted ass felt when hearing that. He was conditional in his parenting approach. As long as you stayed out of his way and did as you were told, you’d be fine. My younger sister was good at that. I never was.

So what happens when you have a parent who is mostly consistent with their emotions and one who is far removed and unpredictable? Lots of anxiety and fear of saying/doing the wrong things in your daily life. Always questioning your actions, always analyzing what is said or done to you–you become paranoid and friendships and relationships you make are haunted by this sense of paranoia. You fear that you’re always one wrong word or action from blowing everything up. You suffer through a minefield of questions in your head.

What if I’m not a good friend? Do they really care? Am I too much? Can I take people at their word? Are they saying one thing but mean the other? What if people feel obligated to be friends? What if what if what if what if WHAT IFWHATIFWHATIF—it’s a chorus in my head, day and night. I observe the world around me. I analyze. I try to decipher what’s safe and what’s not. But I do this to a mother-fucking fault! Analyzing and questioning everything everywhere all the time turns me into a terrible person because I assume the worst in what is said or done to me. I weaponize words and scenarios against those who consistently support me and love me. I internalize situations and things get twisted in my head. I should know better, right? I should be able to trust others and not jump to paranoid conclusions which leads me to do stupid shit that blows things up and makes them worse in the end.

I become a self-fulfilling prophecy. That’s my superpower.

Or curse.

The good thing is that I’m starting to realize this better. I’ve been working with my therapist on this. We seem to be unlocking quite a bit about myself and it seems to tie directly to my childhood. I’m recognizing a lot of moments of conditional love and emotional manipulation and gaslighting I endured growing up. We won’t talk about how the evangelical church setting I was raised in only compounded this. I’ve been able to think about some of my past actions and words as an adult and see how such an environment shaped me. Some of the behaviors I watched growing up? Some of the toxic aspects? I’ve mirrored those in my own life. It’s what I say, what I learned. My entire family operates like that. Toxic. Manipulative. Never owning up to mistakes. Going for the jugular with angry words. NO MERCY. Avoidance. Clamming up and not talking. You want to talk about embracing the dark side? That’s how my family handles conflict. Darkness and brutality and nastiness.

Did it start with my parents? Or did they learn it from theirs? How far back does this go? I’ll never know. Here’s what I do know. I’ve fallen down some of those exact some traps and paths over the course of the past couple of months. I was made vulnerable. I struggled. I didn’t think clearly. I didn’t process actions. And it hurt people. It hurt me. It betrayed trust. It smothered reasoning. Now what am I supposed to do with that? What do you do when you realize you’ve become the terrible person? When you weren’t strong enough to handle your emotions? When you processed them the wrong way? When you don’t consider the consequences of words spoken? When you hurt the people you love?

There is no simple answer for that, this I know. That might be the only thing I know right now. The path ahead is long and full of potholes. It’s not like a light switch that you can flip on and off to erase what’s been done. But perhaps the difference this time is that I’m starting to see those potholes before I stumble in them. I’m recognizing what they look like, and I’m trying to change course. I’m trying to break the lingering imprint of my experiences growing up. I’m trying to rinse off the lens with which I see the world and the relationships I have in my life. I’m not perfect. I never will be. But I am aware. I own that much. I own my mistakes and shortcomings despite the pain they’ve caused. I own them and step out onto the battlefield of the mind.

And when you’re in a battlefield… when shit is flying in every direction… when fear and paranoia can be the very thing that kills you–doesn’t it pay off to slow down and become intentionally aware of what you do and say? Isn’t that the key to survival? To become better?

My mind is a battlefield. That cannot be denied.

I am who I am. That cannot be denied.

But I can be better. I will be better. I will rise. I will grow.

And I will develop a new legacy to be known by.

I will not fall into the traps of my past. I will not let the mistakes of my family define me. I will not let my OWN mistakes dictate who I really am deep within. But when mistakes are made, I will take ownership.

I will strive to be the best version of myself I can be. And when I fall, I will get back up.

That cannot be denied.

May Rambles

Nothing is ever final, I suppose. A few weeks ago I had made a swift post declaring I was done blogging. In hindsight, it was probably melodramatic. But it was my raw feeling at the time.

There was a lot going on when I rushed into that THE END post. My headspace was in the dark. I’d just found out career-shattering news that really upset me. It was news that will definitely change my teaching job moving forward in both good and challenging ways. My career will begin a new chapter in the fall, but the reason behind it is still frustrating.

Beyond that, I’ve been trying to navigate feelings of isolation and turbulent friendship issues. You see writing is a form of therapy for me. I helps me to think through things, analyze things, and sometimes heal. My raw emotions will go out into the cyber-world because that’s part of who I am. Sadly, a person I know had access to my blog and felt the need to take what I thought of as a safe space and broadcast it to multiple people. They cast judgements on my content, made assumptions, and took it to others. It crossed so many boundaries and caused irrevocable damage with one of my relationships. Yes, I know they are probably reading this right now. And I’m denying them the power of taking away my safe space where I channel my thoughts and feelings. And I hope, if they are reading this, they stay out of my business and they refrain from bringing my personal life and blog to others that simply doesn’t concern them. It was invasive and ethically wrong on their part and their meddling caused permanent damage. It’s unforgivable. I write this simply to show that it’s okay to take power back for yourself and to speak out against people who would try to make it theirs.

So, I’m back. Navigating. Trying to figure things out. I’m sorry if my absence scared anybody. I did get a message from somebody. I’m going to continue writing.

I figured today was a good day to get back into the swing of things because this month tends to be a heavy-hitter for me. Today is Mother’s Day and I’ve been trying to stay off social media because, while I’m glad people are lifting up their moms, it’s tough for me because I don’t speak to mine. It’s a pain that will always haunt me on this capitalist-fueled holiday. I can’t help but think back to the time where I drove all the way from PA to Michigan to surprise my mom for Mother’s Day four or five years ago. I still have the video where I showed up and she bawled her eyes out with joy. It was a fond memory. I don’t think she knew I was gay at that time. I wonder how that would’ve changed things now that I look back on it. Obviously, it’s made its impact now.

Beyond that, May is also my mother’s birthday, my own birthday, and my brother’s birthday. Layers on layers of triggers, if you ask me. This birthday is going to be especially challenging for me given all that’s been happening since I jumpstarted my blogging journey a few months ago. I don’t know what I’ll do. I’m fairly introverted and don’t like making a big deal of my birthday at all. I have enjoyed the past seven years spending it with some people who were important to me. But this year I’m unsure if I”ll be able to do that. I’m hoping, but, as I said, somebody caused some severe damage in their meddling. I do, however, look forward to buying a single slice of cake wherein I douse the cake in milk and eat it. It’s my birthday dessert tradition that I’ve been doing the past few years.

