If I had to venture a guess, I have been writing down thoughts on the Internet in a few different formats since I was 16 years old. That’s more than a decade, but I have no body of work to look back on. My best guess at what happened is that what I wrote at 16 was immediately blown up into the ether as too embarrassing to exist when being reviewed by the 18 year-old version of myself. Coincidentally, the 20 year old version thought the 18 year old version was insufferable. This probably happened a few more times over the years, as I can find no record of anything I wrote outside of this, a class-mandated 5-post blog about any subject I wish.
My great-grandfather was a drummer in a Jazz Band. My grandfather was a painter. My father is a writer and spoken-word performer. I share my life with a modern dancer. I remember sleepy late-night sessions filled with ginger ale and corn chips listening to Frank Zappa, Stevie Ray Vaughan, The Residents, Jan Garbarek, The Ramones, Ken Nordine, The Firesign Theatre, the list goes on. I was surrounded by it, but I’m not sure I ever got ‘bit’ by it. Teachers and peers have been complimentary of my academic writing over the years, but I’ve never been able to sit down and write with the consistency and competency that I would like to. I gave up alto saxophone after 3 years following a meteoric rise to the first chair (unseating an eighth-grader!) due to exhaustion. (Hey if celebrities can cite it, anybody can.) I read and read and read growing up, and then one day I stopped and drank a lot of alcohol. College also took a lot of the joy out of reading, and I failed to commit to the continued enrichment of my life. Being able to get joy out of reading is a feeling that I have rediscovered over the last 4 years and is something I hope to carry with me for the rest of my life.
Now to the crux of this. Since coming to New York City, I’ve lived in Queens, Manhattan and Brooklyn. I’ve always had my eye on New York City, and in the years leading up to my move from upstate New York, Brooklyn. To be perfectly honest, North Brooklyn doesn’t exactly suit me. I fit in just as well, and maybe even better in Astoria or Manhattan. I don’t live the life of an artist. I like certainty. I like a little bit of money in my bank account. (Not that artists don’t, but I find myself to be a little more averse to the shoestring lifestyle.) But I was dead set on it. I wanted to live in North Brooklyn. I wanted to date an artistic girl who lived in Brooklyn. I wanted to live the struggle.
Minus the struggle. Since moving off the world famous(and fucking crowded) L train in 2011, I have lived a relatively comfortable life. One filled with good food, good music, and a whole lot of hipsters. An almost artistic life. And I think that’s what brings me back here. To dig a little deeper into why I fight so hard to be here, and what it will take to make the jump. Can the jump be made? I’m hoping firing this old toll-collecting vehicle back up will help answer that question. I am here to write.