My Reaction to the Presidential Election (also, new blog!)

Hi folks. I’ll keep this short: I’ve started a second blog to serve as a space for me to write more serious commentary pieces, since you’ve probably noticed those are my writing of choice these days. My first post on this new site is my reaction to the 2016 Presidential Election. I consider this to be one of the most important pieces I’ve written as of lately and it can be found here:

https://grandocchiolism.wordpress.com/2016/11/09/my-reaction-to-the-2016-presidential-election/

While I plan to maintain SuperOpinion8ted, I expect most of my writing will now shift over to the new blog. Thus, I would be a very happy writer if you subscribed to the new site :)

Thanks, everyone!

My Thoughts on the Orlando Shooting

Hey, all. I know I normally try to keep things light on this website, but today for a few minutes, I wanted to talk about the shooting that took place last night at a nightclub in Orlando, Florida.

For anyone who isn’t aware, last night at around 2 AM local time, the United States experienced the most deadly mass shooting of its history and what has been deemed the “worst terror attack since 9/11.”

Some of you may know this already. But what you may not have been told yet is that the nightclub in question was an LGBT space.

I submit to the possibility that this was pure coincidence; after all, the shooter in question specifically pledged allegiance to ISIS in a 911 call before the attack. I also recognize it could be coincidence that this fell not only within pride month, not only within pride week, but on the very same day as the Capitol Pride celebration. It’s possible by the tiniest of margins that homophobia wasn’t a factor when a target was selected for the attack.

As a member of the LGBT community, forgive me if this possibility doesn’t bring me enormous waves of warm fuzzies.

Yeah, yeah, I’m bisexual. I’ve never formally come out on this blog before, and I certainly meant to do it in a different way, but we can chat later about my personal life. This isn’t the time for me to recount my coming out story. This also isn’t intended to be a news article, so if you’re looking for detailed information about the attack, I’d kindly direct you to Google, where a plethora of much more reputable resources awaits.

No, this blog has always been me plastering the internet with my own feelings. However small or uninvolved my voice is compared to the hundreds of people actually present in Florida, I would like to add to the mix my own reaction to this event.

Something important you should know about me: I don’t get offended or angered very easily. I’m always up for people throwing a gay-bashing joke at me, and I’m so used to being called a faggot (maliciously or otherwise) that it rolls off my shoulders. I hold no grudge against people who disagree with my values. I believe in speaking out against discrimination without being angered or wound up about it.

But I think for the first time, it’s really hitting me that I’m a part of a world that simply doesn’t treat people like me the same as others.

I want to be extra careful with the lectures, because I also don’t believe in complaining. I’ve been through some pretty awful experiences because of who I’ve fallen in love with, but generally my reaction to this is to shrug and say “Welp, life’s not fair. Whining won’t fix it. Let’s press on.” To me, being LGBT has simply meant I’ll have a tougher time of things than others, and that’s my battle to face.

But this feels different. I think that’s because this had nothing to do with me; it had to do with an innocent group of people singled out because of a trait I share with them. I sure don’t live in Florida, but I did almost go to the Capitol Pride celebration this weekend. What if the shooting had taken place there?

I learned a lot of tough lessons growing up. I learned that it’s going to be difficult for me to be accepted by my more conservative friends and family. I learned that some people are going to treat me worse because I seem like some outsider. I learned that, no matter how supportive everyone around me has and will always be, the reason they feel the need to be supportive in the first place is because—for better or worse—I’m different. I’m cool with all of that.

But I never learned to look over my shoulder.

I never learned that this sort of thing could potentially happen to me. Emotional attacks? Lay them on me. I’m tough enough to handle heartbreak or isolation. But no amount of personal resolve is going to stop a bullet if someone sends one my way because of who I love.

After the Aurora shooting in 2012, my parents kept me home from movie theaters for a few weeks. To this day, that remains the most ridiculous instance of overprotection I’ve ever experienced.

That attack—which, incidentally, is second only to this in being the largest mass shooting in the USA—resulted in 82 people being shot, with 12 fatalities. The Orlando attack totaled in 103 people being shot, with 50 fatalities. In case you don’t feel like running the calculations, that’s over four times more fatalities and an increase of 25% in people who were shot.

Let’s get mathematical! Extrapolating my parents’ fears, this would mean I could be straight as an arrow and still need to be roughly 400% more cautious now than after the Aurora shooting. The mathematical factor which incorporates my queerness—and the statistical probability of me being shot dead because of it—is something we’ll just have to leave to the imagination.

