Here's to You, Man

This post is dedicated to the lovely man who I sometimes see walking on the side of the road in the evenings. I live in a growing suburban town located just south of the Twin Cities (in Minnesota, for those of you who aren’t familiar). For some reason, we don’t have many sidewalks connecting all of our suburban sprawl, so people don’t usually walk on the main roads. If they do, they have to walk on the sides of them, though luckily the shoulders are often wider and paved in the busier parts of town.

If I’m lucky, and it’s just the right time in the late afternoon/early evening, I will see this lovely old man gracing the road’s shoulders, giving me a glimpse of what an earlier time might have looked like–neighbors walking to each other’s homes to chat or get a cup of flour, kids walking to friends’ houses, and couples taking an evening stroll. Nostalgia usually constricts my throat a bit, making me long for and miss things I do not often experience in my town.

The man stands a lanky six feet something, and with his silvery hair brushed back from his face, his khaki pants covering his thin legs, and his brown leather belt, I think he looks so noble, like he is on a mission to share a piece of the past with us. I usually see him with one plastic red and white Target bag hanging from the crook of his arm. Though his back is slightly stooped in shape, he stands tall and walks deliberately, proudly, but not arrogantly; happily.

Right as the sun is beginning to set is usually when I see him. It’s still rather warm, and the dusky cool has not begun to bring refreshment, but there he is, in long pants and a flannel t-shirt, looking just as pleased as ever. He reminds me of a tougher generation, not in an in your face when-I-was-a-kid way, but in a quiet, serious way. A way that lets me know that he has seen and experienced so much that I never have. A way that is a result of a life that has lead him to know that walking outside in warm clothing and warm weather is nothing to complain about; it’s something to be happy about.

I often wonder about this man. Where is he going? What did he get at Target? Is this part of some ritual trip that he does every week? Did he stop by Perkins to savor a delicious large, yummy muffin? And you know, strange as it may sound, I want to be his friend. I want to share in some of his wisdom, his contentment. For as I drive by him, though he passes out of sight rather quickly, I swear I can see a small smile play upon his lips. And I swear, that smile must hold some of the answers to some of life’s greatest mysteries. Here’s to you, beautiful man. Thank you for sharing some of your happiness with me.

I'm Not a Very Good Grown Up

I’ll confess. I’m not a very good grown up. Maybe that’s because I’m still growing up (I’m only 21). But then again, maybe it’s because my nature isn’t very conducive to being grown up. This is not to say that I’m super irresponsible either. Because I think that I can show great responsibility in things that I believe in, like taking care of my little brother, being a good friend, doing well in school, working to make a positive difference in the world, etc. The things that I’m not good at being adult about are things that I sometimes find mundane, things that I feel force me to become obsessive about aspects of life that I don’t necessarily want to become my focus (possessions and money and appearances being the three main categories I can think of). Here is a list of some of the things I suck at being an adult about, usually meaning that I barely know anything about them (and don’t really want to):

-portfolios and stocks and Roth IRAs and mutual funds and bonds and cds (I don’t even know if I used all of these words right)

-real estate

-sub mortgage prime rates (again, do these words even make sense when strung together like this?)

-balancing my checkbook

-botox

-anti-aging cremes

-how to hand-make the cutest napkin holders

-when all the biggest department stores have their sales

-what the finest wines are

-time shares

-insurance

-loans

-credit cards (don’t even have one)

-perming/dying hair

-cleaning gutters

-dry cleaning

-ironing

-how to get rich quick

-how to step on as many people as I can in order to climb the ladder

-cubicle land etiquette (though I have worked in a cubicle land once, the atmosphere seemed uncommonly joyous and fun to me, perhaps because there were so many young at heart (regardless of the actual age) students and professors and doctors working there)

-wanting nothing more than having a stable routine

-living vicariously through t.v. and shows and other forms of entertainment

Ok, ok. So some of these things it seems like I’m just lazy because I haven’t learned how to do them and/or don’t want to yet. Other things I’m just not that into because they’re not really my priorities in life. Still others I wish no adults fell into the trap of being “in to.” From the comical to the serious, adulthood requires a lot of us. I think though, that if we are conscious of those aspects of adulthood that seem soul-sucking and life-depleting, we can work to either not get in to them, or to make them our own happy young in spirit events. Cleaning gutters while singing in the rain, anyone?

