Last week's positive re-inforcement meant a lot because I too often feel like I'm jamming my business down peoples throats. Still that seems like the better alternative to calling people up and saying (Insert incoherent rant that ends "Why doing you love me!" and contains unwarranted verbal abuse here)
I'll try to keep those projections more positive. For starters- I think some of the people in my life are the best kind of crazy- the awe inspiring hugworthy kind of funk.
I'm happily writing this post on my first morning of vacation. In an hour I grab a train to New York then I'm meet my Birthright group at JFK. Despite trying to keep this trip expectation free (other than NOT joining the Israeli military) I've been very much looking forward to it. I want to get inspired but I'm not sure in what way. Maybe that starts by trying to do things as differently as possible (except perhaps for July 4th- if somebody offers me a cheesburger I will eat it. America!) Is inspiration too much to ask for? Do other people look for that? If you look everywhere and take in what the world offers you, you'll find whatever you need. We're so young and so lucky yet we stare at adulthood and put an ostentatious pressure on ourselves rather than trying to be youthful and curious. They should open SA for people addicted to stressing themselves out. Or maybe just more yoga studios and hookah bars- yeah, lets go with this option.
Thank you for reading- keep doing that and I'll keep writing.
With much love,
Context Free Book Preview #7:
This brick building used to be be home to his favorite bar, now he walks by is a bohemian coffee shop. Fucking gentrification he would mutter if he understood the concept, instead he wonders where all the scumbags and their scumbagginess had gone to hide. Where would he score some grass? Around the corner out South 8th street was a sleazy dive bar where, before he went away, he used to try to trick women into thinking he was successful or at least that he had a job. Walking in to see brand new barstools and a shiny tile floor where there used to be wood chips over cracked cement, Mick felt like the city was playing some sick practical joke on him.