That part shouldn’t be too tough; after all, it doesn’t take a forensics team to get to the bottom of why LGBT folks were and are targeted. Some people hate what they don’t understand. That isn’t complicated.

In my humble opinion, there exists only one way to battle this kind of discrimination: through a cultural shift, which I hope and suspect will happen over the next few decades. As the newer generations grow up, hopefully we can all recognize that being gay, lesbian, bisexual or transgender literally makes no difference towards a person’s character. If someone is a kind, funny person, them being LGBT doesn’t make them any less kind or funny. Conversely, if someone is an obnoxious jerk, them being queer as a three dollar bill won’t make their company any less deplorable.

See what I’m getting at? People are people. Love is love. At the end of the day, we’re all human.

For fuck’s sake, let’s start acting like it.

A Tribute to My Best Friend

We must be willing to let go of the life we have planned, so as to accept the life that is waiting for us.”

– Joseph Campbell

 

I think the hardest lesson I’ve had to learn growing up is that life has way too many goodbyes.

I blogged about this considerably back in my senior year of high school as I transitioned to a new chapter in my life. I was expecting that one. It still hurt when it happened, but I recognized it had to happen. The difference now is, I’m realizing that kind of transition isn’t unique to just the end of high school. Life is a steady flow of new faces and saying goodbye to old ones. And this past December, I said goodbye to one of the best friends I’ve ever had.

To clarify, you can relax; he isn’t dead or anything. But we did have to say goodbye, and I don’t expect we’ll see each other again. So, with this school year coming to a close, I’m concluding that chapter of my life the only way I know how: to write a tributary post.

Let’s get cracking.

I met my best friend in January 2015; my sophomore year of college. We were in the same math class together, and I saw this quiet freshman-looking type who wasn’t really interacting with anyone. So I switched on my social mode and made small talk. We got along well and became friendly towards each other. He was pretty reserved, so my attempts to socialize outside of class weren’t very productive at first. He was perfectly fine chatting during math, but not having Chick-Fil-A at the University Center after class.

Things might’ve stayed put, but I got this feeling in my gut that I can’t quite explain—have you ever met a person and you just get this instinct that you two were meant to be a part of each others’ lives? Well, something told me this guy and I were meant to be a part of each others’. And so, I kept asking to hang out. And eventually, we got Chick-Fil-A at the University Center after class.

Within a month, we were hanging out on the regular; ordering pizza and marathoning Breaking Bad, or bitching about our math homework, or forming inside jokes. And by April, we were spending evenings staying up until 3AM swapping stories. We talked about the best and worst of our past relationships with girls. We told each other about what we wanted for our own futures.

I think my favorite part of all of this is we both entered each others’ lives at the right time. Each of us was going through our own personal shit when we met, and we sort of helped each other get back on track with everything. We got along. We were best friends. Simple as that.

I know there are a fair number of guys who think the concept of ‘best friends’ is a bit gay. They don’t think two dudes should be important parts of each others’ lives. And yet, my best friend and I were. When I was in real trouble and needed a place to stay, he was the person I called. When he was upset, despite the fact that I was angrier with him than ever before, I still dropped that long enough to say, “Alright look, I’m really pissed at you. But you need someone to talk to, so for tonight, I’m going to stop being pissed long enough to be there for you.”

We had an especially bad argument in September that left us not speaking to each other for several days. And then, we went to a baseball game and spent the whole time talking, getting back to joking around, and it ended up being one of the best hangouts we had. We got really good at working things out.

Because that’s what it’s all about: being there for each other in spite of disagreements or arguments. That’s what best friends do. That’s what family does. And make no mistake, even if it was only for a year, he and I were family.

Did we argue? Sure. It was mostly little stuff, but it was still enough to be mildly irritating now and then. And at the end of the day, we were always able to clear the air with one simple conversation and get back to playing basketball or video games or whatever.

We didn’t always agree on how to hang out, either. I’m a movie fanatic and would’ve been happy watching a different movie every time we chilled; my best friend was more into watching WWE or training for American Ninja Warrior (no joke!) So we compromised. We spent summer 2015 watching a lot of movies and watching a lot of WWE. We also went to a Ninja Gym once, which was one of my favorite days. We showed each other our home towns and even made a midnight run to IHOP (it was a long day).

