my life – Page 11 – Anthony Otero

A Novel Idea

The problem with being me is that I think too much. I over think everything in my life and when things are bad, my over rationalization of things just make this worse. When things are going good I have to find a way to use the extra mental energy. Much of that has come in the form of novel writing.

I have always managed to use writing as a form of escape and expression. My mind is always on, which may explain why I don’t sleep as much as I should. In any case, I’m always thinking about the story and the story after that. This causes me the over think the little details of whatever I happened to be working on, but in the long run I know I can do what I could never do in real life, go back and fix mistakes.

I realize that what I’m working on fits into my own personal feelings about life. Everything we do is connected. We are all connected in some way and I think that has been coming out in the way I’m writing this novel. I really think that all the people we meet play a role in our lives no matter how insignificant it may seem. That is why all my stories take place in the same space.

Maybe it is because I’m such a lover comic books but think about the fact that Bruce Wayne takes up the same space as Clark Kent. Think about how the relationships behind the scenes are just as important. Lois Lane has done several interviews with Bruce and Lex Luthor is his business rival. This has very little to do with the fact that Batman and Superman are “friends”. That very geeky example is how the world around us operates. I can’t tell you how many times someone has checked my LinkedIn profile and commented that they didn’t realize how I knew someone they knew (which is why networking is important…but I digress).

All my books and stories are connect to each other and I over think that so much that I had to put down all my ideas of what my novels would look like when I am done. There are five books with the titles and a brief summation. If I can get this done, I will be so very impressed with myself:

Hanging Upside Down – (currently editing)
Louis is facing life after divorce while trying to be with his true love. His life comes crashing down when he has to deal with life altering experiences.

The Book of Isabel
A master student tries to find his way after a horrible break with the woman he thought was the one. Prequel to Hanging Upside Down.

The Angel of Death – (partially written)
When Marie dreams about people who die in her dreams it turns out the die in real life. She must find out the origin of her dreams before someone close to her dies.

The Book of Rachet (partially written)
A group of short stories of people who have a very different set of morals

Parallels
A young author struggles with writing about his life until he thinks about what life would’ve been like with the different ex-loves of his past.

I have no idea how I got here. I will just say that the more I edit my current title, the more ideas continue to flood my mind in regards to the other four. This what I will be working for the foreseeable future and I love it.

my life, writing

A Million Stories in the Parallel

Sometimes I feel like I have a million stories in my head. I think writing this novel has opened a can of worms I will not be able to close. I find it interesting that in my desire to get through the editing of the first draft, I continue to envision what comes next. I keep thinking about the next story and how I intend to frame that.

I guess my point is that I don’t know how to feel about that. On one hand, it feels good to know the creative part of me is still functional. There is this compulsion to constantly create a world in a literary realm that is just mine. I see this whole experience as me delving into a alternate version of me in a parallel universe where anything can and has happened. Yet, in that context I’m not even sure that I can think of that many variables that would be in a parallel timeline where either I (i.e. the character’s I create) are the constant.

On the other hand, thinking about what is next in the literary sense is almost unbearable because of the constant distraction. My attention span has it’s limits while my imagination is infinite. I do wonder how much longer it will take me to finish the first draft before I can start moving toward publishing mode which will ultimately lead to me start another book. It makes me think about how established authors have done this. Do they finish writing one book, give it to an editor and start writing another?

Then there are the unfinished stories that I may never publish. Not sure what do with those short stories that are filled with more erotica than you may ever see in 50 Shades of Gray. Yet, they sit in my laptop and Google Drive because all I can think about is what if my family reads how filthy my mind is? There used to be a part of me that didn’t give a fuck about that but times change and so do people.

I also feel that my short stories are a constant reminder of my inability to finish them unlike my current project. My mind is more focused on writing books rather than writing short stories but again, I’m not sure that is a good thing. I know that many authors have dabbled in the world of the short story and at times I flirt with it myself. But, those files of short stories keep reminding me that I can write better.

These are not complaints, this is just me thinking out loud in the vacuum of cyber space. A place where I can be heard or ignored and the results would come out to the same. Which is exactly how I feel about the possibility of searching for a publisher of the novel. For the most part when people ask me about the book, the next follow up question is about how I intend on getting this published. I have always said that I intend to self publish and even if I went the other route and get rejected, I’m still getting published via myself.

