25.

More due to the fact that I was pride-rich than actually being cash-poor, I’ve always worked. Too arrogant to admit to my parents that I was in over my head, I’ve scrubbed floormats outside of the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf only to go inside and wash dishes. But I’ve never thought that I was ever above any of that stuff. It’s given me character. Folding jeans at the Gap. Helping old ladies count their coins at Wells Fargo. I keep those feelings with me now as I pursue a graduate degree. I’ve interacted with all types of people, worked along side them, heeded their requests in the service industry. More than working for tips, all of it has taught me how to treat people. Sometime in the future, I will be the guy asking the concierge at a fancy hotel for help and slipping him a five for his troubles. In a glass office one day, I’ll introduce myself to the kid working in the mailroom. I’ll tell him that I was once where he is now. Maybe discuss his dreams. I’ll remember myself in that kid-- proud and humble all at once-- and it will make my success all that much sweeter.

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I romanticize many things. War. My immigrant parents. The life of a writer. And, until very recently, the idea of Love. Of all the things to surround with unrealistic ideals, dreamy cinematography and a beautiful soundtrack, romanticizing romantic love is the most dangerous. Far too often, I have turned my back on potential goodfeelings because something’s off. And as much as I am all about patience and never settling, it’s foolish to think that any kind of relationship is without a certain degree of compromise. Especially in light of the fact that I’m so flawed. Far too often, I’ve looked into someone’s eyes and felt the remarkable love that they want to share with me, that they want me to reciprocate, and I give them nothing more tangible than second-base friction and good intentions. Yet, I want them to persist, to feed me with romance, sweetness and concern. Selfishness and loneliness- the perfect symbiotic relationship. In my effort to avoid dating a cliché, I am slowly becoming one. But I will chug along bouncing ideas between my heart and brain, until I’m ready to break up with my ego and really commit to someone else.

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According to my old beliefs (and my last blog entry), I am a man of extremes. But at the age of twentyfive, I will try living in the gray. I’ve been deluding myself into thinking that life is a controlled experiment. And the variables that are beyond my control have ultimately left me feeling out of balance. So I’ll keep my convictions, but bend a little more with the flow of the unknown. Living in the gray will also force me to slow down a little, think more before opening my mouth. I forget that those who talk to me aren’t always asking for advice. Sometimes they just want to talk. Sometimes they just want me to listen. I’m always so quick to say, ‘this is what needs to be done to correct this’ or ‘call this number’ or ‘you can survive this!’ But really, I should just be nodding. Sharing the heartache or joy. Thinking of life in extreme terms makes it all static, which it certainly is not. So much of life exists on a continuum. I will traverse that gray area more. Let the gorgeousness of the day, the situation, the moment unfold slowly