I don’t want to just make a laundry list of activities or bore you with tedious details, because no amount of description will be sufficient to encapsulate how important my best friend and I were to each other. No matter how many ups and downs we had with girls in our lives, we were always able to meet up, grab Subway and swap stories. “So, you’ll never guess what shit I had to deal with today.” And we’d lightly make fun of each other for it. And it was the best thing.

We didn’t know it at the time, but this one hangout we had in December 2015 would end up being our last.

(I don’t want to get into why he and I had to end our friendship—the short version is, his living circumstances changed a month later and he decided it would be too taxing on us both to keep up the friendship).

That last hangout was Thursday December 17th, and we saw Star Wars Episode VII on its opening day. He didn’t especially want to, but he knew how much it meant to me, and I think it was a fitting end to the friendship. We made a day of it and ended up ordering pizza like normal, watching our favorite TV show like normal, and going to the movies like normal.

I only have one regret: at the end of that long day, he and I said goodbye. We thought it was just for winter break, but it ended up being for good. And during the drive home, I realized, “Damn it—I forgot to tell him thank-you for everything. And that I love him like a brother.” I meant to say it. Because 2015 was our year, start to finish, and it was one of the best of my life.

I accept that this whole thing won’t ever quite be settled in my mind, but I also recognize that this is part of life and people have to deal with this all the time. It’s far too often that the world shoves two people in each others’ lives only to pull them back apart, and you’re left wondering why. I don’t have an answer, but the thing I do know is that my life is forever better for having had my best friend in it. And I wish I could have been half as good of a friend to him as he was to me. At the end of the day, none of this is anything I can change. But I can appreciate it, and I can take the best of it with me as I move forward.

For one last time dude: Godspeed, and thank you for being part of my life when I needed it the most. You will be missed.

Dear Society: Sheltering Teenagers Helps No One (Thoughts from a College Student)

It’s the oldest story in the world. One day you’re seventeen and planning for someday. And then quietly and without you ever really noticing, someday is today. And that someday is yesterday. And this is your life.”

 –  Nathan Scott

Six months! I would apologize, but this hasn’t even been my longest absence, so I’ll simply repeat my usual promise that I’ll never give up entirely on this blog. It might be a few more months before my next post, but there will always be one.

Today I wanted to discuss what it’s like to grow up as a teenager in today’s society. Why? Because as I approach the hilariously old age of 21, I’m looking back on my teenage years and realizing that, to put it nicely, there are some things seriously wrong with how kids are being raised, both by parents and their school systems.

How, you ask? Well, I should begin by saying I’ve grown up incredibly blessed with a plethora of good fortune. I have two happy and healthy parents who love me endlessly, my family lives comfortably, and I’ve been smart enough to get into college and survive as an engineering major (so far, anyway). A good bulk of teenagers reading this are hopefully lucky in similar senses. So why do I say we’re all getting screwed? Why have I, for years, been so fundamentally unhappy with how I transitioned from childhood to adulthood?

Picture this! Growing up as a teenager twenty or thirty years ago, life was different. Kids got jobs at 16 to maintain their shitty cars. As soon as they could drive, they roamed around and basically came and went from the house. They had to sweat a bit to make ends meet, but by the age of eighteen, they had gotten enough practice living as adults that they were ready to take off the training wheels.

(Or so I hear, anyway. I wasn’t exactly around thirty years ago).

These days—at least with how I was raised—growing up is completely different.

Here’s what inspired this post: today I was sitting in class trying to stay awake when I realized I didn’t have a single idea how to do taxes. TAXES. The only thing you have to do in this world apart from dropping dead.

Rant time: why the hell didn’t any teacher in high school bother to sit down us wide-eyed little 16- and 17-year old selves and say “here’s all the information you need about mortgages and loans and taxes”? Is the point of high school not to prepare kids for the real world? Why is it that I—and every other peer of mine—has reached their twenties without having been taught a single strategy for managing bank accounts or sketching out retirement plans?

BUT THANK THE LORD I KNOW THAT THE MITOCHONDRIA IS THE GODDAMN POWERHOUSE OF THE CELL.

All that being said, I’m not here to rant about being ignorant towards taxes, specifically. One YouTube video can (and will) fix that as soon as I finish this post. Instead, let’s dig deeper.

I earned my driver’s license a few days before senior year and had to wait 42 days before I was allowed to drive. “It’s not you we don’t trust; it’s everyone else.” When I was allowed to drive, it was only a few miles and for short periods of time. I wasn’t allowed to make the commute to my college (which is around 70 miles away) until my junior year at the University, and I also wasn’t allowed to own a car until that point.