Maybe that’s the theme of May: the firsts of doing things alone.

I saw the new Dr. Strange movie a few nights ago. It was the first time I’ve seen a Marvel movie on opening night by myself. I sat between two strangers, huddled with my popcorn and drink. I was excited to see Wanda Maximoff AKA The Scarlet Witch unleash. For that, I was not disappointed. It was epic. Brutal. I was actively cheering her one, despite her villain status. I was urging her to burn it all to the ground, no matter the cost. There were moments I wish I had people with me to react alongside of. After all, this movie had some insane moments that still keep playing in my head. But I enjoyed the movie, regardless. And it made me like and relate to Wanda even more than I already had.

It’s probably a good thing I don’t have her powers because I would probably embrace my inner villain.

Who knows what this month will hold as I move forward. Maybe some unexpected things will occur. Maybe I’ll continue to grow into my lone wolf status, just me and my dog against the world. Maybe I’ll eat a whole cake this year.

Regardless of what this month holds, I’ll be here exploring my thoughts in wordy ramblings because this space is mine to do that with.

As Wanda says, “I have what I want and nobody will ever take it from me again.”

The Karens

Sometimes life becomes a thing you do. You find yourself in bed before 9PM, scrolling through Tik Tok videos and instead of all the thirst traps of shirtless men in gray sweatpants coming up on my FYP, I stumble across crazed Karen videos where these people stick their nose into the business of other people and cause huge scenes in public. Or they are racist. Or homophobic. Or, pretty much, all of the above. There is really no limit to their vitriol.

As I watched those videos, it just made me think “God, it must be so miserable to be a Karen.” Like do they have anything better to to do with their lives? Or is that what their life has become? Something so boring and fruitless that they pick fights with people in public and meddle. Stir. Create shit storms. They are the under-developed villains in the world.

Back in the days where I was attending church–the same church I attended where the cult was run–I knew a Karen. No, her name was not actually Karen. For the purpose of storytelling, we will call her Stacy.

Stacy was an older woman in the church. And boy was she a nosy woman. She was always sniffing for details, trying to live other people’s lives, and her tongue would be the common denominator in destroyed relationships because somehow Stacy got involved and stirred shit up.

I won’t forget a time where I was in a fight with a friend of mine in the church. I honestly don’t remember what the fight was over. Probably something silly and dumb or something that involved a lack of proper communication. I remember my friend didn’t have Facebook. I did have Facebook at that time and I did what anybody in their early 20s did would do with social media: the dreaded subpost. Basically, I was venting about things without mentioning names and putting it on Facebook because… Facebook.

Well, Stacy was your typical social media junkie. She liked my status, one of few people who did. But she didn’t stop there. She seemed to keep an eye on us younger folk in the church. Maybe she had a lonely life beyond church and needed to live vicariously through us. I don’t know. I just know she tried to play detective as if she were Sherlock Holmes in the flesh.

So she took my status. And she started asking questions among mutual friends. She played the whole “I feel like God wants me to intervene and I’m worried” card with one of my friends. Anyway, she eventually took my status posts to the friend I was currently having tension with and pretty much blew open an entire can of worms in the process. See, as I said, my friend wasn’t on Facebook. For me, I felt it a safe space to vent/write. I mean writing is my healing process, even then. I just needed to learn Facebook was a dangerous place to do it.

My friend did not take kindly to it. While my words were vague, Stacy had inserted herself into business she had no right inserting herself into. She thrived on it like some twisted parasite.

And she single-handedly dismantled any chance I had of rekindling the friendship I had with the friend I was at odds with. Sure, it could be argued me posting led to that. But Stacy had a role in that. She instigated and manipulated and threw herself into the midst of something she had business being involved in. She was a vile creature, one I wish I still could dropkick into the sun if I had such abilities.

My friend and I ended up in another fight all over the posts and Stacy’s string-pulling. Things were said. And that was the end of a friendship. I will forever blame that horrible woman.

I think when I see Karen videos come across my phone, I can’t help but think of Stacy. She’d be the very person demanding to see a manager or pitching a fit because two guys were kissing in public. Stacy was a disease within that church–okay that whole church was a disease but she was the rot within the disease. I always wondered what things would’ve been like if Stacy never inserted herself into my personal business. Of course, I’ll never know.

What I do know is that Stacy and people like her are horrible people who thrive on chaos and destruction and don’t consider the damage they do to others. They are the gossiping neighbors, the ones slicing through people with their tongues and casting judgments on people for being who they are.

Can you imagine if Stacy knew I was gay at the time? She’d probably self-combust. That would’ve been a sight. However, given the cult that church often is, it’s good Stacy didn’t know I was gay because then EVERYBODY would know and she’d find a way to twist it into something it wasn’t.

So, why do I watch “Karen” videos when they pop up? I don’t know. Tik Tok needs to be more aware of the triggers it thrusts in my face. But then again I do enjoy seeing “Karens” or should I say “Stacys” being put in their place.

Thankfully, Stacy is irrelevant now, states away. She’s probably still destroying people’s lives by gossiping and spreading shit she shouldn’t be under the guise of “concern” and “God’s will.”

Bleh.

Beyond that horrible aspect of that woman, it’s a testament to the pure hypocrisy within people who attend church. Churches are filled with Stacys and Karens and people who spew hatred and judgment.

But that is certainly a topic for another day.

For now, I’m going to continue laying here in bed, scrolling through my phone, and probably watch Karens get owned because this is what life has become.

Fragmented Identity

Identity.

It’s what everybody strives to figure out about themselves. It’s what we see characters struggle with in books, TV, movies, and video games. This idea of facing your own personal demons in order to figure out just who you are. It’s something we hear about in various songs and poetry. It’s elusive. Other times, it’s concrete.

This past year has been one where the idea of identity has been weighing heavily on me. I used to think that when I was in my 30s–a so called adult–that I would know who I am and what I wanted. When I was a teenager it seemed like all the adults had their lives figured out, that they knew who they were and what they wanted.

How naive I was! Still am?

A lot has changed over the course of the past four years for me. I earned a Master’s in English and Creative Writing. I’ve been changing my philosophy on education and grades. I came out to everyone as gay despite my lifelong fear of rejection.

And it did cost me a lot.