Yet, I have been thinking about why I have never even considered going the other route, which would require me to get an agent to shop the book around. The reason is not fear of rejection because I’m quite used to that. My rationale has do with control. I want to control every aspect of this novel from the cover art to the distribution. Granted, there are book companies that have much wider distribution than I can ever hope to achieve but I think I may have to Wu-Tang this.

I have learned from Wu-Tang Clan that when it comes to business you have to look out for yourself. Even with knowing that, there have been tons of articles all over the place that say self publishing is the way to go. I just need to get there without distracting myself with thoughts of other books that will follow this current one. I guess I will chalk this all up to problems of a writer.

One last thought. I was watching the movie Sideways the other day. I think it’s a very good and underrated movie. The main character cannot get his book published. He’s worked so hard to complete this literary work of art that “people” say they are not ready for. When this came out, self publishing was not available and I kept thinking to myself, at least I know that wont be me.

comic books, Comic Con, my life, The Walking Dead

Comic Con

I think it is pretty well established that I’m a nerd. Yet, there are very few times where I’ve pushed that nerdy envelope to it’s limit. Yes, I have over 15 boxes of comic books in my apartment, and I own replica double lightsaber, and I have a model of a the Starship Enterprise D. Yet the one thing that I have never done was go to a comic con.

Before I continue, I must say that I’ve been to comic book conventions before the glitz and the glamor that they are now. Those were the events that I would go to to search for back issues or buy action figures that I was searching for. There was never the expectation of meeting an artist or getting an autograph. I’ve been to Star Trek Convention, which up until Sunday, was the nerdiest gathering I have ever been too. But, even that event was fairly tame and calm in world of nerds and collectables these days.

I felt, going into this past weekend, that I was fully prepared for everything that the New York City Comic Con had to offer. Well, I was wrong because nothing could really prepare for how HUGE this event was. If you went through the entire event in the Jacob Javitz Center once…then you would have walked about 4 miles. I also think that I have never been to a place that had so many people that wasn’t a sporting event.

darth-maul One thing is for sure is that there are a lot of freaks in NYC and I know that because I’m one of them. It was good to see people let their nerd flag fly. The cosplay was ridiculous. I saw some people that made some great costumes and to frank, I felt right at home. Let me just say that there was a serious possibility that I was was going to dress up. My girlfriend is dying to dress me up as Darth Maul. Yeah, I will just leave that thought right there.

I went in only wanting to meet two artists so they can sign some comics books I brought with me. Chris Cross didn’t show up on the day was there, but I got Jamal Igle to sign two of my Firestorm issues. This marks the first time that his has happened. Please understand that I’m not a fanatic. I think that the very act of asking someone for an autograph, without a real conversation, to be awkward. With that being said, I have gotten books autographed from people like Juno Diaz, Miguel Melendez, Michele Carlo, Piri Thomas, Sandra Guzman, and Willie Perdomo. The difference is that I met all those people from my event work and then went to dinner with them. All of these great people were authors who have done great things with words. I was getting an signature from an artist that changed the value of a comic book and that itself is uniquely cool (even though the conversation was awkward lol).

Then we met Neal Adams, which was just an unplanned thing that occurred. I ended up meeting an old college friend who (because of his wife) knows all these comic book artists. So not only did I meet Neal Adams but he signed some prints that are just awesome. One of them is above and as you can see is of the Walking Dead, so I had to grab that. The other two will be gifts to family that I do not want to reveal at the moment, but needless to say they are just as awesome.

However, the highlight of my day was meeting another legend…George Perez. While, I didn’t get anything signed from this man, it was truly a great things to meet a man who is a legend in this industry. He drew two of my favorite books, Crisis on Infinite Earths and Avengers vs. Justice League.

All in all, we spent a better part of our Sunday bumping into people (literally). We saw some pretty cool shit like the Superman Costume Gallery. But we also saw some horrible cosplay that I cannot unsee. Besides the wall to wall display of comic books, the best thing to see was the little kids in mini outfits. If I have any kids, that is definitely happening. As for me, I wore my Black Adam shirt and my woman wore a Fantastic Four shirt. It was awesome and we will have do it again next year.

my book, my life, New York City, Novel, writing

One Year Later

It’s amazing a difference a year can make. A year ago today, I started working for Barnard College. This was a life event for me that has had an effect on everything I currently do. It’s really too early to start a year in review post but I’ve never lost an opportunity to be reflective about the journey.

Everyone knew that I wanted to come back to New York. There was never a secret in that. I made it well known to my readers as well as the people I worked with. We all knew that it was time for me to move on. It was also widely known, and still is, that I have a love for Syracuse that will not go away anytime soon but I just needed to love myself more. So the break up was painless and my main goal was finally achieved.

