I’ve made my decision. This fall semester, I’ll be leaving for Indiana to attend IUPUI. I think my decision was unexpected, especially for myself. I originally intended to study at Virginia Commonwealth University, a school noted for its highly competitive art department. But due to scholarships and the fact that IUPUI provides a more career-driven approach to art, rather than focusing on developing the “artist”, the choice became clear.

Anyway, enough background information.

I’m here to discuss a topic that has been on my mind lately, and I think it’s time for it to get out. Leaving Springfield. This town is by no means a bad place to live (except maybe for the meth). The people are friendly, there’s a downtown full of coffee shops and vintage clothing stores, and, of course, there’s cashew chicken and pineapple whip. Springfield has been a wonderful place to grow up in; I’ll forever cherish the memories I’ve made here over the past eighteen years and the friends with whom I’ve experienced them. I look forward to visiting it from time to time.

However, I believe that some people get so wrapped up in the charming aspects of Springfield that they buy into the illusion that it is indeed the perfect place to live in. Sure, I appreciate the local art scene just as much as the next Midwestern hepcat; but in the grand scheme of things, I don’t think I’ll be inclined to make trips to the Mudhouse or Commercial Street every weekend for the rest of my life. There’s more to the world than kitschy flea markets and Chinese buffets. There are more people on this planet than the ones with whom I went to high school.

Going to Indiana is taking the initiative to become independent, to start a new chapter. As I’ve told my parents, I’m not going away because they didn’t raise me right. I’m leaving because they taught my brother and I to be well-rounded, and as a result, made us comfortable with the idea of making our mark somewhere else in the world. I realize that moving away is not for everyone. Which is perfectly fine! Some families don’t even think about leaving simply because they see no reason to do so. Yet, I encourage those of you who might not want to live here your entire life to go somewhere. Anywhere. I really don’t have any authority on the matter, but I would assume that it only gets more difficult to leave the city as you get older. So let’s take a leap. Let’s see where life takes us because, uh, you know—YOLO.

Old people are great. Especially when you share their bloodline.

I think I take it for granted that all four of my grandparents, plus one great-grandmother, are still kickin’ it. The same goes for the fact that they have been supportive of everything I’ve pursued over the years. While it wouldn’t be difficult for me to write an entire post about each individual, I’d still like people to read this blog. So I’ll stick to just one.

I spent a lot of time with my father’s mother before I started elementary school. She taught me bird names (which I didn’t retain) and the Pledge of Allegiance (I hope I’ve retained.) That’s about it.

No, but seriously.

After she would pick me up from preschool, we’d head to her quiet country house for the afternoon. We would read together, count together, watch Days of our Lives together. She also had a consistent menu of macaroni and cheese sticks (not together), as well an assortment of impeccably baked cookies (which she’s only perfected to this day.) I would also catch up on my line-up of Wishbone, Arthur, and Zoom— y’know, not the easiest shows to follow after missing an episode.

My grandmother has taught me a lot about the simplicity of life, whether or not that’s been her intention. She’s stressed the importance of family and has made it a point to express love for others. She’s encouraged my creativity and individualism, collecting sketches and writing that I’ve done. I’m delighted to not only call her a lifelong fan of mine, but a friend, as well.

All right, getting a little sappy. But let’s all tell our grandmothers and grandfathers how much we love them, yeah?

CAUTION: Cliches abound.

Since mid-summer, I’ve been witnessing a quiet metamorphosis of others and of myself. Once I entered high school, a good portion of my innocence had been lost. I realized things were not how I once thought they were. But now, I’m waking up to the fact that the people around me aren’t quite the same, either.

My peers and I are on the brink of adulthood, and with it comes the gradual accumulation of imperfection. I look at people, not necessarily those close to me, and imagine them back in elementary and middle school. It’s exceedingly heartbreaking for me to envision us all back in our haven of learning and innocence, a time when we were free from the tethers of our fears and insecurities.

What gets me is when I have this unshakeable view of someone, but an action of his or her’s causes my entire reality to be shattered. I hate to admit it, but my impression of an individual can shift in an instant with something as simple as a discovery of someone’s sexual explorations or hidden persona. Don’t get me wrong, I certainly do not consider myself a saint. We all wear masks, though some more opaque than others. It’s a part of human nature, a defense mechanism. It bothers me, though, when it is those that distinguish themselves as deeply spiritual that fall through with “practicing what they preach.” In some cases, it is this same crowd that judges others, when their own shortcomings put them in no place to do so.

I’m not exactly sure what I’m trying to convey here. It’s just something that has been on my mind a lot lately. I look at the decisions of others and feel torn. Have I played it too safely, should I have been experimenting more? Or perhaps, my until recent obliviousness is evidence of wiser choices on my part. I really don’t know.

On a completely unrelated note, Autumn is here, you guys. Autumn is grand.