My biological family sees me as mentally ill, screwed up, and a heathen for being gay. I haven’t spoken to my parents since July of 2020. A man I once called “dad” apparently said he’d always known I was gay (I mean they did discover gay porn on the computer when I was a teenager after all) but he’d said he hoped my mom would die before every finding out I was gay. Literally wished her to be dead so she would never know about my sexuality. My mom has repeatedly declared she never gave birth to THAT (referring to a homosexual person as myself) and that I am screwed up and sick for being gay. My sister, who just had a baby in September–my nephew–won’t speak to me and has made it clear I won’t get to know my nephew because I’m gay. And people wonder why I struggle with anxiety and depression…

For my whole life, I was rooted in my biological family. I was raised in the church, taught to believe in God and not question anything. I was encouraged to deny scientific fact in exchange for faith. I was led to believe in White Jesus (who is totally not White). I was told gay people would burn in hell and there was no hope, which led me to deny my sexuality for years and live unhappily. Hell, it even had me contemplate suicide a few times and carry out half-assed attempts.

I was encouraged to offend people in the name of “tough love.” I wish I were making this up. If a BIPOC community member claimed something said/done was racist, I was told the race card was being played and that people made big deals out of nothing. I was taught to say “All Lives Matter” in response to “Black Lives Matter.” I didn’t realize how racist that was at the time. Keep in mind that I’m a cis white male. Talk about white privilege, right?

Over the years, I’ve come to see that a lot of what I was told to think and believe has flaws and, well, is pretty destructive. I’m not perfect by any means nor will I ever be. However, I’ve learned to listen to people, especially BIPOC community members when they speak up about something that’s harmful to them. I take notes and work to be better. I’ve read countless books on social justice, marched in Black Lives Matter events, and work as an equity advocate in my school district.

The response of my family? “You’re going against your own race by supporting BLM.”

Think about that. Because I work to fight for racial equity, I’m going against my own race. I was floored. This was one of the last things said to me by my mom. It was a pretty disgusting moment.

Having been, essentially, disowned by my family I’ve really been able to take a step back and think about who I am. I no longer have to pretend to be somebody else. I question. I research. I read. I accept.

After conducting research on many things, reading a lot of history, and looking at scientific evidence, well, I’m not sure what I believe in the religious sense of things. There are some major flaws in what I was told growing up. There are a ton of inconsistencies, and I can now see why I was told to never question anything–to blindly accept and believe what I was preached and read. But after some research I realize that a lot of the Bible is cherry-picked and the justifications for homophobia, racism, and misogyny is utterly flawed and cherry-picked.

I’m not necessarily saying I don’t believe in a God, but I’m also keeping on open-mind because I’m noticing a lot of ugly in what I was raised in. I would be lying if I said that these past four years hasn’t led me to this place. For example, how can the Church claim to love all people unconditionally yet support a man like Trump who was constantly bullying and insulting people? Who displayed his misogyny and racism blatantly? People who literally used the motto “Fuck your feelings” as a foundation to stand upon. Isn’t that going against the very teachings of Jesus?

It actually pushed me further away because I didn’t want to be associated with any of that. Not one bit.

So, looking over all that has transpired, I find myself in a quest for my own identity. Who even am I?

I know I’m a teacher (even though I’ve been told by family I’m part of the “liberal” brainwashing agenda by teaching students to research, think critically, and fact-check). I know I’m gay (despite the condemnation people I know have spewed at me). I know I’m a writer and a nerd (despite the struggles writing brings and people thinking I’m too extreme with my love of stories).

There’s so much more of me that I’m trying to figure out and discover. It may take a few weeks. It will probably take years.

And you know what? That’s okay.

Why?

Well, because, it means I will never grow stagnant. My identity, on some levels, will remain fresh. On other levels, it will be strengthened.

I can’t say I’ll be the same person a few years from now. Don’t get me wrong some things about me will never change. I’ll always be a writer, a nerd, and I’m 100% gay even if I can’t find myself a man! Ugh.

But I’m open to this journey. And it’s okay to be roaming the forest… sometimes the desert… of identity. It’s okay to seek because if you don’t seek and ask questions, how will you ever discover your truth?

But for now? Well, I’m in the field of fragmented identity.

Mental Health is not Social Media

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2020 has been a weird year so far. To be fair, every year feels like that. However, this year feels… uncertain… bleak… long. But not necessarily bad. It’s just… there.

These past few weeks, I’ve been ruminating on words to type onto the screen, debating what needs said and how to say it. There’s a lot to say given the world we currently live in. I’m not sure I can even put all my thoughts into words; after all, some things cannot be captured in syllables and consonants. Some things are better off existing in the in-between, where we know what it is even if we can’t exactly put letters to it. Maybe that sounds crazy, but also… I can’t put it into words.

Like everybody else, I wanted to start 2020 with a bang. I wanted to do ALL the things, conquer ALL the goals. I wanted to continue bettering myself mentally, physically, and spiritually. Some of those things I am doing.

My mental health is much better this year than it was last year, but I still need to be careful of what I let in–more on that later. Physically? Well, if you were to ask me where the nearest gym was in State College, I’ll simply pretend I didn’t hear you as I watch the next new show on Netflix. Not to mention my newfound addiction of zebra cakes of which I bought eight boxes to use as an in-class demonstration—a demonstration I never did, which resulted in me (and my zebra cake BFF) to sneak in sugary snacks throughout the school day as if they were little rolls of crack. Spoiler alert: they are; we’re down to one box in less than a week. And spiritually? I do feel I’m better in tune with my surroundings, finding my own zen, if you will.

I’m writing more, reading more, and focusing on my students more. I’ve been taking small steps such as walking to work vs. driving the .2 miles there, cooking meals at home, and actually paying attention to the things I buy–not that I don’t buy things. I do. Target is a magical place.

However, I’ve noticed that one place that has no magic, despite all its promises of social sorcery, is that of social media.

Okay, fine. Maybe it does have magic, but it’s the dark kind, one that boils in pits of tar and swallows reason and logic as if it were a parasitic slug.

Up until December, I’d taken a two year break from Facebook and a six-month hiatus from Twitter. Why? Well, it’s full of fake news being touted as facts, narcissistic personalities reigning free all for a like or a hundred, and endless debates on morality that never actually does anything but irritate people and cause divides. Oh, and to be fair, I’m guilty of some of these things myself. I am, after all, human.

I did enjoy my first few weeks back on Facebook: I publicly came out as gay and received much support from friends even if I didn’t get much support from family members because, in their misunderstood interpretations of the Bible, they feel I’m an abomination for loving men, for my biological attraction to them. But it’s okay. They still love me–they just don’t love what I am. Oh well. I’m finally free being out. I enjoyed calling out social injustices. I spent an hour or so purging my friends list because why not?

