SUMMER’S OVER AND I SLIPPED UP AND CALLED YOU BABY

Notes on where I’ve been

SEASONS IN THE SIZE OF DAYS

Summer’s over to welcome fall. We rejoice in the death of Dick Cheney. The leaves are changing, the seasons are changing—and so am I. My 30th year of life was filled with lessons, both on life and on death. Much like the leaves, my life has shifted: I’ve started a new job and settled into a new routine. My time now feels constantly in flux, and this begs the questions: What am I doing? Who am I? And who do I want to be?

A writer? An artist? A husband? A father? A son? A brother? A friend? A neighbor?

And now, most recently:

A student? A public servant?

My 31st year will be dedicated to fulfilling all of these roles, while leaving room for the man I haven’t yet become, the one still waiting to be inspired. It’s been about a month since my brother died, and I’ve been reminded of the cruelty and fragility of human life. We are mortal and finite. Just dust held together by earthly dedication and unrelenting grit.

I need to thank all my friends and family for their continued love and support, but I reserve my deepest gratitude for Morgan. My rock and my guide, she has given me space to grieve and cry, to feel the most human of emotions without judgment. She has inspired me to write again. I owe her my life.

And so, my declaration:

No more wasted life, I am destined to be everything I want to be. I want to be rich.

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