Being in the bright lights of this big city has taken a little getting used to again. I’m a native of the Bronx so living in Manhattan was a change because I didn’t know the streets and neighborhoods as well. So I ended paying for that (literally) until I figured out how I was going to park my car without getting anymore tickets. Yet, the best thing about returning home is that I can see the city from a different lens. I think that I can now appreciate the NYC life and the views because I’m more mature and centered in my thinking.

While I am excited to go to Comic Con in a few weeks, I’ve taken the time to enjoy places like MoMa. I find myself taking pictures of just about everything. I don’t post all the pictures on Instagram like I should because I would inundate everyone’s feed with my glorious pictures, lol. My picture taking has given me a chance to stop what I’m doing and really enjoy the things that are around me. Because of this, I have been able to fall in love with this city all over again.

The funny thing is that it isn’t just the love affair with NYC (which reminds me of a poem I wrote a few years back) that has given me a new perspective, it is my relationship with my girlfriend that has allowed me to think inwardly about my past, present, and future. I don’t want to repeat the mistakes of the past while I focus on the here and now AND have a watchful eye of possibilities coming down the road. She has always been a part of journey and I think that I have become a better person because of her.

Which leads me to the book that I’m currently editing. This is just another piece of this journey, in which, I have no idea where it will lead me. If you told me last year that I would have had a first draft of a book done within a year of me moving back home, I would have told you to fly a kite. I realize this literary journey is filled with imagination, excitement, fear, and doubt. In many ways, the story hits home for me and like any other form of literary work, exposes pieces of me to the world. While this is a fictional book, I will just say that all writing is biographical so there is the fear that this book is shit.

With that being said, there was point in which I took a break from my writing this novel. The woman asked me why I stopped because she had notice that it was a long time since she saw me feverishly typing on laptop. I told her that the book was crap. That I hated it and everything that I wrote was nonsense. It was then that she looked at me and told me that I could not let fear and doubt creep into my mind. After all, she has read about 90% of the book so I do believe she would tell me if I was wasting my time.

So a year later, I have reached a point where I never thought I would be. I can say that my decision to leave Central NY was the correct one.

9/11, my life, world trade center

12 Years Later, I’m still Fortunate.

I’ve always been short with words on this day. I feel that my words never do justice to the events of 12 years ago. When I got up this morning, I was quickly reminded of what day it was. While I’m no longer somber about this day, I always make sure I have some time to reflect on my own life.

On this day, I try not to dwell on the many wars that have taken place since or the many Arab lives that have been taken so that we, as a country, can feel better about our losses. Instead I reflect on the fact the fact that I am very fortunate to have the life that I have. I’ve mentioned that had I been any later to work on that day, who knows what would have happened. My step mother worked in that area and it just so happened she was not there that day. Two of my friends worked there as well and they both got out. Very fortune.

Yet, I did know one person, a fire fighter, who died while trying to save people. Steve Mercado was a guy that I looked up to as a kid. Someone who always took the lead in situations that no one really wanted to. His memory will always be honored and immortalized by his family and by the stickball league in the Bronx he helped maintain.

So what does all this mean to me? What is my takeaway from all of this? The one thing that I’ve noticed, and it may sound funny, silly, or maybe just unexpected, is that I can say I love you to my friends and family so much easier now than I could before 9/11. Those words have more of an impact and more of a meaning to me. This was something I never really said, especially to my male friends and relatives. Perhaps it was some form of homophobic barrier that I was not aware of but I can also say it to woman friends too without being uncomfortable or giving the wrong impression.

The point is that I realized on that day how quickly anyone of us can be snuffed out. Sure, I can talk all day about our youth being killed on the streets of Chicago, or the victims of police brutality, or teenagers with hoodies who had someone “stand their ground” but our worlds were changed forever 12 years ago. Whatever naivety we had is gone because we know what its like to be on the other end of an attack and as much as I want call bullshit on every last war we had since (as well as the one in Syria we are about to have), on this day all I can think about is how fortunate I am to even be writing this.

I have few close friends, many acquaintances, tons of former students, twitter followers, and family. Twelve years ago, when I finally left work, and stepped out on to Wall Street, I knew my life had changed and it was then that I realized I haven’t done enough in my life. Now, I’m still working on doing something and I’m just glad that I know as many people as I do. I’m very fortunate to have the friends that I have and very lucky to share my thoughts with the rest of you.

