Eat a Mudpie.

Remember making mud pies? One good, hard rain and the next day- the baking ensues. If you’re really good, you add acorns to the top. Sometimes you’d crush some pinecones and decorate the edges. Add some twigs to the siding. Sprinkle a handful of pebbles. Place a dandelion or two.

Not to toot my own horn, but I was kind of a big dill in the neighborhood mudpie syndicate. Kids these days wished they had these skills.

Okay. Perhaps I got too into it, but shoot me. It’s all about the physical appeal of the dish. I mean, who’s going to really eat the damn thing?

I was six the last time I made a mud pie. My mom was the last person I served a cold, clumpy slice to. I remember her smiling. Pretending to take a big bite. Using a real fork to smash the mud around until it was just a big ol’ mess of Georgia clay and childhood imagination.

When you’re a kid you think, 'I can’t wait to grow up'. Then you grow up and think, 'I wish I was still a kid'. I wish I could still show my dad how fast I run (from one end of the sidewalk to the other). I wish I could still get away with playing sick and stay home from school (aka real life). I wish I still got meals for free (screw you, IHOP). I wish I could still feed my mama dirt pies (RIP Mom).

But what’s the point in all the wishing, hoping and praying? Life doesn’t go in reverse. This isn’t Click (just, no, Adam Sandler. Just no to that awful movie).

Every year is a new year. And it’s true, droves of people make resolutions and half-baked promises for self fulfilment on the eve of the first. They all want a fresh start, a chance at being a kid again.

But every day is a new day.

Every minute, a new minute.

Every second, a new second. You cannot go back in time and you’re not promised the new year. You’re not promised anything. I won’t go into the details, mainly because everyone has gone through something, but I’ve lost more than a few folks consecutively. I’ll spare the pity party and put it like this: losing someone close to you, unexpectedly, surely puts things in perspective. Losing multiple people in a small amount of time is world-changing.

I am not about to go into a spiral of forced positivity. I’m not going to tell you how I rose from the ashes to sing Kumbaya, that you just need to smile through the pain (SMILE DAMNIT) and that you just need to wake up at 5am to punch the sun… (Yeah, because that's happening). Don’t you get sick of that manic happy, Stepford wife kind of peptalk? I’m just going to say this one thing: when it comes to living your life- don’t talk about it, be about it.

Don’t talk about spending more time with your family.

Don’t talk about starting that business.

Don’t talk about sailing away to the seven corners of the world.

Just fucking do it.

Just live your life. Just be you. Whatever that means, just get to it already. Time isn’t something you can count on.

It took me awhile to come to this realization. I had to trip up and miss out. I missed out on so much of my life because of one thing: me.

I missed out on events and ceremonies because I prioritized boys over family. I missed out on good job opportunities because I smoked too much pot. I let little bits of life slip me by because I allowed my mental health to boil, every so quickly, into a big, black bowl of bullshit.

Then people started dropping.

And the lightning knocked me off my ass, into a therapist’s chair and into the realm of accountability.

Take it from me, you shouldn’t wait around to change. If you think it, you can do it. If you want it, you can get it. That little kid is still in there. You can still be free and happy and committed to a better existence. Get out of your own way. Stop waiting to take a different path. Stop talking about what terrible thing has got you down and stop talking about being a version of you. Stop taking ques from sun-drunk housewives and iron-pumping meatheads who may not really understand where you're coming from when you say that you want to be better. Keep it simple: Be present. Be grounded. Be grateful.

You’re alive. You’re in control.

Act like it.

Go make a mud pie. Who cares? Go do you.