A Letter to Myself.

Everything at some point deteriorates. Metal rusts, people age and soft skin turns into wrinkly sand paper. New laptops get old and crash, new bikes grow rickety and tires pop. Love is made and love is broken. Life is beautiful but also a cruel bitch waiting to give you one in the face. Everyday I see both sides of life: the beautiful things and the ugly things. On one side I am performing daily and through this I experience a severe amount of joy and of course some heartache because performing is indeed a labor of love. Every day I come a little bit closer to being comfortable in my skin and living an open and honest life, but then I become insecure again from the slightest trigger. You wake up some mornings and actually like what you see in the mirror. You wake up some mornings and want to cry from what you see in the mirror. It is life. A constant and ever changing reality. I can't really complain about my life right now--besides the fact that I am ridiculously busy and need Christmas to be here, but is that ever a bad thing? At least I am working hard and am working towards something.

Yes, in comparison to a starving child in Africa I have it pretty damn good. But as a human being you can't help but be drawn to the dark side. Life eventually becomes slightly muted in color and energy and you begin to stumble into a sort of depression. The moments when I am most happy are when I am either performing or with friends and family. This makes sense--given my profession. I don't know if it is the fact that I literally rearranged my life in the course of a year and everything happened so fast, but I feel like I lost a part of me along the way. I feel like I am just the body of Braden going through the motions complacently for the most part. Occasionally I receive a blissful glimpse of genuine amazement or wonder, but then it comes sky rocketing down on me and I lose it. Christmas time is approaching and I always have enjoyed Christmas. Something magical comes from the holiday seasons--even the red cups at Starbucks get me going. But this year I just feel like a robot even in my own home. During Thanksgiving break I felt like a puppet--moving seamlessly yet shallowly. This needs to change. Perhaps this is just a part of growing up. There was a time when Braden didn't give two fucks what someone thought about him. What happened to that? Where is the fearless Braden that existed two mere years ago? I want him back.