And I know what you’re thinking! Hey, why didn’t you just buy your own crappy fixer-upper car with the money you had saved up from your high school job? I would have loved to! Except I wasn’t allowed to have a job in high school. Which, by the way, was uncannily common amongst my other friends as well. Why didn’t I get a job in college? Because I would need a car to get there.

Can you perhaps spot something wrong with this picture? By the time I stepped out of my house to move into my college dorm for the first time, I had still never had a job, never owned nor maintained a vehicle, never had any experience managing finances, and most importantly: I had never been allowed to make my own mistakes.

I’m most certainly not here to criticize how I was raised. I’m thankful every day for my impossibly amazing parents, and I realize that if my biggest problem is them loving me too much, I probably shouldn’t be ranting at all. But I’m going to, because these issues I’m describing are a) much more widespread than my own household, and b) way too important to not talk about.

Our society is screwing teenagers by coddling them. Parents and schools say “oh, we just don’t want you to have to worry about working, or maintaining a car, or being under too much pressure” but that’s the exact stuff that turns kids into adults, man! We have to grow up sometime, and in my opinion, parents and schools of the modern day are shoving fundamental skills aside because, “worry about that when you’re 18.”

In my opinion, when a kid hits 18, they should possess all the life skills needed to be out on their own paying rent, being able to get a job, dealing with crappy cars, and protecting themselves rather than letting others do it.

Now. Do I think it’s a travesty every time a parent sends their kid a care package? Of course not. I love how much my parents and I have stayed in touch and any time they want to help out (such as paying for me filling up the car or sending me pizza money) I’m sincerely grateful. But I wouldn’t blame them in the slightest if they didn’t, because it isn’t their job anymore. And more than anything, I wish I’d been put through the ringer at the age of 16 or 17. I wish I’d been able to own a crappy car that breaks down on me, or had to work at a menial job…hell, I just wish I’d been able to go to a football game without being forced to carry a rain poncho with me.

Because here’s the secret: now, every time I go outside and it looks the slightest bit like rain, I change into my shortest of sleeves and let that glorious downpour soak me to the bone. Why? Because I was never allowed to do that as a kid. At night when it’s freezing out, I’ll sometimes walk around in gym shorts and a t-shirt. Stupid? Yeah. Why do I do it? Because never once was I allowed to be stupid when I was growing up.

Parents—especially the amazing ones, like mine—are so driven to protect their kids from everything. But hardship, and mistakes, and pain…those things shape us to be stronger. And dealing with life experiences (such as jobs and cars) early on can help us teenagers learn how to overcome those challenges for when we’ve truly grown up.

And now here I am—finally filling out my own job applications, driving my own car, managing my own finances—and I couldn’t be happier. But I’ve had to spend a few years playing catch-up, and that was a sincere worry on my shoulders.

In short, to any parents with teenagers: I know how scary it can be letting your kids go, but it has to happen sooner or later. Just be mindful of when they’re really going to become adults, so you can make sure they’re ready to face the world when they step into it.

And high schools? If you’re going to make me sit through a class where I learn how to build a bridge out of popsicle sticks and craft glue, the least you could do is make sure I know what the fuck a FAFSA is.

Thoughts from an Introvert

“Telling an introvert to go to a party is like telling a saint to go to Hell.”

–  Criss Jami

Well, I vowed to do at least one post per month this school year, and here we are. Ten minutes until a new month and new year. Nothing like posting at the literal eleventh hour, eh?

I was originally going to make this post a “2014 in Review” type deal, but other than listing many things that happened this year—most of which wouldn’t particularly interest my readers—that wouldn’t be much of a post. Instead, I’d like to take this time to discuss an important topic which I don’t think gets spoken about nearly enough: introversion.

Introversion is officially defined as “the state of or tendency toward being wholly or predominantly concerned with and interested in one’s own mental life.” In other words, someone keeps to themselves. But many people assume this definition stops there. Usually, if we see a person who doesn’t like to socialize quite as much as the next guy, we say something like, “they’re such an introvert.”

I’ve been labeled as this for most of my life, and it’s technically correct. However, I never like telling people, “I’m an introvert” (though I referred to this in the title of this post, for the sake of clarity). I prefer to say, “I have introversion.” Why?

Because saying that someone is an introvert makes it sound as though this is nothing more than a description of their personality. I would have to disagree with this. Introversion isn’t just an adjective to define a social preference; it’s an entire way of thinking and perceiving the world. As someone who has introversion, I’d like to talk a bit about what it’s like.