This Is Where I'd Run Away To

If I could run away to anywhere, anywhere, this is what it’d be like:

A simple white staircase materializes in the air about a foot and a half off the ground. I climb up and up it. It’s sunny, but the warmth is balanced by a cool breeze. I climb further and further into a cerulean sky containing puffs of silky white clouds. Except for the beating of my heart and sound of my footsteps, everything is peacefully silent. The ground drops away behind me, and the staircase begins to retract from the ground. Eventually, I near a white-lacquered circular platform in the sky. On it rests a large king-size bed covered in a huge white down comforter. There are four soft and squishy pillows on it. Silk curtains surround the bed and billow in the wind. As I reach the platform, the rest of the staircase folds up into itself.

I go and just rest on the bed. The temperature is perfect, not too hot or too cold. The wind gently blows and the silk curtains ripple across my skin. I sink into the wonderful softness of the bed, and a deep sleep gently begins to ease the tension and aches from my body. I don’t have nightmares, only the best kinds of dreams-flying dreams and dreams where I’m a hero and dreams where people are happy and know what happiness is and dreams where I know for certain that God is real and that God loves me. Dreams where I talk to Jesus and he helps heal me. Dreams where I talk to my Grandpa and Great Grandma. Dreams of a world that is peaceful and loving and no more darkness hovers around me like an obstinate rain cloud. Dreams where life is what I imagined it would be. Where I get into the schools of my dreams and am very intelligent and really do make a difference. Where I help end ghettos in the inner-city and save child soldiers in Africa and stop rape around the world. Where I find my soul mate who joins me on my mission to make the world a better place.

And when I wake up from these dreams, I sit on the edge of the smooth white plastic platform and gently swing my feet back and forth in the air. I slow my feet to a hault and place a hand on each side of my body. I grip the ledge with my hands, flex my muscles, and push myself off. I gracefully fall through the air, something between an absolute free fall and floating. I reach a cloud and gently sink into its silky whiteness. I lay there and rest some more. And I feel a bit better. Overall though, I still feel very tired, like I could go on resting in this place for a very long time before I ever feel truly energized again. I don’t know how long I’ll stay here, but I do know that the world up here seems nicer than the one below, and I do not want to leave it just yet…

Mornings Like This

It’s 7a.m., and my Mom is opening the door to the small upstairs bedroom that I’m crashing in. She asks me how I’m feeling, and I mumble something about feeling sleepy, a small smile playing across my face as I stretch my arms over my head and roll onto my side, further wrapping myself in blankets.

“Do you want Tim to take Justin to band lessons?” my Mom sincerely asks me.

“No, no, it’s ok,” I say, “I’m getting up.”

My dog jumps up on the bed and licks my ear. The slobber causes me to shriek, but I am laughing and smiling nonetheless, controting to try to escape the rest of the wet willie. I throw the covers off and head downstairs towards my little brother’s bedroom. On the way down, I run into my stepdad (not literally).

“Hiya, Sam,” he says, climbing the last few stairs to the second floor. “Goodmorning, Tim,” I reply. I walk down a second set of stairs and cross a hall into a small dark bedroom that contains a beautiful sleeping boy.

“Justin,” I say, gently patting his back, “It’s time to get up now. You have band lessons.”

I will need to use more prodding to get him up, eventually pulling the covers off of him so that the cool basement air will wake him up. We have a schedule-things to do, places to see, fun to be had. No more of this sleeping nonsense. Pulling the covers off is just the trick. Now he’s up and complaining about how chilly it is.

“Well, put some clothes on,” I say with a small chuckle.

I leave to go get ready myself, leaving him, standing in pajama shorts, looking through his dresser drawers for what to wear. I walk into the bathrrom, and before I can close the door, my Mom comes bustling in. I’m still dealing with the remnants of sleep and so am slightly uncoordinated. I stumble back a few steps to try to make space for her. I look at her, trying to process what she’s saying about how she needs to grab something from the bathroom and how she’s wondering if I’ve seen a bunch of plastic bags bunched together and do I know where her shoes are. I think I may have seen the plastic bags and suggest possible places to look, as well as leave the bathroom to help her look for them. I don’t find them, but she finds them after a few minutes of searching. Turns out they weren’t what I thought I had seen.

My stepdad helps her look for her shoes, so I return to getting ready, getting dressed, washing my face, and brushing my teeth. It’s getting closer and closer to the time my Mom has to go, so she starts getting a bit frantic. When it seems like she’s going to be late if she waits any longer, she finds her shoes.

