My great Uncle will not speak for any great length of time while on the phone. Most conversations last at most three minutes with emphasis on us being good to our mama, what bums the Seminoles are this year, and wondering if my dad is still a bum. Christmas I was able to squeeze out eight minutes of conversation, and we did cover the old standbys but he gave some words of encouragement which was a really nice Christmas gift. Now I wouldn’t say that words of encouragement never happen but they are rare, and exceedingly rare on my father’s side of the family. When I was in college all I ever heard was, why are you getting an art degree, how will you pay the bills, etc, etc. Occasionally I would give them a piece of art, and be greeted with disbelief that I could draw anything with a degree of competency.
He wanted to know if I was still drawing, and I told him that I was, and he was very pleased. He said the world needed a T-------- who was an artist and that he hopes I would make a name for myself. It was a nice sentence, and cheered me up. Most of the time I talk about my art I feel like a fraud; I hate my output and am generally unsatisfied with the things I do finish. I have been wondering how much of my dreams and ambitions have I comprised or dropped and what are the fruits of these “sacrifices”. I understand that adulthood and life in general is nothing more than a series of compromises but I don’t want to be a sad sack who regrets flushing away all the bright promises of the future for the stability of staying the course. That’s why I’m applying to graduate schools, I want to force change into my life by challenging myself in a way that I haven’t done in quite a while. I need to jolt myself awake it feels like. I don’t know if anyone will accept me but if I don’t get in I have other plans.
I have spent the better part of the last decade in a fog, afraid to try things, search for happiness, and live a rewarding life. I see my friends with families, ambitions, and a promise for tomorrow and I ask myself how did it come this. I live in a one bedroom apartment and occasionally eat cold baked beans from a can, why is this a good direction to go in. I might be a fraud, but I do feel a certain misplaced sense of optimism-if this last year has taught me anything it’s that a person shouldn’t settle for the poison of comfort and to always strive for better because life is to damn precious to be wasted. So I do feel relieved that one of the few positive male role models in my life has some faith in me, and that was a great Christmas gift, not as good as the beach boy’s smile session cd that I received but easily the third best thing I received at Christmas.
On that note I wish the three to four people who read my blog a happy new year, I’ll return in January with even more trite incoherent ramblings.
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