All I want in life
So it’s the dawn of my book release and I am feeling many things. Nerves. Excitement. A stomachache because I decided to get a Dunkin Donuts breakfast wrap this morning. An ungodly Monday decision.
[Note: Wanna buy a book early? Links are on the side of the page. Read the post below and learn how to be involved in a pre-order giveaway, which ends tonight!]
I was going to write a post, something along the lines of “ten things I learned when writing a book,” because I learned a lot of things. The short list: don’t let Red Bull get warm, nobody is entitled to success, wash your pajamas. The longer list: the worst part of writing and life are the times you have to delete/let go of a part you really love, but oftentimes this process makes you stronger and better. And seriously, just because they are pajamas doesn’t mean you should let them get SO DIRTY.
However, on the dawn of my book release, I realize that I’m feeling VERY On Golden Pond nostalgic, so I decided the thing I really wanted to say.
I came to the Frenemy three years ago without any real mission. Correction. Three years ago, I had no real mission or purpose or cause in general/in life. I was the kind of floating algae at the top of the pond, slapping down margaritas and trying to become obsessed with a new television show and working so I could buy new shoes I could scuff in like a week. So I sort of bought into a lot of things. I believed my self-worth was in my stomach abs. I believed that beautiful women were the ones who looked strong but “were broken inside,” whatever the fuck that means. I believed that I was one of the guys. And when I started The Frenemy, that was generally how I felt.
Three fucking years later, and I have my mission. Maybe I am calling it a mission because I am reading The Hunger Games right now and it makes real life seem pretty banal. But if I had one thing that I wanted to teach one person before I die, it is this:
It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living, I want to know what you ache for. It doesn’t interest me how old you are, I want to know if you are willing to risk looking like a fool for love, for your dreams, for the adventure of being alive. I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine. It doesn’t interest me where you live or how rich you are, I want to know if you can get up after a night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and be sweet to the ones you love. I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and truly like the company you keep in the empty moments of your life.
Typewriter Series #209 by Tyler Knott Gregson
Aldous Huxley, Brave New World (via helplesslyamazed)
Love is a temporary madness, it erupts like volcanoes and then subsides. And when it subsides, you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion, it is not the desire to mate every second minute of the day, it is not lying awake at night imagining that he is kissing every cranny of your body. No, don’t blush, I am telling you some truths. That is just being “in love”, which any fool can do. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident.
Fold back my pages
and bookmark the parts you love.
Don’t stop reading me.
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