Then I found myself getting into little debates here and there. Some with friends/family and others with strangers, both on Twitter and on Facebook. I started finding myself devoting considerable time each day to these feeds, procrastinating from doing things more deserving of my time. I’d scroll and scroll and scroll, laughing at Baby Yoda memes until I cried, watching dog videos until they morphed into videos of people talking to their pet cactus (it’s real), and becoming depressed at how terrible and deadly ignorance, racism, sexism, and Trumpism is in the digital world. My time and mental health were being assaulted.

Sure, I can keep up on the news easier this way. I can keep in touch with awesome people through these platforms. But… do I really need to know what Jane Doe is eating for Sunday Funday? Is it necessary to read how John Doe is drooling over Jon Snow on Game of Thrones? What purpose does it serve for me to see memes, comedic or political when all it does is either waste away time or make me upset at the degrading morality of our nation?

The answer is: no, it’s not necessary. No, there’s no purpose except to get sucked into the vortex of self-important posts and cat videos.

I try to justify keeping these platforms to use my voice, to speak up, to stay connected. But really all I’m doing is opening myself up to mental attacks and judgment on others and from others. I’m sitting behind a screen, feeding some strange appetite while I’m really starving myself from the beauty life has to offer.

Remember my adventures in California? If not, feel free to check those out, but… I didn’t have social media when I was in CA. I had my phone, yes. But no Facebook–no Twitter. It was just me and the world–connections with strangers, embracing the beauty and wonder of nature, feeding my creativity with experiences outside of a digital screen. God, I LOVED THOSE DAYS! They were energizing, fresh, invigorating. My soul has been longing for that magic to return. Friends, if I told you how many times I’ve looked at Air BnBs and flights and wonderful places to see in the past month, you’d probably think me crazy. I want another adventure. Hell, I want to return to Mt. Shasta so bad it hurts. Alas, money is a wicked and limiting thing.

But so is social media when you consider all it keeps you from.

The reason why I enjoyed life so much in those two weeks was because I was free from the burden social media holds over the lives of so many people. I was free from the negativity in the world. I was free from the baggage of feeling like I had to post something or like a status or comment on Suzie’s post about how sinful and wrong a Super Bowl half-time show was but yet blindly praise a man who treats people poorly daily with terrible names and intentional lies, a man who breaks up families and fuels an “us vs. them” mindset with human beings.

All of that noise was gone, and I was better for it. So, as 2020 starts picking up steam, what’s the point in keeping the two platforms that cause me so much anxiety, depression, and unproductiveness? I can’t come up with many reasons.

Therefore, the best thing I can do is delete both accounts. Entirely. In this way, I won’t have any accounts to return to. There will be no temptation to hop on and see what’s up with people or get into debates. It will be deleted along with my accounts.

You might say, “But Josh! This won’t shield you from the horrible things in the world!”

That is true. I’ll still follow the news. It will continue to make me sad, to make me cry. It’s my duty, however, to be informed without exposing myself to what I see on social media. Folks, our democracy is dying. Some of you will not agree with me. Some of you see it just as I do. We live in uncertain times where a president can commit a crime and get away with it. People of his own party admits to his wrong doing but won’t vote him out. We are seeing the death of democracy and justice and the rise of an authoritarian system. I only wish I was exaggerating. I only wish my family didn’t so eagerly support and love a liar, a racist, and a man who contradicts all their religious morals on a daily basis. It hurts to see people I love and care about become so easily manipulated by lies and the degradation of human beings. I can’t tolerate it on social media any longer, as it does nothing good for me.

I’ll get my news through the internet, but in this way I’ll avoid the comments and responses. I’ll use my voice, not on social media platforms, but in my community. I’ll speak up against the injustices in the world by writing my stories and posting on here. I’ll help raise an intellectual army in my students, encouraging them to research and explore and form their own opinions–to love, to forgive, to continue being the awesome human beings they already are. That’s where using your voice makes the most impact–in the real world. Not in the social media world.

We are in strange times. 2020 is uncertain at this point. I’m still trying to figure out what kind of year it’ll be and who it’ll make me at the end.

I refuse to let Facebook and Twitter be the things that shape me.

So, with that, I’ll leave you. You will not find me on either platform anymore. You can find me on here where I’ll write when I can. You can reach out to my cell phone. Should you find me outside the digital walls, hopefully you’ll join me in the wilderness of real-life, enjoying nature and making connections.

This is the way.

Brave, Bruised, Who I’m Meant to Be. No Apologies.

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It’s been awhile, hasn’t it?

Yes, yes it has.

The last time I posted was fresh off my exciting California trip, just as I was preparing to begin teaching a whole new group of students. I had every intention of blogging at least once per month. We all know how that turned out.

But I’ve been putting a lot of effort into my teaching. I’m in love with my job again. I’m trying so many new things with my students from self-assessments to taking a step away from full-class reads and allowing students to choose books within a genre to read instead. It’s exciting. Fresh. Scary. Wonderful. It makes me feel bad for the teacher I was the past couple of years, but I also realize that’s part of growing. For the first time since I started teaching middle school, I feel like I’m able to actually focus on teaching vs. directing. Not that I regret my years doing drama, but it was time to grow in other areas.

My mental health is much better. That’s not to say I don’t have ups and downs or that I always manage my time wisely. I’m human, after all. No amount of medicine can make me productive. Except coffee. Coffee always wins. Your argument is invalid.

A lot has changed since that post in August. Besides trying to be the best teacher I can be, I’ve finally announced my truth. What truth? The truth that I’m 100% gay–always have been. It’s been a slow process over the years. I’m not sure I ever discussed it on my blog post.

But here I am. And I’m not apologizing for it.

I started with close friends a few years back and was met with nothing but support, both local and long-distance. Those friends mean the world to me. You know who you are.

During a heated political argument nearly two years, I told my mom. It was the opposite of support. The slow process continued. Friends offered support, but most of my family did not. I expected as much considering I was raised in a highly conservative evangelical home. I grew up in a place of White privilege where the norm was the White straight male and women submitting to men. I hardly questioned it growing up. Why would I? Instead, I hid who I was because I knew the response would be terrible.

Oh, I tried to pray the gay away. I tried to make deals with God. I did my fair share of self-loathing because I thought there was something wrong with me, that I was a defect on the human assembly line. After all, I was taught that homosexuality was an “abomination” and a disgrace to God. It was the message of “love the sinner, hate the sin” that is really a facade to justify hatred and inequality. Trust me. I know. I grew up around parents who would balk at any signs of homosexual relationships on TV. I remember when two guys in Glee kissed my parents freaked out, muttering how disgusting that was and that nobody wanted to see that–that showing love between two guys was immoral and shoving the LGBT+ community down their throats. When Once Upon A Time introduced a fierce lesbian couple, the show was banished because how dare they show that!

