I fucking love my life of 22 hour days, meetings, hundreds of emails, piles of paperwork and late nights trying to extract long forgotten feelings so my script can breathe with life.
I love that some days I run off of little more than coffee, a beer and a few wings off my friend’s plate at the bar. I love the nights where we say “fuck tomorrow!” and drink, talk, and laugh until the bar kicks us out.
I never thought I would be living a life with so much color. Sometimes its tough, I’m down to my last dollars and trying to figure out how to pay rent. It’s scary sometimes, you don’t know what the future is going to bring. You can burn too brightly and burn out. You can make one bad decision and crash.
But I’m surrounded by people on the same journey, and that’s what makes it all work. That’s what makes it all worth it. We keep each other alive. Its the most intense, incredible experience I’ve ever had.
I wouldn’t trade this life for a thousand others.
It still amazes me that I can be judgmental when so much of my own life deserves to be judged even more harshly.
I have gotten better though.
The more I’ve lived, the less I’ve judged.
On the same page, the more I’ve lived, the more I have been judged.
But I get it. I’ve been there.
I just don’t understand why our brains and hearts compel us to judge.
It seems a waste of life.
The times we really need to remember are the times we cried alone on his bathroom floor.