Afro Latino, my life, Race/Ethnicity, racism, Trayvon Martin

El Cocolo

I don’t know. Maybe I am getting too old for this. Perhaps I need to dial the rhetoric down a bit. I have always recognized that I see the world from a certain perspective and my views comes from the type of lens crafted through education and experience. I have never expected my views to be universal and as most of you know that I take criticism and critiques very seriously. I just find myself tired of everything that is going on.

Let me preface this by saying that I lead a very happy life. I’m where I want to be with the person I want to be with. I grateful for my job and my family. I have no complaints about my personal life nor my work life. Believe it or not, I love this country. It has it’s faults but I know I would not have this life if were a citizen elsewhere. However, I feel that what comes across in my words on Facebook and on Twitter is a person who complains about everything that is going on. Let us just acknowledge that there is a lot of incredibly messed (note: I kept it clean) things going on in the world.

I can sit here and take a snap shot of the past 2-3 weeks that have included the Zimmerman Acquittal, the killings in Chicago, Riley Cooper, Don Lemon, Stephen A. Smith, the Darius Simmons trial, and a host of other shit (that didn’t last long) that just makes me cringe. Am I getting angrier? Am I changing or is the world around me seem to be more ominous? Because I often feel like the only Jor-El in a room filled with General Zods.

I guess what I’m really saying is that I grow tired of all of it. While I know that I am not the only one who screams out about inequality of all types, I sometimes get the feeling that I am on an island alone screaming at a ball named Wilson. I know that I could just put my head down and continue writing the novel. I know that I have ability to be completely apathetic about the whole thing and just talk about comic books (although, do not get me started on the lack of Black and Latino writers in Marvel and DC).

Its hard when I have to explain to family about the nature of my blackness. Yes, I am Puerto Rican and Equadorian but what do I look like in the mirror? Moreno? Chocolate? I knew at an early age about how “bad” it was to be dark skinned. My cousins called me Tar Baby and other times I was called a Cocolo (look it up). How I define my blackness is really up to me and I have hard time seeing how being an Afro Latino can be viewed any differently in the eyes of the majority compared to an African American.

So yes, I feel that I fall into the black and white binary that holds America together. I am not in favor of blaming the victims. I am not going to sit here and agree with any notion that because someone like RIley Cooper says the n-word so freely it is because his black teammates say it in front of him and thus it made it easier for him. So does that mean we blame Paula Dean’s cooks for allowing themselves to employed by her? Do we blame Travon Martin for wearing a hoody because that looks thuggish? Do I blame myself for my family calling me Tar Baby?

But, you know what? I complain too much. I am an elitist Latino that couldn’t possibly understand what the world is about. I guess that is the way it is in this Post Racialized society.

dog, my life, rocky

R.I.P. Rocky

I think all pet owners inherently know that when they get a puppy it will grow up and eventually grow old. This is something that is always in the deep recesses of our minds, something that should not be thought about until the time comes when your beloved puppy is now a old adult dog.

Many of you know that I have been on this journey to figure out my potential and in that process I’ve grown attached to Rocky. Thirteen years ago we became acquainted as my girlfriend, at the time, received this small little Lhaso Apso. The cutest brownish dog you could have ever laid your eyes on and she promptly called him Rocky (after The Rock). During that time I was in a rut after being laid off from Duetche Bank because I could not find a steady job so it became my job to take care of him when she wasn’t home.

2011-01-29 14.36.36 — He slept any where! lol

We became attached so quickly. I house trained him as best I could and walked him 3 times a day. When she used to come home she would often find him sleeping on my chest (I was knocked out too). Rocky was a vibrant dog that had his own personality. He was feisty and yet very prissy. He hated the snow because his paws got wet (and yet he made it to Syracuse). The one thing I could never be around him was sad or depressed. It was like he sensed that in me. He would nudge me with his face to play and if I didn’t respond then he would use his paw.

Rocky was with me through just about every major change in my life. The layoff, 9/11, the move to Syracuse, the marriage, the divorce, and he was with me when I moved out of my house. It was hard to say goodbye to him when I left Syracuse but I knew that my ex-wife would take good care of him. I wanted him to be able to still walk in the grass and not the concrete of New York City.

