Paint a lot

The greats weren't great because at birth they could paint. The greats were great because they paint a lot. 

- Macklemore

I realize that what I am about to say could be taken as very arrogant; however, I made a vow to myself to not write for anyone else but myself, and I have a promise to keep. With that said, ever since I was young, I had a dream of becoming great. Not just a child dream, but a real sense of ownership. As if every time I thought it, I was one step closer to making it a reality. And not just any great, but great (with an emphasis on the gr). Like Martin Luther King great, Abraham Lincoln great, Susan B Anthony great... really great, world renowned great. My hang up came when that's as far as the dream went; there was no direction or place in which I could see myself becoming great. All I knew was becoming great became my destiny.

I have recently come across a few of the greats in history and realized the majority of them weren't born great but became great with failure after failure. Blood, sweat, and tears fashioned them into idols people still admire.

• It has been said that Thomas Edison refined the light bulb after over 2000 failed attempts and went on to hold a world record for 1093 patents for inventions. When asked how many more failed attempts he would try, Edison responded "I have not failed. I've just found 10,000 ways that won't work."
• Michael Jordan was cut from his high school basketball team and went on to become the best basketball player in the world to date (yes, he is still better than Kobe Bryant).
• Albert Einstein couldn't talk until he was four years old. His teacher told his parents he wouldn't amount to much, and as everyone knows, he is considered to be one of the smartest men to walk the earth.
• The Beatles were rejected by Decca Recording studios and were told they have no future in show business. They went on to perform for over ten thousand hours straight in Hamburg, and now are world known as one of the greatest, most talented bands in all of history.
• And my favorite: Walt Disney was fired from a newspaper who told him he lacked imagination and had no original ideas. And yet, he created the happiest place on earth for kids and adults, created some fo the best movies, and is now synonymous with imagination.

When I read about these greats, I can't help but smile in adoration. They were very talented, smart, and skilled individuals, yes, but that's not what made them great. What made them so great was their journey. The beauty in the ashes, the glisten in their tears, the rose in the thorn bush.

I still don't have it all figured out, but I know I'm on the right road. I had a conversation with my mom the other day. She told me she was worried about me living in Los Angeles. I stopped her (obviously frustrated with the constant disapproval of my current living location from most people living in my home state) and as I spoke, I realized half way through my little rampage, I was talking to myself. I have a dream, a dream of becoming truly a great individual. I'm not there yet, but I am proud of where I am at, the person I am, and the person I know I will become. I'm working towards my destiny, one step, mistake, breath at a time. It doesn't matter where I start to harness my greatness, because my goal isn't city wide, state wide, or even nation wide. All that matters is that I am able to harness my greatness somewhere and not stop until I have reached my destiny. Until I do, it's back to the drawing board; I need to paint. a lot. 

Santa and Superheroes

I tend to get nostalgic when I think about children. Not because I don’t want them or can’t wait to have them, but because there is a distinct difference between children and adults. We are no longer those cute little five year olds at the department store on Christmas Eve, so ecstatic about Santa’s soon arrival that we tell a random employee all about the elf, who visits us every day to make sure we’re being good, and the Santa Tracker our dad put on his phone (I was the random employee, and boy did it make my Christmas that much more merry). We’ve morphed into worn out adults who anxiously await the New Year simply because we’ll be getting our tax returns soon. What happened in between those two people?

When our dad was superman. Even if he wasn’t around, we secretly dreamt of him being incognito like Clark Kent, hoping that the one night we really needed him, he’d come to our rescue. But he never came. Is that the night our lives drastically changed? When we realized our parents weren’t superheroes and Santa wasn’t real? There was an innocence lost in that moment. Instead of simply realizing the truth of the matter, we questioned truth itself. If our parents weren’t superheroes and Santa wasn’t real… then what could save us and make us happy? And more importantly, whom could we trust? Not only were our parents counterfeit superheroes, but they lied to us about Santa! Could we trust anything that came out of their mouths? Well we chose not to. We lost all faith in our parents, and many of us have yet to rebuild that trust. Whether it’s our parents fault or our own, that trust has remained a lump of coal to be given out every Christmas morning. 

I hated the holidays for several years. There was too much fighting, far too many awkward “catching up” conversations, and although the food was always delicious and the gifts always special, it wasn’t enough. I discovered at a young age that the holiday season isn’t about the nice decorations and extra trimmings, it’s about taking a month and a half or so (Thanksgiving until New Year’s Eve) and spending that precious time with those precious to us. And I think if we all stop for just a few minutes and be honest (even if it’s only with ourselves), that’s all we’ve ever wanted-to spend time with those we love. Those are the moments we never forget. So on this late Christmas Eve night/early Christmas morning (yes, I am waiting for Santa), I leave with this: Thanksgiving, Christmas, Hanukkah, New Year’s Eve, and any other holiday that is celebrated during this time, aren’t about the rituals and traditions, they’re about laughing, singing, dancing, sharing moments with our loved ones and rebuilding the trust that was broken all those years back. 

