It was February. It rained every day it seemed. Not the light, innocent rain that young children run in with bright red boots on while their parents watch from the porch. This was the dark, heavy rain. The rain you can use as an excuse for anything. This was my favorite. I don’t wear red boots anymore, anyways.

I stared out the huge windows on the other side of the room, through the kitchen, past the couch, into the rain. The familiar interior left me standing for minutes. Nostalgia had gotten the best of me recently. I could make out a sliver of light reflecting off our neighbors garage as it lifted and exposed the dreary morning. Seconds after it closed. Looks like Matty’s morning run had been compromised for the time being. I acknowledged the simple scene that unfolded with a grin — my New Years resolution was to be more patient. I wrote it on a torn sheet of paper as the countdown went last month, but left it on some table of a bar in New Orleans. Find the small events and indulge yourself, find beauty in the simplicity. If you spend your whole life thinking only certain things are worthy of your time, it will surely be disappointing.

It was early and I made my coffee unconsciously. I truly craved routine these days. I used to hate the idea of “boring” behavior such as pouring and waiting, sitting and thinking, but I grew through my angst. I stretched my toes and let out a yawn as I scanned the dimly lit countertop. It was 7:19AM. My sister had left out some sort of take out meal from the night before and it stared at me like the disappointed family golden retriever, waiting for my attention. It wouldn’t come. It was Saturday and I wouldn’t dare allow such indecent behavior. A spotless kitchen after a Friday night makes me nervous. Maybe that’s a generational thing. I began walking towards the fridge with shallow hopes of some non-dairy sweetener that I knew wasn’t there — I was lactose-intolerant after-all. A damn shame to be honest. I really would have quite the day if I downed some of that stuff right now, no lie. The tiles were cold and my feet felt light as I motioned ice from the exterior of the refrigerator. Three cubes rattled away in the glass like dice as I opened the fridge, bringing the artificial light upon me like a Spaceship landing in rural Iowa. My messy hair stuck out like rows of corn, swaying with every move, awaiting the aliens.

Before I closed the door I caught a glimpse of my yearbook picture from 7th grade hanging, clipped above the freezer door. Bright pink Abercrombie polo, 6/10 Great Clips haircut and the same wide smile I wear today. Things truly were simpler back then. I spent my weekends riding bikes up to the local Supermarket and flirting with girls over text via flip phone. I wasn’t worried about reputation or career or sex or health or love or death or money or any of that stuff. I stuffed my face with pancakes every morning and left my homework on the counter before school. No one cared. No one was mad about it.

Sometimes I wonder what fulfilled me back then. Was it play? Grades? Freedom? Connection? I’m not sure. Funny how we transform throughout the years. Who even was that 15 year old kid, honestly? My world as I knew it had been magnified the past 6 years and I now had a completely different view on things. Different activities brought me happiness, certain people I used to love being around didn’t bring me that joy anymore, I felt an urge to prove something to others, to work harder than ever… like this was all a big game and I was the underdog. Who did I have to prove anything to? I always debate inwardly if these type of thoughts are regressive or valuable. My 28-year-old self won’t know this young man right here. Let me anaylze him for a little I thought.

I added soy milk and carried the mug through the kitchen into the living room where the couch awaited my presence like a taxi driver outside JFK. Ready to greet and take me wherever I wanted. I sat and embraced the familiar feeling the submission into the leather brought, I could tell my father had been here the night before. I was home from college for the weekend and small things like this spiked my memory like a third degree burn. I reached forward and pulled our infamous University of Florida throw blanket over my legs as I settled in. I looked up to the orange and blue football helmet sitting like a prized family picture in our living room, above the TV, then to the UF cup standing on the coffee table beside me. Funny, my father and I despised the Gators. You would have thought we had a Tebow jersey hanging in the room over for Christ’s Sake. Humans really are products of their environment. The gators sucked this year too. The rain continued steadily as the caffeine ran through my veins and deep down into my soul, lifting me like I had just scored the game winning touchdown. I continued my observation of the home I once ran like a king. Same rug, same furniture, same feeling of comfort and ease. There was something about spending my days doing nothing, knowing I could have done anything, that brought such a feeling of freedom.

I pulled out my notebook and began writing.

I sipped and sipped until the final rush of watered down coffee settled on my lips. “Damnit”, I thought. As a coffee drinker this was the worst and the best time. Right after the last sip, signaling peak rush of mental inspiration, but yet — no more coffee. I felt a quick flicker of satisfaction as I set the mug down. “What was that for?” I thought.

