eat the sandwich

I spent the morning balancing pencils on my index finger and talking about how people talk. Dialogue is not about what people say, it’s about the way people don’t listen. I keep on finding parallels between daily life and writing fiction. The non truth becoming truer than the true truth. I find what I crave more than anything is transparency in my life and with those around me. I do not need much else than clarity: a clear understanding of the space that passes between us. Who am I to you in relation to the universe right now? I don’t think it’s that hard. I feel that recently I have discovered the most authentic version of myself and I am not willing to compromise that for any thing or anyone, ever again. But still I worry.

I remember when I left California I found myself sitting at my favorite cafe, eating my favorite sandwich, and I didn’t want to take the last bite. I didn’t want it to end because I knew that it would be so long before I had it again, if ever. And I found myself sitting there and finally saying, “just eat the fucking sandwich and move on.” It became this mantra that propelled my departure forward. Through every goodbye and moment dripping in sentimentality it was this hilarious and true idea that sucked the drama out of the room and forced me to pull up my bootstraps. I think it was the moment this me began staking claim against that me. And I find that now once again, as I take leave of Boise that mantra is running through my mind. But really, I’d be lying if I told you I wasn’t at all worried about what is about to happen.

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