She’s just about to leave but suddenly remembers, “Justin has tutoring today, so he needs to take his pill.”

The message is communicated to my stepdad, who is on it. He will make sure my brother gets his pill. Then my stepdad leaves. Then my little brother and I leave for 8:00a.m. band lessons.

At the beginning of the summer, I wasn’t staying at my Mom’s house very much. The reasons why would require books, not blogs, of explanation, and so I won’t go into them here. I do want to say though that I guess I didn’t realize what I was missing over there. Over there, at times like those, I really feel like I’m part of a family. In those times when the t.v.’s off and everyone’s jostling around, helping each other out, bumping into one another’s lives and what needs to be done in them, I feel that something really special happens. A family is formed. A true family. Not just four people sharing a home and the occasional meal, but a group of people supporting eachother and enjoying the wonderful chaos of everyday life. It’s about enjoying whatever life may bring, not because it always brings great, momentous things, but because the people who you experience it with are in and of themselves great. Mornings like this make me happy. Mornings like this, I’m coming to realize, make life worth living.

Vagrancy, With a Twist

I am a vagrant this summer. At any given moment you could peer into my car and find various living essentials strewn about its interior–bottles of water, duffel bags filled with clothing, a plastic bag filled with toiletries, a backpack stuffed with notebooks and textbooks, and various food wrappers and containers from meals consumed on the go. It’s sad and amusing, all at the same time.

Amusing, I guess, because things this summer did not turn out at all as I had planned. And sad for that very same reason. My summer was supposed to go a bit something like this: get a wonderful job working at a non-profit in the cities, live in a house in the cities with my best friend where people would come to socialize often, visit other friend in cities who just had a baby who I am the godmother of, and occasionally travel home on weekends to visit family. What ended up happening was this: move into house with best friend. Move out of house because of unfortunate unexpected events in neighborhood. Move back home but try to maintain living together with best friend, so spend numerous nights at her house. Best friend goes on vacation. I go back to my house. Best friend returns from vacation. We move into a new apartment.

But, I have not yet added in the job thread, which further complicates things. Non-profit job in cities is wonderful when they actually have me work, which unfortunately is not very often. Need to look for another job. We’re in the middle of a recession, and I’m part-time, seasonal, and it’s the middle of the summer, a terrible combination. There are no jobs for me. Mom tells me she’ll pay me to nanny for my little brother. Awesome. He’s one of my favorite things about life, and I have no money. I’m in. But, brother lives away from the cities, and best friend lives in the cities, so I will split my time between two places. Monday-Wednesday nannying my brother, and Wednesday-whenever with best friend. Oh, and my parents are divorced, so I’ll want to spend some time with my Dad at his house as well.

All of this still has not included the two random trips I took to my grandmothers’ homes. I spent one week with my Nana in the cities due to unfortunate unexpected neighborhood event that caused best friend and I to leave our house. And I spent half a week up north at my grandmother’s house because I sorely missed her and my godfather and wanted to get away from summer stresses.

Wait. Did I just say “summer stresses,” and aren’t those two words that shouldn’t be used together? Yes and yes. But, that’s just how life goes sometimes. I’ve learned this summer to let myself really feel however it is I’m feeling-to be bummed that things barely followed any semblance of my plan, but also to find the humor and amusement in how life will take you to new and unexpected places and people and experiences without a plan. And I guess that’s kind of amazing. So, this summer I’ve been sad, amused, amazed, and, let’s add one more to the list-happy. Yes, there’s happiness in this summer. Some days I have to look for it harder than others, but it’s there. It’s in the smile on my little brother’s face, the quality time I’ve been able to spend with both of my grandmothers, the new things I’ve learned during the times I have gotten to work at my job, being able to go on adventures in the city with my best friend, and heck, even just being able to share a room with my best friend.

So, if at any given moment you were to hop in my car and ride along with me to one of my homes/temporary stops/vacation places, you would find my plans, diagrammed and inked on drafting paper, fluttering out of the window, one by one. In their wake, happiness is being created. Pure, unplanned, and spontaneous happiness. Never knowing what one day to the next will bring, I’ve learned to take this happiness as it arises. It is, after all, one of the serendipitous perks of being a vagrant.

