Perhaps my first mistake was expecting that I would ever entirely grow out of it.
So Happy Birthday, Kendahl, and cheers to twenty-nine. This year is going to be the best one yet.
I don’t like change, and I am an anxious person. Nice to meet you.
First, this is a poem to say thank you
for taking me back to Budapest.
I scour the wall for any ledges, any possible edge to rest a hand or foot. Nothing. The drop to the next balcony I would guess is eight feet. Not impossible.
Nowhere else in this big wide world of ours can you find a life-size Michael Jackson and Princess Diana made entirely out of marzipan.
Don’t look back, keep walking, project confidence, don’t run, keep calm, almost there, almost there, almost there – RUN! Lose yourself in the crowd!
However, when I found my predecessor’s clipboard, book of short stories, and spatula scattered around my room, I was tempted to see my move as a predictable step on an already well-worn path.
So just say you can’t make it. Honestly, it took me a long time to learn this. I used to feel needlessly guilty for all sorts of things until my friend Bekah taught me how to say no to things.
Perhaps the trick isn’t finding the perfect place, the perfect pen, the perfect aesthetic, the correct combination of elbow patches, pipe smoke, and whiskey. Perhaps the trick is simply to not have a trick.
