Cutting Class & The End of an Era
It's 9:00 on a Monday and I'm high on the thrill that I'm cutting class. Starting last week, I enrolled myself in an internship of music, business, and writing. The best part? I'm the teacher and it's completely free.
I must admit, quarantine life is not that different from my regular life because I am such a homebody. I love adventure and risk, I just love thinking back on them even more.
So, as I sit here in the chill of the morning with two (miraculously) quiet cats on each side and two more sips of coffee left, I can't help but dwell in this moment. I've found that I'm writing this on the very last page of my favorite red journal.
I remember the quiet thrill of the hunt for the perfect notebook years ago, really just an excuse to walk the zen garden that is Barnes & Noble.
Within the wings of its covers, I have confided about my joys and insecurities, dreams, transitions, and finally finding love after years of frustration. Looking back, if I could've told my younger self anything, it would've been not to worry so much or be so afraid. Because all of the things that were so fuzzy and confusing at the time, I now see were simply part of a story and just needed some time to ferment into beautiful memories, whether swashbuckling or peaceful.
I'll wrap this up since I have one measly line of this page left...
The pages of this journal have been the safest places for me to process life and determine the dreams that are most important to me. They have helped me find vision and meaning in my steps, so, although I'm dreadfully late for my music class, I have a hunch that my teacher will understand...