I’m still upset about not blogging on Thursday.
It wasn’t like I forgot about it. I had words in the white box at least three times, but nothing seemed blog-worthy.
With all of this news about perfect games in baseball I was really looking forward to notching a month of blogging every day which – incredibly – I have only done three times in the past 118 months.
It’s the same sort of rarefied event as nine innings of no one on base – a perfect storm of a strong performance by me, plus my team of interesting friends and co-workers supplying me with fodder to write about.
(Also for the record books: that’s only the second time in 118 months this blog has ever discussed baseball (so don’t get your hopes up for another mention (unless you plan to read for another five years)).)
We went out last night to see two of our favorite local bands in our last “we live ten minutes from South Street” hurrah.
As of noon we are about halfway through our packing process – all of the media, books, decor, and closets have been packed, but the everyday clothes, computers, dishwares have not – which is encouraging, since we have a full 120 hours left before any movers arrive.
In excavating my hall closet I unearthed about 200 issues of Rolling Stone, which I am finally willing to part with, along with my high school year book – now 11 years old, almost to the day.
I took a brief intermission from packing to page through, showing E various pictures of my rail-thin, long-haired self, alternating between my two stock high school poses – one, smiling obviously for the camera, and the other, mouth open and finger pointed in mid-discussion.
It’s amazing how many of the notes – some from people I haven’t spoken to in 11 years! – say something to the effect of, “You believed in me and it made my high school years bearable. You are so talented, and I know you will find success.”
I know I read those messages at the time, but I’m not sure if I really appreciated what they meant. If I could write something in that book today that would appear to the me of 11 years ago, it would be this:
Dear Peter 1999,
One of your greatest talents is your ability to be enthusiastic about everyone you meet, which is why you’re going to school for journalism. I know it feels like while you believe in everyone else no one believes in you. Maybe that’s because people assume (rightly) that the enthusiasm and ambition you have for them is the same as you have for yourself, so you don’t really need their belief.
Don’t be afraid to let people know you believe in yourself, too.
Don’t worry, you’re doing everything right.
Don’t change, ever.
– Peter 2010