The odd thing about time is eventually the future becomes the present and we must confront all the ways it is and is not what we thought.

We are not meant to barter ourselves as the condition for having a livable life. 

But we have to learn how to be in struggle. With ourselves, with each other. 

In these moments when I am consumed by anger, like the present, I look to practices that allow me to return to something other than cruelty. To live in the world differently. To remain awake to the world as a practice of finding a way to love it.  

This is perhaps why I've been so drawn to the novel; that it is, however biographical, ultimately a fiction and there lies a crack of freedom. My novel is semi-autobiographical certainly, but pointedly, it is more an emotional truth of my life than it is an actual record of events.

I have spent the majority of my schooling in predominately white schools and I learned a few things about aesthetics: namely, North Face, L.L. Bean, Abercrombie & Fitch, and American Eagle. Other than my fixation on earning enough money to buy a real North Face fleece jacket in high school, the workings of rich and/or rich-aspiring/performing white people typically was not my business.

In some ways this is a long time coming. Perhaps a millennial cliche or the current cultural obsession with making “content” or the slightest creeping FOMO I feel but here we are, bringing blogging back.