Running's OK, Even Good Sometimes

I know that in a previous post I talked about how you can’t run away from your pain even if you try to. I want to expound on this and add that I don’t think it’s always bad to attempt to run. I know that if I’m not ready to confront things, I yearn for the run. I want to just go, go, go, to be in an in-between space where I am neither here nor there. In this kind of liminal state, I am free, briefly. I am free to not think about my problems or to think over them at my leisure. Whatever the case may be, the point is that I’m removed from some of the sources of my problems for a bit–homes that contain stresses, people who are making me anxious, reminders of all that I have to get done. I don’t mean to blame everything that goes wrong on everyone but me. Because I definitely contribute to my own unhappiness, and I’m sure that I add to some other people’s problems. But, that’s the kind of mentality of the run that makes it so appealing. It’s giving yourself a little bit of a break. Giving yourself that car ride and fifteen to whatever many minutes you need to feel a little sorry for yourself, regardless of whether this is “right” or not. A time for you to really unashamedly feel what it is you are feeling. Maybe you do feel like a problem is being caused by someone else. Well, during the run, feel it, whether fair or not. Let the emotions course through you. Or, tune everything out. Turn up the music to drown out your mind’s incessant analysis of life’s problems. Stick your arm out the window and focus on feeling every detail of the breeze, that’s all that really matters right now. Or, maybe you’re hot. Roll the window up and turn the ac on then! And don’t feel guilty about it. The run is not the time to feel guilty. It is the time for you. And you better use it well because we all know that when it’s all over, reality will be right there waiting to greet you as soon as you step out of the car door. And then you can go back to being more logical and perhaps less self-centered and blaming yourself and/or being fair and whatnot. If we don’t run though, we don’t have this period to re-charge, and we remain just as damaged as ever. Run, once in a while, I say. Run away from the pain so that you can better deal with it later.

Get Lost? Gladly.

So, I was driving up to my Grandma’s house yesterday, GPS suction cupped to the dashboard, chirping directions at me in an English Australian accent (at least I think that’s what I selected for the accent…Does that combination even exist in real life?). You would think that the drive would be a straight shot, no chance of getting lost. But, you should know something about me. I am notorious for getting lost, hence the GPS. My dad gave me the GPS this past Christmas. Initially, I think that my friends were more excited about it than I was because it meant that I would no longer be constantly asking and re-asking them for directions, getting lost, calling them for help, and needing to leave places ridiculously early to ensure that I would arrive at my destinations on time. Here’s an example of what I subject myself and my friends to:

Me, talking to a friend: I think I’ll probably leave around 10 tomorrow morning.
My friend: Oh, ok. What time does your train leave?
Me: Around 2:00pm.
Friend: Sam! Union Station takes two hours max. to get to.
Me: Oh really? Well I suppose, ideally, yes. But with me, you never know…And I really need to be there on time, otherwise I’m not going home…I’m just going to leave early to make sure. Better safe than sorry, right? *big grin*
Friend: *cross between a chuckle and a pained expression*

With the above story, please keep in mind that both I and Union Station were located in Chicago at the time of the conversation. Anyways though…point being, I have a penchant for getting lost, and I was given a GPS in an attempt to remedy this. However, miraculously, I am still able to pull off getting lost rather frequently. And honestly, I’m secretly very happy about this. Or maybe not so secretly since I am writing about it in a public forum.

I love getting lost because it means I get to go on adventures and see and experience things I never would otherwise. Here are some of the adventures I’ve had:

-When I drive anywhere near the Minneapolis or St. Paul area, I usually get lost and end up near Sex World. What a refined place that sounds like, huh? I never want to be near here, but it just seems like there’s some sick whirlpool that causes my car to keep turning and driving towards it. The owners must have purchased a gravitational pull device and placed it in the center of the store. I don’t like ending up here because I like the place itself, but rather, I like ending up here because the whole experience is very comical because it’s a place that is so not my thing. It also makes for a great story! “So, I started out trying to get home from this wedding. Then I ran into this road that was closed. I tried to take the detour, but ended up by Sex World.” *people shaking their heads and laughing*

-I’ve also ended up along frat row at the University of Minnesota. Kegger!! Woo!!! Not, that’s not really my scene either. But, I’m still very interested in observing it when I drive past it (see previous posts about being a wallflower).