I was wired, caffeine ridden and rabbit hole chasing every new venture or creative idea that came to mind. I was young still. I felt young still. Although, a fleeting sense of days and carelessness drew me to grasp my creative side tighter than ever these days. Time was truly limited. 21 was an age of such possibility, such growth. An age of such responsibility, such choice. The heat was on it seemed. Although, sitting here — I felt capable. Sometimes feeling capable is all you need. My last semester of college weighed on me as I stared up at the ceiling. My marks were fine, I was a good student and all, but I wasn’t… I’m not sure how to say this — elite? As in, on paper, I was just as appealing as the next brown haired, American, poster boy, but I hadn’t done anything extraordinary persay. I wasn’t the president of my fraternity or head of a campus club. I didn’t know exactly what I wanted out of a career or life in general. Yet, I felt so accomplished. Odd how that goes isn’t it.

I heard a rustle from behind the couch and my cat appeared, moseying towards my left leg like she had thousands of times previously. I felt the fur against my calf and gave her quick rub on the top of the head. She was always happy. She didn’t have any accomplishments.

My morning went on. I feel into a peaceful daydream where I owned an entire planet ran by aliens with sneakers as hands who ran with their ears. They felt I was becoming an unworthy leader after I had pushed for a higher tax rate on imports and began plotting revenge, but I convinced them out of a rebellion as I opened my eyes. You can convince anyone out of anything. Funny though, these two sides of my brain have been clashing lately. Through my schooling, I have learned about different financial statements, case studies, wealth management perspectives — things I genuinely found very valuable and important, but not sticky. I had to sit down, study, focus and learn that shit — all my creative work was self taught. Usually how it goes, but see, the second I tried to bring in the taxes, the aliens went berserk and my dream ended. How can I keep the aliens happy and be fiscally responsible?

My brother had entered the room without me noticing and was now reading on the couch a few feet next to me. I gave him a warm look and he returned one as he continued to flip the pages. I felt his presence as one would an embrace. People aren’t just things as red is not just a color. We carry feeling. Paint me on the walls and watch the atmosphere flip. We are undoubtedly capable of bringing joy and comfort onto those around us, but almost equally capable of bringing pain and misery. A story for a sunny morning I suppose.

The rain picked up again and I found myself lost in the rush of raindrops on the windowpane. I sat, watching the downpour of water impact, disperse, and race down the glass competitively. Each raindrop hesitated, jolted, and made its way to the bottom, one by one. Some raindrops landed and stayed put for a few seconds, some flew down without adjusting path. We are all raindrops, headed towards an inevitable bottom. Passing, pushing, waiting, gaining, becoming. The window is our earth. We are the rain.

It was February. It rained every day it seemed. Not the light, innocent rain that young children run in with bright red boots on while their parents watch from the porch. This was the dark, heavy rain. The rain you can use as an excuse for anything. This was my favorite. I don’t wear red boots anymore, anyways.

I stared out the huge windows on the other side of the room, through the kitchen, past the couch, into the rain. The familiar interior left me standing for minutes. Nostalgia had gotten the best of me recently. I could make out a sliver of light reflecting off our neighbors garage as it lifted and exposed the dreary morning. Seconds after it closed. Looks like Matty’s morning run had been compromised for the time being. I acknowledged the simple scene that unfolded with a grin — my New Years resolution was to be more patient. I wrote it on a torn sheet of paper as the countdown went last month, but left it on some table of a bar in New Orleans. Find the small events and indulge yourself, find beauty in the simplicity. If you spend your whole life thinking only certain things are worthy of your time, it will surely be disappointing.

It was early and I made my coffee unconsciously. I truly craved routine these days. I used to hate the idea of “boring” behavior such as pouring and waiting, sitting and thinking, but I grew through my angst. I stretched my toes and let out a yawn as I scanned the dimly lit countertop. It was 7:19AM. My sister had left out some sort of take out meal from the night before and it stared at me like the disappointed family golden retriever, waiting for my attention. It wouldn’t come. It was Saturday and I wouldn’t dare allow such indecent behavior. A spotless kitchen after a Friday night makes me nervous. Maybe that’s a generational thing. I began walking towards the fridge with shallow hopes of some non-dairy sweetener that I knew wasn’t there — I was lactose-intolerant after-all. A damn shame to be honest. I really would have quite the day if I downed some of that stuff right now, no lie. The tiles were cold and my feet felt light as I motioned ice from the exterior of the refrigerator. Three cubes rattled away in the glass like dice as I opened the fridge, bringing the artificial light upon me like a Spaceship landing in rural Iowa. My messy hair stuck out like rows of corn, swaying with every move, awaiting the aliens.

Before I closed the door I caught a glimpse of my yearbook picture from 7th grade hanging, clipped above the freezer door. Bright pink Abercrombie polo, 6/10 Great Clips haircut and the same wide smile I wear today. Things truly were simpler back then. I spent my weekends riding bikes up to the local Supermarket and flirting with girls over text via flip phone. I wasn’t worried about reputation or career or sex or health or love or death or money or any of that stuff. I stuffed my face with pancakes every morning and left my homework on the counter before school. No one cared. No one was mad about it.

