Journeys of a Wandering Wordsmith
Journey with me on my blog!
The Shadows Beneath this Epidermis
I’ve probably looked pretty average most of my life. I imagine most people wouldn’t bat an eye if they saw yet another skinny-fat white boy’s shirtless frame hiking in the wild. But body dysmorphia is real. Body image is a beast.
That Time I Stood Up to a Homophobic, Transphobic Bully – Also, a Pastor
A storyteller I follow refers to his growth in the numerical unit of past iterations of himself. "That was eight Robs ago," he'd say of himself, back when he used to believe one thing or behave a totally different way. I've started viewing my own growth in this vein, thinking about all the Toms that have existed in this singular Tom, particularly with regard to this active-passive dynamic. My passivity has run especially true in matters of relational conflict. Given the option to fight a conflict or flight a conflict (please excuse my incorrect usage of a noun as a verb in the name of symmetry), I will flight nine times out of ten. Ah, but then there's always that one instance...
The Cost of New Creation (2024 Will Hurt)
Sometimes we speak things out, and they become true. Like we're wizards spinning magic into this world; our wands as our pens and mouths, created by a Creator with the same capacity to write and speak and do. Create. And then other times we declare bold things for our stories that do not come true. These goals, these new stories, these fuller versions of ourselves – well, they don't form as we hoped, if even they form at all.
The Joys and Challenges of Traveling Solo Across Alaska
Here's a multi-faceted realization I've found in recent years: I absolutely love to travel solo — and most people absolutely do not. Traveling solo doesn't daunt me; indeed, it ignites something primal and wondrous in me. Comparing myself to how most other people travel, though, is another mountain: Why are they not like me? Why am I not at all like them?
I Can't Believe I Came From Her
My grandmother died. These words rattle around my heart like pinballs that won't settle, even a week beyond her funeral. And yet I wonder if the settling of these pinballs would be any better – the finality of their lodging into the belly of that machine, no longer kept alive by another flap of the paddles. Mayme Alice was the last of my grandparents to leave this earth, and undoubtedly the one with whom I grew closest.
Am I Worthy of Your Giving?
Am I really worth your hard-earned dollars? Am I worth your kindness? You say I am, but am I really? I don't want to waste my money – your money. I don't want to buy things I don't "need." But I also "need" some amount of pleasure and joy. Can I buy a milkshake with your money? What about a new lamp for my studio? I want to make you proud of my journey, however much you've contributed to it. I want to be worthy of every cent.
Change, Leave!
I want to leave my usual ways of changing, leaving. Of always running from things, even if I'm also running to new ones. Of masking my loneliness and shame with adventures and Instagram posts. I want to continue learning to stay for a change, staying for change.
I Am Not in Control
I have control issues. I have known this about myself for a little while now. Counseling has helped me see it more clearly, though I feel I've known this for many years prior. I don't like being at the mercy of my circumstances. Especially the mercy of another human.
Go to Hell
Maybe instant healing and freedom do happen like that in other contexts, in other humans. I don't know. I don't know what that's like. Maybe for the rest of us, though, the fight never ends. Maybe the enemy comes back, over and over.