A lovely thing to see! We need more LGBT+ representation!

Yet the heterosexual relationships were never questioned. How was it fair they get screen time but people like me don’t? What message does that send to people hiding in the dark, afraid to speak up about their truths?

Instead, this disgusted response to the rising gay community only made me hate myself even more. I was trained to think I was disgusting, a mistake, an abomination in God’s eyes. I was cursed. Doomed. Unworthy. And I knew that if I came out during my teenage years, I’d probably be put into some sort of gay conversion camp.

So fear stayed my tongue.

I lived a secret life.

I stayed in the dark, hidden away.

But then I moved away from home–like to another state. I still hid for quite some time, but education is a powerful thing. I began to learn more and more that there was no shame in who I am. I did studies that actually add context to the “hate verses” evangelicals use so frequently against people like me. I researched. I found I was not an abomination or a mistake or defected.

I’ll never forget the first words from a family member when I came out to them: “No. No. I did not give birth to that.” It went on that this family member told me that they cried themselves to sleep that night. Future discussions would accuse me of being selfish because I hadn’t considered their feelings when I told them I was gay, that I wasn’t considering how hard my truth was to them. It was even suggested that me being gay was a mental illness and that I should talk to someone so they could “fix” me.

Those are words that can’t ever be taken back and even though I know none of what was said by them is true, it still sucks. Words stick.

There’s nothing wrong with me. I’m normal. I’m who I am and nobody will keep me quiet.

A few months ago, I told another family member I was gay. Yes, it was during a heated political argument once again. Maybe it’s not the best time to tell family I’m gay, but alas. It happened. Through text, I was “laughed” at and told that the joke was on me because they always knew I was gay. When I said I kept quiet because I feared the reaction, they said I was simply trying to shift the blame to somebody besides myself. Again, it was my fault. Maybe in part it was, but the fault doesn’t rest solely on my shoulders for keeping silent.

And then I was told that my dad had always hoped my mom would pass away before she found out I was gay because of the trauma he feared it would cause her.

Just… take a moment to consider that.

Thinking about that too much makes me angry and sad.

I’m sure their side of the story would be vastly different as an attempt to save face, to save names, would be made. But the damage is done. The words have been spoken. It hasn’t been an easy process; it was never going to be.

I posted on Facebook (ya, I’m back on there for some reason) that I was gay and mentioned some of what I faced from family due to being gay. I was met with an abundance of support and love from friends and people I haven’t talked to in years. I had some people reach out privately to me, saying that too, were living their truth in secret for now.

I noticed I was completely blocked by both parents, not that it mattered. We have vastly different views of the world and politics, of what humanity looks like. But that’s a story for another post. One of them tried to call me a few hours after my post; I ignored the call. I can only imagine the screaming and yelling I would’ve been met with. I’d probably be told I was selfish to post that, to expose my gay nature to others, to talk about the words said upon me coming out. But I don’t regret it. It needed to be said because this kind of shit happens to people daily.

There’s no mystery as to why suicide rates amongst the LGBT+community are high. It’s because of stuff like this. I mean I’d be lying if I said I never contemplated that path growing up or even weakly tried it.

People need to know that it’s okay to be who you are. I know it’s a cliche thing to say, but I can’t stress the freedom that comes with being honest with who you are and being open about it–to not hide. I used that as a brief lesson with my students when talking about being true to your identity during a ROAR lesson. I told them I was gay because how could I tell them to be true to their identity yet still hide mine? I had to be vulnerable and trust them as human beings. None of them reacted poorly. They actually hardly flinched, but they were all smiles. And I love them for that. To them, it didn’t seem abnormal at all. There’s hope for the future.

I don’t regret coming out, nor should I. I’m proud. I’ll never forget a line Jennifer Lawrence says in the movie X-Men: First Class. Despite persecution against who she was born as, a mutant, she finally says, “Mutant and proud.” That always stuck with me. I’m gay and proud.

I’m just glad I’m not the same person I was ten years ago. As I said earlier, education is a powerful thing. It has allowed me to be more informed, more accepting, and a better human. It doesn’t mean I’m flawless. I have much to learn. There’s a lot of education still to be had as I try to see past my White privilege, to continue living my truth, and working to be the best I can be.

So, be yourself. Be true. Be open. If you’re afraid, I get it. I’ve been there. Will you lose friendships or maybe even family by being true to yourself? It’s hard to say for sure. Whatever your truth is, whatever you feel you have to hide from those around you, don’t. Life’s too short to keep parts of yourself hidden. If you hide in the dark, that darkness will infest your mind. It will whispers lies to you, make you feel like garbage, and shame you. Relentlessly. But if you open yourself up–if you let the light in–nothing can squash who you are. You can live your life free and happy. The risk is worth it.

There’s a powerful song that I adore, a song that captures everything about this process. I want you to listen to it. No, I want you to do more than listen to it. I want you to hear it in your heart. I want you to study the lyrics. Embrace them. Live them. Maybe you need to listen to the song multiple times. Sit back. Close your eyes. Let this piece of art work inside you as it has for me. Be empowered.

Make no apologies. Don’t let the shame sink in. Burst through the barricades. Be warriors. Don’t let people break you down to dust because there’s a place for you. BE YOU!

Be fierce.

And see The Greatest Showman if you’ve never seen it because that song (in context) is such a powerhouse. It captures the message.

I’ll leave you with this, something I told my students when I came out to them, something to fight the fear of being true and open to those around you:

The people who matter will accept you as you are.

2018: This Is Me

Wow. 2017 is gone and I’m glad for it.

2018 has just begun. We are three days in. I’m still not sure how to respond to it. I mean the year started with my favorite football team, the Michigan Wolverines, losing their bowl game and bringing shame to the Big 10. What’s lurking around the corner now?

You know, I thought long and hard before writing this post. It’s the obligatory “It’s a new year, new me” blog post impulse. And you know what? Every dang year the same thing happens. I devise a list of goals certain I’ll succeed and then I fail. Do I dare set myself up for failure again this year?

Yes, because I’m a fool.

But maybe it’s also because I have a warrior deep within me that strives to rise up above failures.

You see, there seems to be something strangely different about this coming year. This past year has been a crazy one with friends, family, and this destructive political climate we are in. (Can 2018 please be the year Trump is impeached?!) I’ve endured things, learned things, and persevered through things I didn’t quite expect–I still am.

