Five years ago I believed that even at 31 I will struggle to go to school to re-learn the arts. And that I will reach that age too satisfying my mother’s wants – all of it – and get away from it cuff-free. But five years later you learn that those were whimsical, purely imaginative – maybe even disillusioned – thoughts. You become more realistic when coming into terms with just about anything. You will revel, you will fight for what is right. It is a matter of survival. All else remains irrelevant.
Because everything was not actually everything. All things become harder, more complicated at twenty-five, twenty-six. Opportunities are narrower as the big words – obligation, sacrifice, commitment, choice – become more defined. And assuming I don’t suddenly die by accident, I’m not even halfway down the road.