Live the Life Bob Ross Would Want to Paint

Click the pic for "Blank Space" by the wonderful T Swift.

The world is a blank slate and we've all got pencils.

Some let theirs get dull. Some keep theirs sharp. But there's more to this life than dark sketches and negative space. There's more out there than merely variations of eraser skids and gray.

There's colour. There's texture. There's shadow, depth - and everything has a reflection. Our recollection of what beauty looks like can be transposed onto the canvas of our futures. 

What do we value? What hues look best to you? Is it limelight, moonlight or natural light? Is it infrared, incandescent or sunshine?

Paint a picture. Create an album. See the world that you want to see. It's beautiful out there. Don't let the hazy daze and blank phase get in the way of your crazy ways. Each stroke of your imagination, set to color, is a breath of fresh air.

And I want to breathe it in.

I long to live in it. Basque in the glory of the faded, but still vibrant saturation that you bring to the coloring table. We get to be children again, but we don't have to paint between the lines. We can still dance, but now we know how to keep time. And align ourselves with the masses or break off and do our own thing. Place your hand in mine and let the music begin.

We've changed pace. From artistic space to an even more creativity-harboring place. I hope you can relate. I hope you don't act your age. I pray and beg and plead that you still hold onto that youthful embrace.

Because what do we lose as the years pass us by? Not wonder, nor life, but only time. With a focus on the future and an eye on tomorrow, we forget how to live and forget how to grow. There's money in our pockets and jewelry on our fingers, but what lingers is the longing for an existence when we were merely beginners.

I know that we're happy. I know we're complacent. I know we both complain, but our lives are halfway decent. But they can be better. They can be so much more. With an inkling toward adventure we can continue to explore.

The world is ours. We've been told that since we were kids. Each brush stroke we have made has brought us to this very portrait in which we live. But what can make it better? What happy accidents can be made? What mistakes can we partake in that help us grow along the way?

Follow your hand and see where your pencil takes you. Does it lead you to the paper or toward something new? Don't be afraid to lift the lead up, don't fear falling in Love. You have the basic foundations and features drawn, now it's time to paint an endless skyline above.

I can be a constellation in your horizon. And you can be my mesmerizing, ever-consistent sunrise. Either way we end up painting the portrait of our lives, all will look just right.

There's no wrong way to do this, no pattern to follow or fail. And when my painting is done, it will be labeled "not for sale."

Because when you put your all into something, every last effort is left behind. And as my vision starts to go, I'll always remember the time. The hours wasted away, working with variations and adding something new. But most of all, I'll never forget the time I spent painting this masterpiece with you.

The Sunday Weirds: Commuter Contemplation

I have an insatiable wanderlust. I can't stay in one spot for too long or I get restless and upset.

In fact, throughout the past eight months, staying home for an entire weekend has been a foreign and scary concept. Had I not had a complete night out planned in the great 614, I would travel upwards of 125 miles – in any direction – just to be around a large group of people.

While this statistic thoroughly backs up my theory of me being an extrovert, I'm finding that the time spent driving home on Sunday afternoons is just as valuable as the entire weekend spent interacting, communicating and distracting myself from the reality that I concentrate on so much.

My most recent purchase for the drive home was the soundtrack to "Thirteen." If you haven't watched it, you've failed your inner angsty teenager. Get on that!

I dwell on the fact that I have the dreaded two-hour drive ahead of me. I do all in my power to make it comfortable and convenient. I switch out of my plaid button down and skinny jeans for a t-shirt and gym shorts. I pop in a new CD to create new memories to or an old one to reminisce.

But after a few miles in, I start to think.

And I start to contemplate. I start to envision. I think about what I just did and wonder if it's making me truly happy or not.

The drive home suddenly shifts from this concrete, terrible inconvenience to a sort of life planning session with the occasional existential breakdown and shedding of tears.

I take time out to think about Loved ones and Loves lost. I think about who I want to keep in my life and who deserves a little less energy. Who is toxic and who is treasure? 

