Here’s You Now

The Flyleaf Pages
Jul 23, 2017 · 4 min read

The sky is grey outside. The sort of grey I fantasized in my teenage years. A grey that calls for a cup of coffee, an Irish folksinger in your ears, a book in your hand, and a story to daydream deep into the clouds.

Like most fantasies — romanticized to the point of no return — the dream is a bit more magical than reality.

Instead of living in a cabin and isolated in the forrest, (or whatever my younger self imagined while staring out the windows during high-school) I’m opening the lid to a prescription of 50,000 IU strength Vitamin D due to a deficiency of sunlight, warmth, and energy. I’m sighing with disdain at the horizon inwardly yelling “Would it hurt you to shine a little!” and wondering what life in Indonesia looks like.

See, I did dream this life.

Somewhere in a city, self-sustained and successful. Sailing into my thirties with stories in my heart and songs in my bones. Somewhere in Seattle, even. Sunlight be damned. Celebrate the aesthetic of a writer’s struggle, I thought, during those days when nothing was more romantic than escaping the Southern California summer heat to place with rain.

Anyone raised in the black-hole that is Menifee, California feels what I’m saying.

All alliteration aside…

The sky is grey outside and I’m a little bitter about it. Seattle teaches you to cherish the sunlight in ways you’d never imagine. Or maybe just I would imagine, spending my youth in what seemed the hottest damn town in the country. (Shut the fuck up Phoenix, we know.)

So here’s a letter to my younger self about the fantasies I weaved and expectations I grasped so desperately on to:

Lloyd,

You will become everything you despise. That’s the simple axiom of aging. Time nudges you towards the darkest insecurities in your mind with a slow and gentle push.

And yet somehow, you’ll be ever grateful it did.

It turns out all your extravagant beliefs of self identity were nothing more than just that, beliefs. Beliefs are a charming devil masquerading as truth, but like the devil, they are only beasts of imagination keeping you from looking under the bed and walking out into the night.

So breathe and laugh and let go.

Funny thing, you’ll come to love pop music. Some at least. And dancing. YOU LOVE DANCING. Who’d have thought? You, the skinny kid with no rhythm, a hatred for radio music and the seemingly lack of intelligence displayed on the dance floor, the boy too afraid to look silly in front of a girl. It’s the best. Looking silly is the pinnacle of human attraction.

You will sing in front of others and love jogging. You’ll become a vegetarian. Mister “I can never live without bacon.” You hate bacon. The damn smell infects into everything. Somehow your obsession with Batman and comics will become an average pass-time for half the population of the world. Not kidding. Batman became cool.

You’ll start to let go of useless daydreams occupying brain space.

In 2015 you’ll stop planning how you’d spend lottery winnings. In 2016 you’ll completely stop obsessing over how you’d re-live your Freshman year if only you knew better. In 2017 you’ll stop believing you are immortal and seriously consider what it is you want in life, since death is not a beast of imagination, it’s one heartbeat away.

Here’s the thick of it, Lloyd: I’m not sure you’ll ever feel at ease.

But I look around and wonder if you ever should.

It’s not much, but you live a life many from that small town never reach. You’re not rich by any means, but nothing holds you down. Buy a ticket to Japan? Sure! You might lose your job over forgetting to request time off and deciding to go regardless, but oddly enough you don’t care. Move city to city with little to no plans? Absolutely. Travel. Traveltraveltraveltravel.

Life. Is. Short.

This is not a letter of advice. You won’t listen to it. You’ll read this and think “This is not me, I don’t sound like this.” I’m not that cynical. I’ll never love Taylor Swift or broccoli or utter phrases like “yolo” and “hella”.

But you do. We become those things we despise. And that’s a joy.

No, this is a letter of commentary. A letter to laugh at yourself. Everyone else will in life, so join the goddamn game. Not in a sad way. In an enlightening, let go of your earthly tethers sort of way.

(Oh yeah, pop-culture references to cartoons become cool too. What an upside down world this becomes.)

So “hello”. Here’s you now…

You ditched religion. You drink. You use swear words. You view sex as a healthy practice without shame. You have your insecurities about your body, but mostly because you don’t go to the gym. You don’t mock those that go to the gym anymore, but admire them. You’ve lost relationships dear to you. You no longer arrogantly assume you’re so intelligent. You love the study of evolution. You have tattoos. You want more. Like. A lot more.

You will become everything you despise.

And I look forward to that slow, gentle push.

Goodbye,
Lloyd

Updates | Day 2/179

-Accomplishments this week: Getting out of bed this morning. Vacuuming yesterday. Realizing “Accomplishments this week” should be once a week and not every day.

-Short(ish) term goals: Eat. Like now. Coffee is not food. Also, watch Game of Thrones and delve further into conspiracy theories about Arya Stark.

Shoutouts/Inspirations: That guy at the bar last night that listened to metal. Good chat, man.

-Closing whimsy: This whole damn post was seriously inspired by the fact that I’m wearing my gym shirt from middle school. Menifee Valley Middle School. Somehow the thing is STILL big on me. #whatthefuckisthatstain?

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fly-leaf | noun | a blank page at the beginning or end of a book.

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