He was getting old. Rocky contracted diabetes and became blind after a while. He morphed into a grumpy old man that just didn’t want to be bothered with the stresses of dog life. He just wanted his belly rubbed, a full bowl of water, and food. Although, he still loved to play. No matter how old he got he still loved to play with me or anyone that was going to give him the attention. Rocky was truly an attention whore that would bark at me if I slept too late. lol

He always adjusted to my schedule. We fell asleep roughly at the same time (but then again he slept all damn day lol). This dog would not really eat until I got home. I would make dinner or get dinner and once I started eating, I would hear him digging around his dish. Rocky would always make me laugh because eating was an event to him. He would play with his food before actually eating, unless it was a bacon strip…then there was no playing around with that.

Rocky was the people’s dog (yes, I said it) because he (and I shit you not) would not back down from any sized dog. The rottweiler next door would bark and Rocky would bark back. We take him to the dog park and if any ratchet dog sniffed his ass, this little dog would snap back (and then sniff other dogs afterward lol). He simply did not like other dogs until we got Rusty (another dog I just tear up about). Rocky loved people. There was no guard dog sense about him until he became an old man. If I had company over Rocky would lose his mind if I did not let him out the room so he could meet them.

I cried today. One of my best friends is gone. It was time for him to go. He had heart murmur that was giving him seizures. I cannot even imagine what that must have looked like. The vet told my ex wife that it was time for him. When I spoke to her on the phone I could hear him whimpering (I can barely deal with this).

My Dog. He was very much a part of me. I have had many dogs in my life time but he was the one that connected to my heart in the most profound way. I took care of him like he was child of mine. Our personalities flowed and I even wrote a poem about him. That dog taught me what unconditional love means and that is the greatest gift he has ever given to me. I am just very glad that his pain is finally gone. Goodbye Rocky, I will forever miss you.

my life

Thirty Nine…

Thirty Nine. 39??? How the hell did this happen? I was just in High School a few years ago. I was just at Syracuse a few months ago. I shake my head because I am getting older (although I may not look it because black don’t crack). However, at the same time I’m celebrating because I just about made it out of my 30’s in what seems to be in better shape than when I entered it.

I still feel like a kid. I’m still waiting for that age when I feel old. Don’t get me wrong, I still have aches and pains that I didn’t have 10 years ago but I am still pretty healthy (thank god). It is my spirit that is still young and that goes along way. I have learned a lot about myself and my body to know that I can’t eat certain things anymore. What I’m happy about the most is that I’m still able to run 2 miles and faster than I did when I started 4 years ago.

Now there is no way to hide the fact that I am going to be 4 decades old. I wont get into any reflections because I will save that for 2014, I am just really amazed at what I’ve seen and who I have known. I feel very fortunate that I have been able to use the time I have been on this earth to help other people.

I believe that what has kept me young is being able to move past things. I know I’ve made mistakes that I will continue to try to atone for those but I’ve also tried no to hold on to things other people have done. Stress and drama can weigh people down and make them age faster than they want to. I recently learned that drama is something that just doesn’t happen, we seek it out either willingly or unconsciously. We can’t lead the lives of reality stars who get paid to make drama up. I need to make sure that I stay true to myself.

The one thing that really cements that I’m 39 is the fact that it has taken me this long to figure out how to write a novel. I sit here asking myself what the hell have I been doing all these years? I suppose all the blogs that I have written has prepared me for such an undertaking but for some reason I was just not ready until now. I think it may be the sum of all my experiences that makes it possible to put things into words in the way I want to. I can’t imagine writing something this long 10 years ago. In fact, I couldn’t imagine me having a blog for this long 10 years ago.

I guess feeling young and being mentally older is the key thing. I can be wise enough to help former students with gradate school applications and resumes and young enough to enjoy a Black Adam (see above) shirt that my woman gave me. (It is quite awesome, I will have to rock it soon).

I am just hoping that I can continue down this road that leads to my 40s.

my life, Novel, writing

40K

It is official. I have reached 40k in words. #novel

— OG Tony Snark 🇵🇷🇪🇨 (@Latinegro) May 22, 2013

I reached a pretty significant goal yesterday. I reached the 40 thousand word mark in the novel that I’m writing. This has become something that I am fully committed to and in many cases I cannot believe I didn’t start writing like this sooner. I feel that I am finally doing the one thing that I always wanted to do and that is write a book.

When I look back at certain points of my life, I can see that just about every creative thing I have done has lead me here. In grammar school, I wrote a story that involved my classmates turning into werewolves. I enjoyed that people read it and liked it. That was my first stab at writing anything in the first person. The years leading into high school I created a whole universe filled with superhero characters. They were completely diverse in origin, ethnicity, and gender. I had the comics titled, numbered, and a synopsis written for each one. I wanted to be a comic book writer.

