The other day I found myself surrounded by adults getting drunk on Oberon and Tequila. I like adults best this way, not because I enjoy seeing them get wasted, but because wasted adults always tell you things that they’d never tell you while they’re sober. I encourage everyone to listen, though, because you never know what sort of brilliance you’ll catch from the mouth of a forty-something-year-old woman who’s had one too many. I say this because I had a conversation with one such lady, and this conversation provided me with much needed insight on the complexities of life. I’m not sure she remembers saying anything at all, but that’s okay.

            Our conversation went all over the place; we talked about camels in Kyrgyzstan and vegan chili, which may seem crazy; but by the end of the night it was obvious this lady knew a thing or two about living.

I am sixteen. No one ever asked a teenager for the meaning of life. That’s because teenagers are stupid, and everyone knows it except teenagers. We think we understand what it means to live, and we feel perfect and powerful, but that’s just because we haven’t had a chance to fall flat on our faces, yet. This lady talked about her life, about all the mistakes she’s made, and how she’s been to hell and back. Love gets better, the sex gets better, and the world gets better. “You are just starting out,” she says, “You haven’t seen anything, yet.”. 

Wasted adults usually think they know the meaning of life, and maybe they do…I haven’t decided yet.

           I want to be extraordinary. I’m not an ordinary person, so why should I live an ordinary life? I want to be interviewed on NPR, and featured in famous galleries. I want to see New York. I want to experience Paris. I want it all. Even when I was a little kid, I knew I wanted to leave my mark on the world. I thought everyone did. But it isn’t like that. Not really. I don’t think I’m like everyone else (but maybe no one is like everyone else). It feels like most people are satisfied with 9:00-5:00 jobs, a few kids, and a white picket fence. Not me. I can’t have a fence. I need more than that. Or maybe I don’t need something more…maybe I just need something different.  Sometimes it just feels like I’m shooting for the moon, but I hit my head on the ceiling, and it all comes to a screeching halt. Then I just sit on the floor and cry. Life is funny like that, sometimes. How reality bites me in the ass. I just want to laugh at it. But really, I’d just be laughing at myself. I am me, and this is my life, and I must learn to gain control. If I want to shoot for the moon, I first must have the sense to step outside. That means stepping out of the box, and getting away from all the restrains that are keeping me down and holding me back. I am not to be confined. 

I have yet to find an effective way to express myself and contain my ideas, and this is probably a pointless attempt to start something that will become nothing. At least that’s my expectation, which is perhaps the point. The point of this is not for it to become anything. That is the trouble I’ve had with myself. Too often, I stare at a blank page and am afraid to write because I fear what people will think of it, and therefore I never have a chance to hear what I have to say. The truth is that probably no one will read this, and therefore it makes absolutely no sense for me to worry about anyone’s opinions but my own. That is the point. The point is for me to have a place to record my thoughts, and find my own voice. My thoughts are too precious to lose. I need to remember what I think, so that I can discover how my thoughts change, and how I change. I believe that this is essential to hearing my own voice, the voice that I so often ignore. 

lkkm asked: Hi, I love you and miss your faceeee. :)

Xxoo. I am putting photos of you in my show this Friday. You should adventure to the Zoo and hang with kalamazoolanders!