Make your momma proud, boy or a manifesto on doing

My mother is proud of me -- at least I assume so. I've given her plenty of reasons to be: I don't do drugs; I don't drink (to excess); I went to a good school; I go to church on Sunday (under duress); I take care of my little brother; I call; I obey, but, I could be better.

I'm sure she'd agree, but I don't think she realizes how much better.

This is all to say, making my mother proud is relatively easy. I merely have to not be a total dick and even if I was I'd still be her boy.

But, I don't want making my mother proud the upper limit of my ambition. I want to make myself proud. You know, the guy who actually has to deal with all the baggage. The one who replays the fuck-ups, half-steps, could-have-beens over and over in his mind. He's a much more discerning audience.

So how do I go about appeasing that crowd? 

Well, first, I stop talking/thinking/planning/researching/attempting to do great things and I do them. I will fail. Let me repeat that: I will fail. But I keep doing until I stop failing. And then I edit until it's not merely a "non-failure", but something "good". Most people stop there, but I can't. That's when I take that "good" thing and make it "better". Then maybe the crowd will nod in approval and start the slow, stuttered applause that builds to a standing ovation, which leads to that riotous cheer: I'm proud of myself.

Thoughts on the city by the bay, vacationing, and the one that got away

This city, this way of life is everything I expected it to be.  That's a good thing.  Because it means that I feel comfortable.  There's no transition, no adaptation, no body temperature slowly adjusting to the cold water.  It's finding a sense of place that was missing before.  Feeling for the first time maybe ever that I belong right here, right now, and there's nothing that will get in that way.

I like the person I am on vacation.  I really, really like that guy.  I want to be that guy all the time.  I want that swagger, that confidence, that charisma, that ambition, that sense of adventure.  I want to be the guy who dons a fedora and scarf, chats it up with anyone willing to lend an ear, and really experiences life by his terms.

There's something about girls with cute faces, raspy voices, and plaid shirts that turn my insides into jelly and fill my mind with thoughts of long evenings sitting across from each other in glasses, face awash in the glow of a laptop screen sipping oolong.  Eyes meeting as we look up simultaneously, smiling.