And maybe it’s not about going into 2018 a bit different. Maybe it’s just that I’ve decided that I’m done being the person people WANT me to be. Growing up, there was this expectation to live a certain way, to think a certain way, to be blind to a world of facts. To challenge that, to think differently, and to think for myself has been me with quotes such as “You have not changed in a good way”, or “What did we do wrong to make you like this?”, or “Where is this coming from?”, or even “There’s no hope for you anymore”.

It’s cost me relationships with both friends and family. I can’t deny that it might sting a bit, but I also can’t deny that it feels good to let go of such narrow-minded thinking and embrace who I truly am. Being who people WANT and HOPE me to be is exhausting. I’m breaking out of that mold.

giphy — My favorite scene from Agents of Shield resonates with me right now. Break. Out. Of. The. Mold. Except I’m not Daisy Johnson

I can’t be defined by the expectations of others. I should only be defined by the reality of who I really am. I can’t linger on worrying about what people in the past might think about me. I can only hope the people who matter will accept my freedom and champion me on the sidelines.

Therefore, I’m not making any apologies. I’m moving forward. I’m thankful that I have a small group of friends that I can call my family along with some dedicated family members who love who I truly am instead of being disappointed in who I am.

Trust me. 2017 has been a mess of me “disappointing” people who think I should be somebody else–somebody fake. Well, no more.

That’s all changing and as a result I’m trying to set my sights on new things and dreams. As 2018 cements itself into my life, I’m setting out to accomplish a few things. And I will not fail.

After being inspired by a friend of mine who did this in 2017, I’m going to run a 5k everyday of the year. I know it will not be easy and that I’ll want to give up, but I’m doing my best to stick to it. I’ve already accomplished it every day so far. If I can’t make a run happen due to knee issues, I’ll bike a 5k. No excuses. It’s literally a half hour out of my day and I should be able to manage that. With each run, I will envision myself breaking out of the past mold. It will keep me focused.

I’m only eating between 8AM and 8PM. I’m not having super strong dietary restrictions because that just doesn’t work well long-term. However, I’m a bit mindful of what I’m putting into my body. I’ve read that eating on a schedule like that actually maintains weight loss. I just know that I can’t make pizza and ice cream my main foods during that time period.

I plan to read two books a month at least. I can do it. It just means prioritizing my time better. I’ve really fallen in love with reading all over again lately. Good books, cups of coffee, and my little reading nook has been my favorite thing over the past week of my life. It’s been a nice shelter from negativity and a nice escape from reality.

I’m sticking to a budget this year. I’ve laid it all out and I’m committing to it. I’m not using my debit card unless it’s to pay for gas. Everything else will be cash payments to keep myself focused. I’m in an incredible amount of credit card debt and student loan debt. I’m a teacher so I don’t make big bucks. I’ve accepted I’ll probably be in debt until I’m 80 years old. However, I can’t just roll over and let the debt continue to build. I may be living paycheck to paycheck, but maybe in time and with budgeting, I’ll rise above the mountain of debt.

I’m hoping to finish writing a book by the end of the year. What book? Who knows. I’m still wrestling with my Aedonu Chronicles, still fighting my middle school story, and breathing life into a dark tale of Peter Pan. What story will come out victorious by 2019? Writing is my passion, but it’s also such a hard thing to do with my busy life. I just hope writing isn’t one of those dreams that just remains a dream. I hope one day it becomes a reality.

I’m also disabling my Facebook account for the month of January to see how much time I gain back. I might even keep it disabled longer. I’m always on there, scrolling through mindless posts and videos. Time to destroy that. Plus, it comes with unwanted drama. You see, I’m very political because I care about people and the world. It’s hard for me to be silent when the current administration doesn’t hold human beings and love at its core values. Therefore, time to axe out the negative and distracting Facebook. I’ll be on Twitter and Instagram instead which I spend far less time on.

And with that, I’m done ranting about 2018. Ranting does nothing. Action does.

Be who you want to be in 2018. Make no apologies This is me. Who are you?

I leave you with that question and with my new anthem, which I fell in love with from the movie The Greatest Showman. Listen to this song. Study the lyrics. Cherish it. This is what I’m going into 2018 with. Join me and make NO apologies about it.

2018 is the year of being free.

The Woes of Time & the Curse of Writing

Remember that movie Click with Adam Sandler and Kate Beckinsale? The one wherein our protagonist happens to receive a remote that influences/controls life?

Yeah, I need one of those.

I started 2017 with all these hopes of dreams of making this a successful year. Foolishly, I made a resolution list even though I’ve never been known to stick to it.

I was going to be fit and have abs (look out, Captain America), write more (with dreams of publication), read more (an art I miss gravely), and save my money (which I don’t make enough of). So far?

I’ve been on a pizza diet which has rendered all sings of fitness and abs obsolete.
Writing? What’s that? Who has time to write?
Reading.. okay, I’ve been better here. Slightly.
Money… well, please see bullet point one. Also? Student loans. Also? I have bad self-control when it comes to all things nerd.

That’s how 2017 has been rolling with me so far. It’s definitely not a bad year! See below:

I have a nephew now of whom I’ve only met once due to living in a different state, but he’s a little guy I love to death.
I have a great job teaching middle school English and directing the Drama Club at my school.
I have a new car (yeah, maybe that’s another thing worthy to mention about finances).
I’ve enjoyed the company of some pretty great friends.

However, I have to say I’m hitting a wall in many ways, and, honestly, I’m super burned out. So… why not blog about it? I mean it only helps me procrastinate the Mt. Everest of things I have to do. Seriously, I have five to-do lists. They don’t get shorter fast enough.

Lately, my desire to dive headlong into my writing has been growing exponentially. Ironically, this always happens when I have no time to write. Usually, my creative spurts occur at the worse possible times. I really think it’s a curse. If writing stories is my superpower, then the timing of the creative bursts in which I’m inspired to write is my ultimate weakness. I mean, with great power comes great costs and unforeseen side effects. That’s how it goes, right?

And maybe it’s not so much about time as it is that when I do get a moment to slow down from grading papers, I want to just sit and do mindless things such as watch TV (we all know I watch almost everything on the air) or play Destiny 2.

And I think it’s becoming quite a problem that I don’t know how to fix.

Maybe the solution seems simple to those of you reading this. It may seem easy to say, “Josh, prioritize, for crying out loud! Do better! Make sacrifices! Turn off the TV! Stop playing video games!” but it truly is not that simple because in those “slow down” moments, my mind is fried and video games/Netflix is a loyal comforter that seems to whisper, “There, there, buddy! You’ve done a lot today. Just relax and we will ease your mind.”