If you're reading this, you've probably received a really nice text message, phone call or Snapchat from me as a result of this Sunday drive.

I look at the upcoming work week. How can I improve? In what ways can I make this business more money and how can I feel even more satisfied with my career? What are the next moves? I break out of my party hard mentality and see myself as a professional with a vision for the future.

I think of the garbage I put in my body the weekend preceding. Granted, I never really go over the top, but it gives me the motivation to eat and drink healthier for the upcoming week. My workout regimen gets a thorough inspection as I think of how I can make the most of that time.

The best long drives home result in songs and poems. Inspiration can come out of nowhere. Either a passing thought or a misheard lyric heard while scanning through local radio stations that barely come in can trigger something beautiful. Against my better judgment, I type behind the wheel. After 100 or so miles, I have something I didn't have before and I feel much more fulfilled.

I've heard this time of contemplation and concentration referred to as “The Sunday Weirds,” which is quite fitting. It's a step back from reality - actually both realities you encounter on a weekly basis. It's a sense of meditation brought forth by staring at the same lines in the center of road that you've seen countless times. I definitely feel weird.

Since I was a youngin, I recall experiencing this sort of numbness phenomenon on Sunday nights. School was the next day. I was stuck with family. Many times, I was in the car, on long drives with them. Only fitting that the feeling is still with me today.

The next time you have a seemingly infinite drive ahead of you, make the most of it. If you can't get a passenger to ride shotgun and talk about life, become your own passenger. When you get out of your car, do so with a sense of purpose. You're back home and you're going to do something great this week. 

And you're going to live.

You're going to transcend normalcy, be productive, end the week right and drive back once again; this time, as a better, more complete human being.

Is Midnight Yesterday or Today?

They say your teenage years are the most despairing and confusing times of your life, but I beg to differ - this liminal post-graduation/settling into a career phase has been a toughy.

I must confess, within this past year, I practically existed as a full-time professional and a part-time 5th year senior in college. I've worked 40-plus hour weeks, worked out four days a week and still found time to go crazy on the weekends.

It's time to let go of some things.

But I'm starting to notice the awkwardness that comes with being 23. Am I supposed to slow down? Am I supposed to start thinking about marriage? What age am I supposed to have kids? Do I even want kids? Will I ever have to stop?

I saw a meme today (and a thousand times before) that said "I'm at the point in my life where half my friends are getting married and having kids, while the others are too drunk to find their phones." As much as I hate regurgitated Internet posts, that one still hits home. I watch Snapchat stories and see people in their 20s doing absolutely nothing with their lives, granted that could simply be the facets they want to share with the community, but still. It's depressing.

I'm having fun, yes, but the party seems to be dying down; at least the habitual party scene. Friends are settling, while I'm still ready to go.

It sucks being the last one awake.

It sucks hearing "no" after "YOLO" was the mantra to live by. For four years (and little of a fifth), I lived without boundaries, barriers or curfews, but now I have to limit what I do, if not for me, then for my friends. They've got their own lives. They have to be up at 8 a.m. for work on the weekend while I lay on a couch, shaking off the night before, remembering the life I used to have.

My body has been giving me signals that it's either time to grow up or I've simply stop going so hard. I can't sleep past 8:30 a.m. on the weekends. The day after recovery time has increased. I panic about projects for work at 1 a.m. on a Friday night.

I've talked about my "Yes Man" phase and philosophy that gave me the greatest changes in my life, but now I'm heading into a second round of changes. Unfortunately, I don't know what those are yet. I don't have a movie to guide me this time. It will likely entail a stronger focus on fitness, new cultural adventures, more creative aspirations and a decline in travel time. (It's worth noting that for the past three or four months I haven't stayed within the same 100-mile radius for more than five days.)

I don't want to become that quintessential frat boy who can't let go of his glory days. I saw too many 29-year old men trying to party like they were 21 this weekend and it was just embarrassing. However, I don't plan on stopping my antics with my friends. That will never stop. Some of our destruction could be construed as creativity.