Of course growing up and having people tell me that writing comics was not a good way to earn a living led me to doubt myself, but at the very least I was able to graduate with a bachelors in English. Despite everything, writing was still came very easy to me. When people were stressing finals, I was writing papers and I enjoyed it. But I still remember the voices of people suggesting that writing should not be the way to go, so the only thing I could do was put it in the back burner and make it a hobby.

As most of you know, four years ago I started a blog and the rest is history. What I find interesting is that I have a clear goal to get this book done and I have written way too much to stop now, but I still think about that black and white composition notebook that has all my notes in them. I think about the journals that I kept in High School through all the pains of my parents divorce and all the frustrations of the bullies. I think about how I may have spent most of my life preparing myself for what I am doing right now.

I now laugh at the notion that comic book writers do not get paid much. Maybe they don’t but when you do something that you love, is it really work? I have worked at places that are unsatisfying and it can suck. I now look at the body of my work and I realized that I have done short stories, narratives, essays, poetry, blogs, articles, and screen plays. This need to be creative with words has always been inside of me. I just made the mistake of listening to the naysayers.

I still have those composition notebooks. I still have the those journals that I kept in high school that detailed the issues I went through in my younger days. I am not saying that I have led a tragic life, I just think that I have fuel to create stories in which I can draw from experience.

family, girlfriend, happiness, my life

Stay Happy

Sometimes family can give us advice that we just have to reflect on as well as follow. I had family over on Sunday for a housewarming brunch. It consisted of a lot of food, presents, and salsa music. Not to mention that the woman and I spent much of the past two weeks painting, so it was definitely a day we were looking forward to. It is also a reminder of how a big family can make any apartment seem small.

So after everything was said and done, one of my aunts told me something that I feel I need to reflect on. Most people, when they are saying their parting words to another person, would say something like stay safe or have fun. What my aunt chose to say was “Stay Happy.” I was sort of taken back by this because this is something that has never been said to me. I think she took the hint that I was a little perplexed by this and clarified by telling me that I truly look happy and I need to make sure that I stay that way.

I have to admit that this is not an appalling thing to be told, but I just found it to be oddly enlightening. We live in a world where people tend to blame others for their problems or give credit to God because he/she is the reason why all things are possible. There’s rarely a time when people think about the fact they it takes work and effort to maintain happiness. I think this is the main reason why many of us get into trouble because we are trying to find happiness as if it is a place where we can go to.

Happiness is a state of being. That is why no one person can make us happy if we do not know how to be in that state alone. This is where the list of tragic stories comes into play of people marrying the wrong people or people being stuck in dead-end jobs. There is this notion that we will eventually be happy if we follow this American dream of finding that right person, having that great job, getting a house, having 2.5 kids, and then credits roll. That rah rah shit is for the movies.

I believe that finding true happiness is a rebellious act. Think about that for a moment. How many people hate other people for being happy? This rebellious state of being often acts like a mirror to others. You can see your own unhappiness reflected back to you in someone’s bliss. Can we truly be happy for another person? Of course, but that would have to be based either love for that person or the fact there you have reached that state of being before.

I cannot describe what being happy is like but I can say that I feel free to do the things that I have a passion for and giving less of my attention to things that ultimately do not matter in the grand scheme. I believe that there is power in letting things go. There is no way that anyone of us can be truly happy if we are holding grudges or animosity toward anyone. It is unhealthy to hold that pent up negative energy toward anyone or anything. I choose to have a short memory and it has worked out for me. (Note: I can already see one of my friend’s saying he is happy all the while still holding grudges. Which does work for him but my ultimate point is the the closer to zero of amount of fucks you give will increase the likely hood that you can reach a happy state)

I also believe this state of being gives us an aura that people notice. The term “you are glowing” does mean something. With that aura comes the confidence to do the things we are meant to be doing. I thought about the fact that I simply could not really write the way I wanted to when I was in Syracuse. There were too many things that were distracting me which lead me to do just the bare minimum of what I am passionate about.

Stay Happy is an acknowledgement that I’m doing things right, but it is also a warning. People who are not used to being happy have a way of sabotaging themselves. I can tell you that I have to be careful not to fall into any traps or get too comfortable with my life. There is always work to do to make things better. While it is true that we cannot make every one happy, we can at least make ourselves happy.