-I rarely, if ever, end up going the same way twice to my grandmother’s house, even though I’ve driven there countless times. On one of my particularly favorite trips, I ended up driving past this beautiful light store. It was really dark outside, but the store was all a glow, and it looked like some giant glass treasure chest holding hundreds of burning, twinkling stars. On another time, I got really lost and had to stop and ask for directions. I ended up walking into a saddle shop. Unfortunately, I walked into what was probably the only store that had a cashier who was new to the area. She was, in fact, new to the state. The upswing of this was that she was very nice to me and let me get on the computer and use MapQuest (my GPS of those days). See, usually when I get lost and ask people for directions, they say things like “You’re going to want to go north on 2. Then 2 will bring you to 5. Well, you’re going to take a left onto 5, which will bring you to 10 in no time, and then I’m sure you know how to get to the main road 25 from there, which you probably already know brings you into the town that you want.” Of course, I never, ever know any of what they are referring to. I furrow my eye brows and narrow my eyes, or maybe my eyes just glaze over. I sometimes try to nod my head along so they don’t think I’m being rude and not paying any attention to them. It’s not that I’m not trying, it’s just that as soon as they start talking that way, with all the norths and souths and numbers of roads and all the lefts and rights to turn, I just can’t keep track of it all. In addition to this, I don’t even know how to tell if you’re turning north or south or east or west onto a road. I must have fallen asleep during the chapter in the life lessons book called “Directions.” Ah, oh well. Point of this story being that usually, with directions, I’m utterly confused. This time I wasn’t though. MapQuest’s turn right in 13.1 miles, turn left in 5.2 miles that the cashier helped me obtain, I can handle that. That is the kind of direction language that I speak. Bless that kind, kind lady.

-On this last trip up to the farm, I was not MapQuesting, but GPSing, and, as I mentioned earlier, still managed to get a bit lost. Most of the roads bringing me to the farm are paved. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever driven on an unpaved road unless there was construction or I was the one driving (and people usually don’t know how I discover these anomalous roads) . This last time, I ended up on a really narrow, rocky dirt road. The scenery was stunning though. I slowed my car way down, and ogled out the sides of my windows. Beams of sunlight (literally, beams) came through spaces in between tree’s leaves. There were cows and forests and blue skies with fluffy white clouds and golden sunlight and prairies and fields of rustling corn and quaint farm buildings (etc.). There’s a lot of scenery up that way that’s like this, but for this stretch of road, it was even more intense. It was like beauty squared.

So, while the GPS has definitely taken stress off of me and those who care about me being able to get to the places I need to, and while I do enjoy it quite a bit, I’m glad that it doesn’t do its job too too well. Or, maybe I should be proud that I am just that good at getting lost that not even a GPS can stop me from doing it. Either way, I’m glad I still manage to get lost. Because if I always just got where I was going on the first attempt, or in the most direct way, or in the same way I usually take, what fun would that be? And I know that people tend to fret a bit over me being so directionally challenged. But they shouldn’t, because I do it gladly. It is, after all, the perfect avenue for adventure.

To the Farm!

Today I will be making the two hour trek north to my Grandma’s farm. The farm’s not active anymore (but what small family-owned farm really is these days?), but it is one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever been. My grandma lives in a white two-story house that is surrounded by woods on three sides, with one side opening up to farmland. As soon as you turn into their driveway, the land and house envelop you in a sense of peace, and it cascades down your being, washing away worries and stresses. There’s a front deck and a back porch, meaning that this is one of the few places where you will still often find people just sitting outside, on benches or rocking chairs, mulling over life. I go to the farm to get away from things (mostly the chaos and stress of the external world), but also to probe life’s great mysteries.

At the farm, hours are spent eating, talking, and playing games. Each joyous hour softly blends into the next, and before long, the sunny day has transformed into a rich navy blue night, with thousands of white stars filling the domed sky. Far after the sun has put itself to rest, I head up old, steep wooden steps to an upstairs bedroom. I close the door, change into my pajamas, and saunter over to a bed that is covered in an over-sized hand made quilt. I lay down on top of it and stare up at the ceiling. A breeze rustles the lace curtains on two windows that look out over the woods. Everything is winding down. Creatures inside and outside of the house are preparing to sleep. I let my mind drift over the day’s events. I smile, remembering how my Grandma and I couldn’t stop laughing during one of the games we were playing.