Merry Christmas.

First

Written below is the first piece of poetry I have ever written, memorized and spoken. I deemed it fit to be the first piece ever shared as well. Here it is:

You’re an obsession I can’t stop, an addiction I can’t quit. You control my actions in ways you wish you knew. Like freshly made clay, I would be putty in your hands if I allowed myself to show you my greatest weakness. Your being is my Achilles heel. You make me weak; my head spins, my stomach flutters, and my heart drops to my ankles every single time our eyes meet. You’re perfection in my eyes, your flaws nonexistent the moment I lay my eyes on you. Your weaknesses are but misplaced strengths and undiscovered power. You are the exception to the rules. My standards are no longer a figment of my imagination; they are physical, tangible, touchable. They have morphed into a spitting image of you. You have interwoven yourself ever so gently into every fabric of my existence. I am now incomplete without you. My survival determinant on whether or not you breathe your sweet breath into my collapsing lungs.

What is it exactly? What do you possess that causes me to be the Eve who destroyed the garden of paradise? Is it your fruit? Are you so lusciously delicious, my taste buds can’t help but desire more of you? Is it your look? Are you so enticingly exquisite that my eyes can’t help but take in your radiance? Or is it your nutrients? Are you just so invigoratingly healthy that my body becomes more balanced the more I surround myself with your supplements? No, it’s not any of those. You really aren’t that good looking, and let’s be honest, your “skills” are a little lacking. You don’t really make me feel better, and you don’t inspire me to be a better person. In fact, you don’t challenge me at all. You actually bring out the worst in me. When I’m around you, I’m that girl. You know the one. The desperate, insecure, emotionally-driven, attention-seeking googlie eyed annoyance that everyone makes fun of.

What is it then? What about you has me so dependent, obsessed, addicted, caught up? Nothing. At least nothing you’ve done. Just like Eve, I fell for the lie behind the fruit, not the fruit itself. I fell in love with an idea of a reality that will always be a fantasy because boys like you rarely turn into the prince girls like me dream about. Your only part in this tragic love story is that you were lucky enough to find me when I was hungry; hungry for love, attention, affection, security. Like Eve, I wondered off in desperate search for something to fill me up. I just so happened to fall onto your path. You were glowing. I looked you straight in your eyes and knew. I knew you were going to be my cure. I’m not sure if Eve bit the fruit like I did. She might have been cautious, analyzing it, making sure there were no bumps, bruises, deformities, worms. Not me. I devoured the fruit like I was a famished orphan. I dove head first into your ocean of lies, ignorant of the fact that the water below didn’t resemble the pictures we often see on websites depicting a honeymoon in paradise. No, this water was deep, dark, cold, and strong. Like a paddleboat lost in a hurricane, I was destined for disaster. Your lies and my insecurities did a hell of a job. They tag teamed, and as you know. Two is always better than one. I lost the battle, and in losing that battle I lost parts of myself I never knew I had. Parts of myself that were so special, sacred, unique, and beautiful. The moment I fell in love with you, was the moment I fell out of love with myself. As my love for you grows, my hate for myself doubles. But don’t think its over. As the saying goes, you may have won the battle, but you didn’t win the war. The war was for my soul. You might have stolen my body, broken my heart, silenced my voice, and stomped on my character, but you can never have my mind. And because of that, you will never possess my soul. As much as every part of my body desires just one more taste, embrace, moment, memory, my mind knows your fruit caused my world to hide behind a bush when God came calling. But just like Eve, I get a second chance at life. My heart might have fallen for your words, my body for your looks, and my character for your actions, but my mind is incapable of completely falling for your lies. So don’t flatter yourself. It’s not you I fell in love with; it was the lies the fantasy told. 

For Me

I have often admired those who have the ability to pour their hearts out on stage and not fear the potential threat to their projected image. Then it hit me. The people I admire the most, don't do it for anyone but themselves. Then it hit me again. All I have to do is perform for me. Dance like no one's watching; talk like no one's listening, write like no one's reading, and live as though nothing else matters. So, that is my goal. To pour my life out on this stage (or template) and not be ashamed of the words I write or the thoughts I have. With that said, onward, writer!