And that's what's lacking in my life right now. Creativity. My emotions are manifesting as actions and that doesn't make me happy. I need to go back to capturing my anger/sadness/frustration/jealousy/confusion into something constructive, maybe a song that will last forever and not a dramatic text or tweet that lasts but a second and makes me look like a jackass.

Too young to say no; too arrogant to hear it either.

This is growing up. I've come along way from the angst-filled, drama queen everyone came to know and hate my freshman year. But it's time to cut the passive-aggressive behavior, be more direct and, dare I say it, settle down - not in the sense that I have to stop having fun, but in the sense that I have to concentrate my mind on the hierarchy of things that actually matter.

I'm in need of a life personnel change. I've built a beautiful friend group, but there are some characters that cause more chaos than they do good. There is a never ending fountain of people in this world, why settle on someone who doesn't embody the characteristics you wish to surround yourself with? Why try and make someone appreciate you when they forget who you are a week later? Be with the people who appreciated you completely.

This is my quarter-life crisis

This is me fearing alone time on a weekend. This is me fearing that it was all a dream. This is me fearing letting go of something I built part of my pride upon.

Or maybe this is me devoting my time to becoming a more well-rounded person. Or me falling in Love with new conversations with wonderful people opposed to trying to hold onto the past. Or me preserving and chiseling my body and my name into something that will last a longer time.

Here's to walking through the doorway between two rooms - one full of memories, bad blood and questionable decisions - and into a new room - full of new melodies, deeper conversations and questionable decisions.

Never Had A Home

It's worth noting that this isn't exactly how I feel. The majority of it is just words. I wrote it while sitting at my desk, freezing. So, to set the mood right, get as cold as you can (to the point of shivering) and read through, but whisper the italic parts to yourself.

Never Had A Home
Nothing left to say, no words left to believe;
It's hard to have a dream when you cannot fall asleep.
The lights don't know my thoughts, the streets can't feel my pain,
These strangers couldn't care less to ever learn my name.

A new edge of the world, a fresh new frontier.
Staring down my father's gun, I think I like the view from here.
Darkened by my thoughts, motivated by my spirit,
I'd tell my sob story again but no one wants to hear it.

I'm a nuisance, I'm pathetic.
I'm beaten down by the world because I let it.
Pre-cursing thoughts are the mist;
God, I hope the lightning missed.

I could feel it through my skull, a bullet for it all,
Thunder in my sky littering thoughts against the wall.
I'm not myself; no I'm someone else,
A person that I hate, numbness I've never felt.

There's no light behind these eyes, a handful of people I despise.
Just a shallow human shell with a half smile disguise.
An ego-centric sickness, as God as my witness,
I would steal to take the "lie" from my life.

A ring of mistrust, three years of misdeeds,
You would think you're crazy if you ever thought like me.
Back and forth with the mind games, just want to you feel the same way;
Steering everything I do just to drive you insane.

A thousand thoughts a minute, half of them with her in it.
The other 50 percent, the world I've left unfinished.
A family left abandoned; three hearts left unmended.
You wonder why I can't trust, it was the way my life was handed.

Down through different people, all with different motives,
By the time I was 10 my sense of belonging was so corroded.
I felt a sense of pride, knowing I made a life on my own,
Only to find that I never had a home.

All I had were a few good times, at the expense of all the others,
I lost my sense of empathy and I lost God damn my mother.
Drink just to feel numb, unfaithfully fuck to feel alive;
Taking a lot more than I could ever need just to survive.

Another bottle down, another broken heart.
What's destroying a relationship when I never cared from the start?
I'm a monster in my own mind, a demon by design.
I would burn every bridge around me if it would keep me warm tonight.

I'm dramatic, I'm an addict;
Not to pills, but to substance.
Nothing you can buy, nothing you can steal,
But something free to feel.
Fueled by the desire to feel Loved, a chance just to belong,
I know I look alright, but that assumption is wrong.

Nothing left to say, no words left to believe;
It's hard to have a dream when you cannot fall asleep.
Just want to know I caused a wave, know I sparked a fire.
Because sending chills down your spine is what keeps me inspired.