Sometimes, my mind wanders onto sadder things. Indeed, I spent one night here coming to terms with some of the darkest moments of my life. But, I think that because the farm is such a place of peace and love and support, I am able to tackle the heart-wrenching, difficult things in life when I’m here. We can’t run away from our pain. We just can’t. We can try, but it will follow us, eating away at us and rearing its ugly head when we least expect it and affecting us in negative ways we’re not always conscious of, tinging our bright auras with darkness. We must face our fears, our pain, if we are to be healed. Sometimes we need the right kind of environment to do this in.

I am very happy that I have one of these environments. The beauty of this place fortifies me. Hopefully, I can take some of the love I get when I’m here and share it with others, thus helping to create the type of environment that enables people to face their demons, address their pain, and begin the wonderful process of healing. Today, I will go to the farm for renewal, for love, for joy. After a few days, I will leave, refreshed and recharged, ready to take on more of life’s challenges, and maybe even help others deal with a few of their own.

What Is a Wallflower?

Dear friend,

Well, I told you that I would try to explain what it’s like to be a wallflower, so here it goes. Charlie writes a lot of letters like this, so I thought that I would too. Wallflowers are very observant. They can be really sensitive too. They generally love people to a fault. This sometimes brings them great pain. Wallflowers can have problems with passivity and not really participating in life (an idea that Charlie explores thoroughly). I guess that makes sense if they’re so engrossed in observing everyone around them. Also, they don’t feel weird about starting letters with “Dear friend,” even if they’ve never met the person before. They suppose that the person very well could be their friend. They hope that the person would be.

They really just want other people to be happy, and they hurt when other people aren’t happy. They don’t understand why bad things happen in the world, and these bad things can really overwhelm them. They often aren’t exactly sure who they are and where they’ll end up in the future. I guess that’s how a lot of people probably are though.

They can be quiet, but they don’t always have to be. You see, being a wallflower is more than speech, it’s a way of being, a certain aura, if you will. At the end of the day, though sensitive, they do show a remarkable form of resilience. They clutch hope tightly to themselves and try to instill it in the other people they meet.

Maybe you already know firsthand what I’m talking about because you’re a wallflower yourself. Or maybe you’re someone who is friends with a wallflower. Me, personally, most days I really like it. It’s hard sometimes, but life would be that way whether I was a wallflower or not.

Sometimes I try to break away a little bit from some of the aspects of being a wallflower, mostly that of being too passive. I really want to live and experience life, but sometimes it’s just more natural for me to sit back and observe it, watch it unfold and devote all of my energy to finding some sort of sense and meaning in it. I guess sometimes I figure that there are enough people actively living but not enough people thinking about what it means to do so. I can do some of the thinking for them and try to share what I find out with them, maybe it will bring them some comfort and happiness.

Well, look at that. I wasn’t sure if I would really be able to explain to you what it’s like to be a wallflower. I guess being one makes it a whole lot easier to talk about. Thanks for listening, sometimes it’s just really nice for us to be able to talk to people for a little while. In fact, that’s probably one of our favorite things. And as always, if you want to talk to me, just let me know. Listening is kind of my thing.

Love always,
Sam

The Perks of Being a Wallflower

Every now and then a book comes along that changes you forever. Small, green, and rather unassuming, The Perks of Being a Wallflower found its way into my life when I was a sophomore in college. I read it while taking the train home for Christmas break. I was very tired out and sad at this time in my life.

There was a stillness outside, the kind that comes with cold, Midwestern winters. Everything lay under a blanket of snow, waiting for the warmth of spring to melt the blanket and make living possible again. This book was like a piece of spring for me, giving me a sense of human connection and helping me feel alive again.

I felt a sense of connection because the book introduced me to my friend Charlie. He’s the main character of the book. Now, I know some people will be thinking, You can’t be friends with fictional characters. You can though, if they’re special enough. I was and still am friends with Charlie. You see, this can happen thanks to the magical power of books. From ink and paper spring forth feelings, entities, friends. And Charlie’s real in all of the ways a best friend should be real. He’s real in the feelings he’s given me, the ways he’s comforted and understood me, and the things he’s taught me.

I’ve incorporated bits of his life–sayings, actions, ways of looking at the world–into my own. Perhaps one of the greatest things he’s done for me is, in times of deep sadness, let me know that I’m not alone. Our personalities are extremely similar, so he showed me that there is someone else out there who really gets what it’s like to feel like a wallflower. In my next post, I’ll try to tell you what it’s like to be a wallflower. In the meantime, I hope you can snag yourself a special book like this one.