Sometimes I wonder what fulfilled me back then. Was it play? Grades? Freedom? Connection? I’m not sure. Funny how we transform throughout the years. Who even was that 15 year old kid, honestly? My world as I knew it had been magnified the past 6 years and I now had a completely different view on things. Different activities brought me happiness, certain people I used to love being around didn’t bring me that joy anymore, I felt an urge to prove something to others, to work harder than ever… like this was all a big game and I was the underdog. Who did I have to prove anything to? I always debate inwardly if these type of thoughts are regressive or valuable. My 28-year-old self won’t know this young man right here. Let me anaylze him for a little I thought.

I added soy milk and carried the mug through the kitchen into the living room where the couch awaited my presence like a taxi driver outside JFK. Ready to greet and take me wherever I wanted. I sat and embraced the familiar feeling the submission into the leather brought, I could tell my father had been here the night before. I was home from college for the weekend and small things like this spiked my memory like a third degree burn. I reached forward and pulled our infamous University of Florida throw blanket over my legs as I settled in. I looked up to the orange and blue football helmet sitting like a prized family picture in our living room, above the TV, then to the UF cup standing on the coffee table beside me. Funny, my father and I despised the Gators. You would have thought we had a Tebow jersey hanging in the room over for Christ’s Sake. Humans really are products of their environment. The gators sucked this year too. The rain continued steadily as the caffeine ran through my veins and deep down into my soul, lifting me like I had just scored the game winning touchdown. I continued my observation of the home I once ran like a king. Same rug, same furniture, same feeling of comfort and ease. There was something about spending my days doing nothing, knowing I could have done anything, that brought such a feeling of freedom.

I pulled out my notebook and began writing.

I sipped and sipped until the final rush of watered down coffee settled on my lips. “Damnit”, I thought. As a coffee drinker this was the worst and the best time. Right after the last sip, signaling peak rush of mental inspiration, but yet — no more coffee. I felt a quick flicker of satisfaction as I set the mug down. “What was that for?” I thought.

I was wired, caffeine ridden and rabbit hole chasing every new venture or creative idea that came to mind. I was young still. I felt young still. Although, a fleeting sense of days and carelessness drew me to grasp my creative side tighter than ever these days. Time was truly limited. 21 was an age of such possibility, such growth. An age of such responsibility, such choice. The heat was on it seemed. Although, sitting here — I felt capable. Sometimes feeling capable is all you need. My last semester of college weighed on me as I stared up at the ceiling. My marks were fine, I was a good student and all, but I wasn’t… I’m not sure how to say this — elite? As in, on paper, I was just as appealing as the next brown haired, American, poster boy, but I hadn’t done anything extraordinary persay. I wasn’t the president of my fraternity or head of a campus club. I didn’t know exactly what I wanted out of a career or life in general. Yet, I felt so accomplished. Odd how that goes isn’t it.

I heard a rustle from behind the couch and my cat appeared, moseying towards my left leg like she had thousands of times previously. I felt the fur against my calf and gave her quick rub on the top of the head. She was always happy. She didn’t have any accomplishments.

My morning went on. I feel into a peaceful daydream where I owned an entire planet ran by aliens with sneakers as hands who ran with their ears. They felt I was becoming an unworthy leader after I had pushed for a higher tax rate on imports and began plotting revenge, but I convinced them out of a rebellion as I opened my eyes. You can convince anyone out of anything. Funny though, these two sides of my brain have been clashing lately. Through my schooling, I have learned about different financial statements, case studies, wealth management perspectives — things I genuinely found very valuable and important, but not sticky. I had to sit down, study, focus and learn that shit — all my creative work was self taught. Usually how it goes, but see, the second I tried to bring in the taxes, the aliens went berserk and my dream ended. How can I keep the aliens happy and be fiscally responsible?

My brother had entered the room without me noticing and was now reading on the couch a few feet next to me. I gave him a warm look and he returned one as he continued to flip the pages. I felt his presence as one would an embrace. People aren’t just things as red is not just a color. We carry feeling. Paint me on the walls and watch the atmosphere flip. We are undoubtedly capable of bringing joy and comfort onto those around us, but almost equally capable of bringing pain and misery. A story for a sunny morning I suppose.

The rain picked up again and I found myself lost in the rush of raindrops on the windowpane. I sat, watching the downpour of water impact, disperse, and race down the glass competitively. Each raindrop hesitated, jolted, and made its way to the bottom, one by one. Some raindrops landed and stayed put for a few seconds, some flew down without adjusting path. We are all raindrops, headed towards an inevitable bottom. Passing, pushing, waiting, gaining, becoming. The window is our earth. We are the rain.