Sidenote: Not sure why video games/Netflix just sounded super creepy there. Hmm.

Anyway, I come home from teaching and late night rehearsals with Drama Club, and I turn into a zombie (that eats pizza, of course). Papers to grade continue growing, lesson planning seems harder than it should be, and exhaustion sets in. This leads me to not want to make dinner, but order it–which has become a severe financial problem. When I’m not at home, I’m living, breathing, and eating school and, mainly, the Drama Club program. Sometimes it keeps me up at night, haunting me, taunting me in the form of my long-lost characters that are pleading with me to continue writing their story.

But their story is frozen because their creator is burned out.

And it’s only the second month of school! One of my closest friends keeps telling me, “Dude, you have to learn to balance. Make time for yourself.” He’s 100% right (don’t tell him I said that!), but I don’t know how to do that. How do I balance such demanding tasks? How do I stop indulging in mindless activities when all my mind needs is a break?

I need one of those Click remotes.

Or maybe I need somebody who isn’t afraid to kick my stubborn butt into accountability.

Or maybe I just need more pizza. Pizza always helps.

I don’t really have a solution to this blog post. This is a super rare occurrence of me just speaking what’s on my mind. Why? It’s therapeutic. Is it actively solving anything? Nope. But if feels good to air it out.

Yesterday, I was so pumped to leave my apartment the next day to go write one of my stories. But then I was bit by a tick, had to go to the doctor to get checked out, had to do laundry (literally the worst!), and now? Well, it’s midday and I have grading to do and school to prepare for by tomorrow. Not to mention my amazing middle school stars have a play in less than two weeks that I’m helping to oversee–we haven’t even touched the spring musical yet. That alone has a mountain of “to-do’s” that haven’t been started yet.

I just need time. More time because what’s happening to me right now?

It’s stunting the stories I wish I could tell, locking away Chelsie the Orphan, AJ the Pastor, and Jamey the Hero in a prison within my mind. Their voices are being drowned out by the noise of life and, I fear, they are perishing ever so slowly to a fate worse than the one I have planned for them. If something doesn’t change soon, I’m not sure I’ll be able to tell their stories anymore. If I can’t figure out a way to figure out this balance thing my best friend told me about, my three heroes will never save the dark world I’ve intricately created (and destroyed) in their debut novel. If I can’t let their voices be heard, my unrelated middle school character, Garrett, will never truly figure out if his teacher is, indeed, The Crimson Watcher.

All these stories I want to tell are the very ones suffering because there’s not enough time in the day–or when I do have time, my mind is so far fried, I can’t transcribe the complex lives of my characters.

I can’t even manage to keep mine in order.

So… does anybody have a magic remote they want to let me borrow? Maybe even the Time Turner that Hermione Granger used in Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban?

Or maybe you have an idea/some advice to offer so I don’t burn out completely, thus eternally damning my characters to an unspeakable fate?

Maybe I just need a vacation. Who wants to go to the moon with me? I’ll bring the pizza.

2016 vs. 2017: Battling for Identity

Sometimes I just need to write my thoughts, my ideas, my intentions. Other times I like to say I’ll write them down, but I never do.

For example, I last blogged on February 14th, 2016 with every intention of blogging regularly.

I failed. Obviously.

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And in many ways I think that’s pretty much what 2016 was for me. A bunch of strange failures. Now, don’t read that and say, “What a pessimist! Don’t be so hard on yourself! Stop it!” But being hard on myself is kind of something I do. That being said, I don’t think it was a terrible year. However, it wasn’t a majorly successful year, either. It’s one I look back on and think, “Meh.”

200 — Pretty much how 2016 has treated me

Looking back, 2016 has given me a drive to change a lot of things in 2017; things I’m growing passionate about more and more each day. I’m dividing this blog into two halves. The first half I’ll discuss what didn’t work for 2016. The second? You guessed it! I’ll discuss my plans for 2017. If you find my boring rambling entertaining, then buckle up. If you think I’m a moron and dry, then please continue reading to reaffirm your opinion of me. Either way, it’s a win-win. Right? Plus, I have an addiction to GIFS. Be prepared.

2016: The Year of Stunted Growth

Writing:

You know I finished my first book I was proud of late 2015. I mean it was a grueling yet passionate process that yielded my first complete and ready to publish manuscript.

It’s the first of a dark and gloomy trilogy called The Aedonu Trilogy #1: Shadows in the Darkness. It’s pretty much about the end of the world, kicking off with a worldwide earthquake that deeply impacts the lives of three different characters. Each character struggles with their identity while the whole world turns into a depiction of absolute hell. They struggle with being heroes, having faith in a Creator, death, acceptance, and believing in the impossible–becoming the impossible. You know, totally normal everyday things. Just…in an impossible situation.

It’s a story that means a lot to me and I almost got it published back in February. I had a request from a publisher for a full manuscript. Crazy awesome, right?!

Ultimately, however, they decided not to pick it up to publish it. Not so awesome.

I would be lying if I were to say that experience didn’t both build up my confidence and, yet, dash it into a thousand pieces. I was left scrambling with so many questions: What do I do to change it? Can I change it? How can I tweak the story to make it more presentable? Can I even handle this anymore? Is the story worth it?

giphy2

Deep questions for a writer. Throttling questions. So I did what any logical person would do, especially after the growing list of rejection letters from other publisher.

I dropped the project.

I abandoned it, heartbroken in many ways, and fled even though I still ~~believed~~ believe greatly in its potential. You see, that story is super complex. It made me do some soul searching in a time where I had no time to search my writing soul. Therefore, I turned to writing a middle school realistic story about a kid who believes his English teacher is a superhero (wishful thinking, perhaps?). It’s a story that is a whole heck of a lot less complicated. It’s another story I believe in, but it’s also one that I haven’t “connected” with 100% which means it hasn’t been wholly productive.

All that to say….2016 stunted the writer within me. Maybe almost destroyed him. Perhaps obliterated him.

2001

Fitness:

I began a health journey back in 2012. I went from 225 lbs. to 165 lbs. in a matter of seven months! It was amazing, hard, and so rewarding. Since then I’ve been much more careful about what I eat and more conscious of staying active to avoid becoming 225 again. After an intense seven months, I actually had a lean body with a few abs showing! It was awesome.

Then I fell madly in love with pizza and milkshakes over the years once more.

2002

Those items and I have an abusive relationship. During 2016 I’ve had some good workouts and runs. I started around 198 lbs and worked down to 178. And now I’ve worked back up to 198 (I just weighed myself..and in my sadness I’m eating a cookie).

