Little Lasting Memories

My dad is a pretty entertaining guy. As a kid, and far before Discovery Channel introduced shows like “Man vs. Wild,” my dad would explore in the woods, teaching himself little survival skills. He grew up on Long Island and while the island is very overdeveloped, back then the swamps, hills, and beaches offered a lot for him to learn from. I took the same mindset as a kid, so I flourished when my parents and I moved to upstate NY. Recently, my dad told my friend and I his favorite memory of me. To my surprise it’s a story from before we moved, when I was about four or five years old and still lived on the north shore.

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Animals undergo remarkable changes while under stress. Opossums can force themselves into a comatose state, bison may move up to five tons of snow in the winter just to take a chomp on some soggy grass, and even one shark has learned how to walk on land when stranded away from water. Nature never ceases to amaze me. I think of these talents as superpowers and often wonder what mine might be.

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One week in…

I’m the type of person who will find a lesson in every situation. Some things suck, yes, but what would suck even more is if ~whatever~ existed only to hinder your growth forward from that event, person, situation… whatever. I think resolutions are stupid and that you can change your actions at any time for yourself, however, what I love about “New Years” is the chance to reflect, as if the year is a chapter in your book. These are my brief lessons of my chapters.

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There’s a dog barking outside. I can hear wind shuffling leaves in the street and cars moving home in rush hour traffic. You are strumming an unplugged electric guitar with a melody to match the day’s mood.

This living room feels full, despite you and I being the only occupants. Every verse you play on those hollow sounding strings leads into a more amplified and crisp chorus. It’s in this moment where I sit not even 10 feet from you that I realize I’ll never understand just how you tie every noise available here into a perfect bow.

I feel like an observer to your movie, and maybe I am. You place your guitar down, say a few words, and open the door. In an instant I am left with the unobstructed sounds from outside, a click of the door, and suddenly, an eerily silent and slightly darker room.

The Funk

The Funk

You wish you could place your feelings, your emotions, and your physical being into another person so that they would understand everything interfering with your brain. All the vibrations from your body are moving outward like radio waves in search of a receiver, but seem to pass blankly through the audience in front of you, and out to a vacant infinity instead. It’s the days you’re reminded how far you’ve come, or remain, as a human in recovery. Whether from loss, depression, heartbreak, addiction, or maybe something you can’t quite describe—you maintain this funky feeling prompted by nothing.

You attempt to push through or explain it to get the sludge out of your system, yet it remains. Dwindling your glow and working as a contagious substance, it knocks all the people who catch it into a pit of loneliness. If only light could be shed on this crater would every lost person acknowledge that there are others hiding in the same cavity of the universe as well.

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To the Girl I Saw Come Out

It seemed so natural for you to be sitting with your parents outside the diner, but after a few moments it was clear your nerves were ticking. You toyed with your mug, and napkin, and fork, and mug again. You bounced at every new topic, almost too eager to have something else to talk about. You indicated it, or at least, I was perceptive of it. I get nervous like that often – everyone does.

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