My creative writing instructor gave us three pieces to read for homework. One was Chekov, one was…something else that I can’t remember yet, and one was this 2008 piece by Malcolm Gladwell. I read it while enjoying a tasty grilled cheese sandwich and ice cold Heineken. Don’t ask me why I ordered a Heineken. I think I panicked for no apparent reason.
If you actually take the time to read the Gladwell piece, which you should because it’s really inspiring and somewhat comforting, I’m sure you will pick up on certain themes that you’d think really resonated with me. They did, but that’s not the point of this post.
My immediate reaction to that article was to lean back and reflect on my “patrons”. The people in my life who have made personal sacrifices to allow me to pursue whateverthefuck it is that I’m pursuing. Whether it be sacrifices of money, time, or an emotional or psychological tax of just being around me in my current dazed state, I am, despite my prickly and aloof state of nature, eminently lucky and thankful.
I was filled with warm fuzzies. Though, upon further reflection, that might have been more the grilled cheese talking.