2003

Look, I’m an emotional eater. Don’t judge me.

I actually joined a gym back in November after a good friend of mine convinced me to.

It hasn’t been entirely fruitful. I’ve been binging on pizza, cookies, pop/soda, and chips vehemently the past few weeks. Also? Candy. Maybe some eggnog too. Oh, did I mention cookies? Maybe some wine as well. Yeah. You see the problem? I also make a lot of excuses to not work out.

200w — Plus, what if I went and looked like this?

So…with all that combined…..2016 has pretty much threatened my health.

Finances:

Look. I’m never going to be a millionaire. Ever. It’s a nice dream, but I’m a teacher with over $100,000 in student loans. I wish I was kidding about that amount of student debt. I’m not. And I absolutely love my job as a teacher. I’m never abandoning it, so I accept I’ll never be rich.

But that means I need to be smart with my money. This year I haven’t been that smart.

I’ve been collecting Funko POPS! like crazy. (Awesome collectables, but can get pricey)
I’ve been eating out. A lot. (See above category on fitness).
I went through a comic book purchasing phase from June-August. It turns out buying comics gets pricey when you read a lot. (Like $50-$60 a week in comics!)

I tried two months of Dave Ramsey’s plan to budget where you put cash into envelopes and spend only that money on things. It worked well for those two months. Then I got lazy and stopped withdrawing cash from the ATM because, well, it required me to drive to the bank. And we can’t have that, can we? No. It’s a lot of work!

So, naturally, I stopped budgeting and my eating out habits increased until last week when my car pretty much broke down and I needed a new battery. I went to spend the $100 for it and was informed my account had insufficient funds.

giphy1

Awkward. Pizza clearly betrayed me because, well, pizza on a night to night basis adds up.

Thank you, 2016, for turning me into a financially unstable man. (Disclaimer: finances and stability don’t work well together for me.)

Current Standings

2016: 500

Me: 0

YAY!

giphy3

So, what’s next?

2017: The Year of Growth

First, let me acknowledge that I’ve strayed from making New Years Resolutions because I usually break them by the end of the day on January 3rd in some way, shape, or form. Why create them when they will simply be destroyed? It makes me feel awful. Plus, resolutions are simply begging to be broken. It’s like the fine print within the word resolution.

So, these are not necessarily resolutions as much as they are new life goals. In my mind, it always helps me to start something at the beginning of the month. It just so happens that the beginning of the next month is 2017. Therefore, I have some goals I’m going to fight to complete.

Writing:
- Rework, tweak, refocus, and publish The Aedonu Trilogy.
- Write at least once or twice a week
- Saturday mornings = designated writing time
- No excuses–I’m not hiding from my story.
- Goal #1: Get published and/or finish writing The Aedonu Trilogy #2: Flames in the Darkness
- Goal #2: Try to write at a minimum one blog post a month. However, I’d love to make it weekly. Start small, though, right?

giphy4

Reading:
- Make time to read.
- Read every night right before bed–even if it’s just for ten minutes.
- Goal: Finish at least one book a month. Minimum of reading 12 books in 2017 (which should be attainable easy enough).

200w1

Fitness:
- Workout five times a week–which means going to the gym I’m paying for
- Only one cheat meal permitted a week, mainly in the form of pizza.
- Only eat out once a week, mainly in the form of pizza.
- Goal: Regain my lean form and have some semblance of abs by March

200w2

Finances:
- Hardcore budget my money every month, which means withdrawing cash and putting into envelopes
- No cash? No pizza treat once a week.
- Stop impulse buying–I struggle there.
- Goal: Have enough money at the end of the year for a new car

2005

Okay, so they aren’t resolutions, but they are goals. Goals are a destination to be reached vs. an absolute to keep in check from day one. You can stumble in your goals, but still achieve them. I feel like once you break a resolution, it’s easy to give it up for the rest of the year. Having distinct goals may help me stay on track in these four areas of my life.

Focusing more on writing will impact my reading a lot more and vice versa. In the same sense, if I’m more self-disciplined in staying fit, I know that I’ll be more self-disciplined in my finances. Those always seem to highlight one another.

2017 should be a wild ride, but I hope it’s one that’ll show 2016 it didn’t knock me out.

While 2016 revealed my weak areas in various ways, 2017 should be a year that empowers me in so many more ways.

Let’s do this, 2017. It’s morphin’ time!

darce-montgomery-in-power-rangers

The Great Return…

Blogging.

A simple eight letter word of the 21st century.

For the past few weeks, “blogging” has been weaving its way through my cinematic daydreams, whispering into my ears , and compelling me to sit down and actually pay attention to it. Time has battled this word, as I am a pretty busy man. However, considering the fact that you’re reading this right now, it would seem this urge to blog has won. I am a prisoner to it now.

But that’s not a bad thing.

In many ways, I think I need a place to uncoil my rampant thoughts. A realm to tap into whatever my mind is wrestling with and express it to the world. Maybe I’ll be talking to myself on here, or maybe you’ll find that you’re invested in the strange events of my life. DUSTY VINTAGE KEYBOARD

By day I’m a middle school English teacher, which ensures that I never endure a dull moment. By night I am a conglomarete being that inhales Netflix like it’s a drug, reads books for sustenance, and pours out my very soul in the stories that I dare to write. Passionate stories. Dark stories. Magical stories.

I suppose that’s why I have returned to the blogging realm. In the past, I’ve tried to manage blogs solely centered on movie reviews. That never worked.

But now?

Now, I am creating a space where I can write about whatever I want, whenever I want, wherever I want. Words are not meant to be limited. I intend to express myself in this space. Maybe I’ll tell wild stories about my adventures as a middle school teacher–stories I simply can’t make up. Perhaps I’ll write entries where I rant about the fact that there is literally no local coffee shops near me to write my logic-defying fiction. (Honestly, it’s a real problem!) Or maybe I’ll just talk to you, to myself, to whoever is listening, to anybody who needs it. Sometimes I may even be silent, taking in this chaotic force we call everyday life.

Regardless, my presence will linger here. This is my place. This is your place. This is the battlefield where that eight-letter word “blogging” won.

Stick around if you dare, leave if you must. If you stay, we will sort through the world together. If you leave, I’ll wave and wish you well. After all, we are on different paths, right? Sometimes, though, it’s just nice to enjoy the ride together…

Welcome to my world…

Horton Hears Whos

The life adventures and obsessions of a wannabe Power Ranger. #Nerd

Category: Life Adventures