Stories of all sorts, thanks for reading.
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I’ve learned multiple lessons in my life, usually twice and three times over. But eventually, they stick and get added to my playbook. A principle that keeps rearing its ugly head is the value of my environment. It’s the reason your elementary school teacher demands your desk remain pristine. It’s also why your parents made you make your bed just to get back in it later. Your physical space dictates your mental space.
Throughout my life, I've often felt idle. As though I was working towards nothing, spending my days waiting for my weekends. I guess part of me expected to stumble upon purpose and contentment. I thought happiness stemmed from success and that I would feel purposeful once I found a career. I've learned that no matter what you accomplish, it never feels how you think it will. The real pleasure and sense of accomplishment comes from the journey.
My earliest memories include music. My dad bouncing me on his lap, lulling me to sleep with "A Change is Gonna Come by Sam Cooke" or songs he'd written himself that were only ever heard by a few close friends and me. Or mom playing 90s alternative rock from an old radio by the pool under the blazing Oklahoma sun.
Psst! Hey you, yes you. Come closer; I want to tell you a secret. This is information you guard with your life. If it were to escape and get into the wrong hands, it could be...dangerous. I'm going to take you on a tour of all the gifts I'm getting my artist girlfriend this year. Of course, I knew you had one, too. That's why I'm sharing this with you.
I grew up in a Jehovah's Witness family. Most of my relatives wouldn't even acknowledge Christmas when it came around. I never grew attached to the holiday or developed any expectations because it was never emphasized growing up. My aunt told me Santa didn't exist when I was five and killed the magic then and there.
I bet I can guess what you're thinking about. Is it the pandemic? Elections? Protests? Your ever-looming mortality? Money? Maybe I'm speaking for myself, but I can't open any news outlet without getting a spoonful of depression and misery fed to me. It seems that everyone needs a break. I promise I won't even mention the dreaded illness. We're only baking cookies here- with a twist. All good stories have a twist.
I turned 21 this year; I'm officially of legal drinking age and haven't been able to enjoy the fruits of my labor. The only alcohol I've been exposed to would be Bud Light and boxed wine if the occasion were fancy. But something is alluring about the wine world-the drink of fallen kings and Greek mythology hero’s.
I've developed an addiction to audiobooks, and I just finished "The 4-hour Workweek" by Tim Ferriss. At the end of the book, contained within a chapter titled "An Email, You Need to Read," is a poem about appreciating life.