To debunk the common misconception, no, being an introvert does not equate to being antisocial. I have quite a few friends, love them dearly, and get painfully bored if I go too long without seeing them. But the difference is more how I prefer to hang out with them.

I’m a college kid. Many college kids love turning up or being in a large group setting to meet new people. However, I detest large crowds, or any group of people greater than 10-15. I love hanging with my friends, but in quieter settings. Watching a movie together in our dorm. Going out to dinner somewhere. Taking a walk through the neighborhood. I love blasting music and dancing, but only if I’m by myself and can jam in my own private, embarrassing way.

In short, I’m particular about how and when I see my friends. I love social events, if they’re planned out well in advance, in a controlled setting. And after a social event, I generally have to “recharge” for a brief time before I’m comfortable going out again.

When I’m home from college, I’m usually in my room awake until at least two in the morning. Why? Because this is the only chunk of time I have where I can be alone and relax, or do some writing, without anyone bothering me for anything. This is also why I love having the house or dorm room to myself.

This attitude doesn’t equate to me hating people. I love people. Erm, most of them. Usually. Some of the time.

In all seriousness, I do love people, but after too much interaction with others, I start to get this little voice in the back of my head: “I wish everyone would go away. Shoo, pesky humans. Take me to a land where no one else exists to bother me, kind of like Will Smith’s setup in I Am Legend.”

That little voice is a bit of an asshole, huh?

There’s another misconception: all introverts are jerks. Not so. More like, we simply have a lower tolerance for interacting with others.

This goes hand in hand with the discomfort of interacting with strangers. When my home phone rings, I don’t answer unless I know the person. If someone is at the door and no one else is around to get it, I dread having to do so myself. And if I’m alone with someone I don’t know very well, I feel obligated to whistle, or shake my leg, or make small talk, just to keep them from feeling awkward.

Additionally, I work best on my own, which is why I love writing—no one else there telling me how to do it. This extends to my complete and absolute hatred of group projects.

But most of all, what defines introversion for me is other teenagers not really understanding my social drive. There have been countless times that my friends have lightly teased me about having no life, or never going out, or being boring. They’re like, “you’re in college, how can you not live it up?” And as fantastic as my friends are, there are only a handful of them who really understand that “being boring” is exactly what I’d prefer to do.

And now here we are tonight, on New Year’s Eve, and I’m alone in my room blogging. This is a poor example because I actually REALLY wanted to hang out with all of my friends tonight, but unfortunately almost all of my college friends live up near my college two hours away, and the rest are traveling. But, being by myself isn’t the worst thing, either.

For anyone else out there with introversion, I hope that reading this might help reassure you that your social preferences are perfectly acceptable and not at all abnormal. And for everyone else, I hope that reading this might help you better understand that introverts aren’t antisocial assholes…we just have a lower tolerance for humans.

Happy New year, everyone!

On Robin Williams’ Death, and Depression

“Boys, you must strive to find your own voice. Because the longer you wait to begin, the less likely you are to find it at all. Thoreau said, ‘Most men lead lives of quiet desperation.’ Don’t be resigned to that. Break out!”

–  Robin Williams, Dead Poets Society

 

I was hesitant to write about Robin Williams, because it seems like everyone in the world has already. However, being a teenager, I’m one of many people who grew up with some of Williams’ films, my personal favorites being Aladdin, Mrs. Doubtfire, Flubber, and even a re-watch of Hook several weeks ago.

I recently read something online that compared Robin Williams to that uncle who you don’t see very often, but always makes you laugh when you do. I agree with this in full.

The news of his passing has been all over social media for the past few days, and I could sit here and spout what everyone else has already said: how tragic this loss is, how our prayers are with his family, and most notably, how ironic that a man who made people so happy was so internally gloomy.

I think that’s perhaps the most heartbreaking part of all of this: an entire generation of people owes this man a million laughs, and that wasn’t enough to make him feel like he had a purpose in this world.

But once again, I’m repeating what countless others have already noted. So instead, I’d like to deviate from my usual light theme of this blog and talk for a minute about something serious: depression, and getting help for it.

I should say outright I’m not nearly the most qualified person to comment on this. I’m not a psychologist, and I’ve never been depressed personally. But I am a teenager, and every day of high school and even sometimes college, you look around and see the kids who are having a tougher time with the world than others.

What do you do? It’s not exactly social convention to run up to a total stranger and go, “Hi, talk to me about your problems.” There is an incredible emphasis in high school about minding your place, which I’ve always hated.

