One thing I respect about Aston’s blog posts is that he writes without filter, unabashed to share all (or most) of his thoughts, even the ones that don’t portray his outlook and recorded days and moments as unanimously positive.  Not to say that he is a negative person at all or anything – actually quite the opposite.  But when I read what he writes, I feel like I am actually getting to understand his triumphs and trials.

Another thing I remind myself from time to time is that a big reason I have this blog is so that I can express myself and share my reflections and inspirations with anyone who cares to read (and hopefully my good friends and loved ones fall into that category.)  I guess what I am hinting at is that I don’t always share my downer moments in a public arena, because I generally like to be and be seen as a positive person.  In general, I think that’s pretty rare to find online anyway, and I feel like most venting comes from pointed posts with GIFs with quotes on them or vague, melancholy song lyrics.  Not hating, I speak from experience.

But why be afraid?  I am human, after all, and to know joy and to be a positive person most days implies that there is a sad, negative contrast at times.  I think I am pretty self-conscious, but nowadays I don’t notice it as much because I think I’ve become pretty good at navigating norms, figuring out what is normal, what is cool, blah blah blah.  I would even say that I am pretty confident in many areas of my life.  But still, there is a subconscious part of me that is deathly afraid of ostracism.

Of all the places to get inspiration from, I recently saw this GIF with Nicki Minaj mouthing something to the degree of: “You don’t tell me who I am, I’ll tell you.  And if you’re not cool with that, fuck you.  If you are, let’s roll.”  I know I’ve heard that concept before in my life, but hearing that from someone who raps about peeing on people and dresses weirdly (according to who?) hits it pretty far home.  She really truly does not give a fuck about what other people think.

I have my fair share of fears, of showing people how much I care about them on a more regular basis, of connecting with my parents the way I always wanted to, of seeing all the creativity brewing in my head get shot down, of exposing my weaknesses and (occasional) sadness, of failing.  I feel like they all stem from this hazy subconscious fear of rejection.  In each moment it’s more comfortable to not act, to not express, to not share, but when I think about the snowball effect of everything I’ve missed out on because I’m afraid of what might happen if I felt rejected, it’s astounding.  What’s the worst that could happen?  More importantly, can I handle the worst?  In most cases, probably.

Of course, I would typically like to finish posts like these off with some sort of mini-epiphany or commitment to change, but I can’t honestly say that “now, after writing this blog post, I am fearless.”  This has been me for the past 24+ years.  I’d like to try though.


All of this stemmed from the fact that I felt like writing about how I felt empty today after Kat left from her week-long escapade in LA.  I still feel the urge to pad the statement with the fact that I still had a good day and was productive after she left.  But it occasionally makes me question why I’m hundreds of miles away from people I love (not that I don’t love my friends here), at a position where I feel I’m sidestepping towards what I already know I want in life.  As much as I fancy myself a ‘man’ — self-sufficient, independent — it would be stupid to deny that she really is a huge part of my life and happiness, and it is always a tough transition from waking up next to her smile and spending quality time to having to wait another few weeks.

I’m not saying this to bitch about life or anything, because my life is peaches.  Moreso, it’s to get over myself, to be unashamed to share the fact that I am not always happy 24/7.  I think it’s a logical assumption for anyone to make that people get sad, but I’ve always had trouble sharing it on my blog.  On the one hand, why would I need to – I have friends to vent to.  On the other hand, if I consider this a form of expression, shouldn’t I be able to share the experiences that make me human?


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