Sons et al. // Misshaped Mouth

I almost never have time to write these days. Or read. Or create. The months pass and I have to remind myself that time will never magically manifest, it only evaporates, slips right past my fingers before I can even register that it’s there. 

I feel like I’ve been tricking myself into believing that more time lies right around the corner. I just need to get through this big pitch, or this big event, or this big trip, and then there will be time, waiting patiently for me on the other side. This, of course, is a lie we all tell ourselves. Time never waits, we only wait for more time. 

On the rare occasion that I have an opportunity to pause and reflect, I realize that oh fuck, years have been passing and I haven’t finished any of the projects I picked up and then put away, saving for a rainy day. And now, here I am, wasting away in a creative drought. 

What remains of my creative bent is a graveyard of discarded hobbies - books I bought and never finished, magazines I subscribed to but never flipped through, a Bamboo tablet I’ve never used, and most disappointing of all, empty, barren journals. It’s only April and I can already feel the end of this year descending upon me, a weight of disappointment around all the New Year’s Resolutions I failed to keep. I want to take this rare moment of clarity to rededicate myself to investing time in the things that bring me personal satisfaction, the things that define me, not as a working professional because fuck that, but as a person

I want to: 

  • get back into journaling on a consistent cadence
  • work out 3-4x/week (yoga and cardio and maybe climbing and maybe hip-hop dancing)
  • build a website 
  • save up to buy a house 

This is the year I do the things I love.