I have a “helping person” mentality. I briefly touched on this in a previous post. I am one of those people who feels an incredible urge to help others with their problems, and to be there for my friends no matter what. If someone complains about a bad day on Twitter (which, come on, is pretty much the reason Twitter exists), I’ll send them a couple of humor pics from iFunny to cheer them up. If someone texts me saying, “Hey I have a problem,” I’ll listen to them for as long as they need.

I don’t do this because I see myself as some saint, I do it because I think that’s how everyone should treat each other. No, I don’t want the world turned into a place of constantly outpoured emotions, and I don’t want to give people excuses to whine about the tiniest of inconveniences. But if someone needs, like, help, I think that every person, particularly teenagers, should be willing to listen to a friend in need.

And if you are that friend in need, then the best thing I can say is, look for someone who’s willing to listen. The world isn’t full of heartless people; at least, I’d hope not. I would hope that deep down, no one actually wants a tragedy like this one. It’s just that sometimes, people become too consumed—for want of a better term—with their own lives and busyness. And if you think that feeling alone equates to no one caring about you, just look at this awful event. Robin Williams felt alone. The man was a master of laughs who moved a generation, and he felt alone. If only he could see the outpouring of love and sorrow now that he’s gone.

What I’m trying to say is, to anyone who feels alone, don’t give up on the world. This place is full of good, caring people, and it shouldn’t take something as awful as suicide to remind everyone of that.

The world is a sadder place with Robin Williams gone, and I know many of us will miss him immensely. However, in accordance with the request of his wife, I would prefer to remember all the joy he brought people rather than the sadness created by his passing.

Rest in peace Mr. Williams, you’ll always be loved.

Facing Your Fears

“Do one thing every day that scares you.”

–  Eleanor Roosevelt

 

I am terrified of airplanes.

Like, flying is my number one fear of all time. There’s no good reason for that—it’s not like I have some traumatic childhood experience with air travel. In fact, I’ve flown once before, but I was too young to remember anything about it.

In about six hours, I’m going to be 40,000 feet up in the air. On an airplane.

This is confusing for me. I should be freaking out, biting my nails down to the nubs and quaking in my cheap ripoff Sperry’s. And perhaps I will be during the flight itself. But at the end of that flight is the Florida Keys, where I’ll be staying for the next week. Anyone in Boy Scouts is probably familiar with Sea Base, which is where several of my friends and I are headed.

I’m incredibly excited for this.

But, I have to fly on a stupid airplane.

I suppose that’s life, huh? Most people don’t conquer their fears by going out of their way to face them. It’s not like someone with arachnophobia is going to look for a spider nest and stick their hand in it. Likewise, I didn’t look for an airplane in which to stick my body. It’s a required step to travel to a very fun summer camp, and I’m not going to let a simple phobia keep me from that.

I think we all have that moment in life when we have to face our greatest fear, through sheer circumstance. Unless you have some obscure fear such as Anatidaephobia—which, in case you were wondering, is the fear that a duck is always watching you—you’re probably going to have to face that fear of heights or spiders at some point. The alternative to this is to miss out on a fun or important experience simply because you’re scared of something that goes along with it. In my humble opinion, letting fear dictate your decisions is a poor way to live.

But oh, this post doesn’t apply to me in the slightest, you blogging buffoon, some of you—including, I’m guessing, my best friend—utter at your screen. For there’s nothing specific that I’m afraid of.

I’ve heard this countless times.

I’m no psychologist, but I think everyone’s lying.

We all have a number one fear of something. Mine is flying, with bees coming in second and needles, third. Which means if I’m ever attacked by bees and have to be flown to a hospital where they’ll inject me with treatments, I’ll probably ask that you put me out of my misery.

I digress. What I’m trying to say in this last-minute, scattered post is, everyone is afraid of something, and you might as well face it sooner or later, because that’s the only way to conquer fear. You have to understand what you’re afraid of.

Of course, this all falls within reason. If you’re afraid of being crushed to death by a porta-potti, please for the love of God don’t search for the nearest porta-John and drop it upon your own head whilst screaming, “THE CRAZY BLOGGER TOLD ME TO!”

I don’t know if any of this post makes sense. It’s the middle of the night, I’m about to have the best and worst day of my life, and I’m a whole mix of emotions and Dunkin Donuts coffee right now. I’ll certainly post about my trip in detail when I get back.

But for now, wish me luck on that pesky airplane.