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For the Heart

A writer speaks…

What I’m about to write is a series of thought processes mostly influenced by binge-watching ‘A Series of Unfortunate Events’ and adopting Lemony Snicket’s peculiar narration devices to elaborate where I’m currently at in my writing journey, and where my journey is going, or so I hope.

I realize I haven’t written anything here except for a tailored selection of poetry.

What I’m about to write is a series of thought processes mostly influenced by binge-watching ‘A Series of Unfortunate Events’ and adopting Lemony Snicket’s peculiar narration devices to elaborate where I’m currently at in my writing journey, and where my journey is going, or so I hope.

Also, a recap.

As of February, I’ve left my job at a freight forwarding company as a Customs Broker. Or rather, I was let go.

To be let go is an expression which means, to relinquish one’s grip from your hand or other appendage. It could also mean to be relieved of one’s duties at a place of employment for numerous reasons. The latter of the meanings is the one I’m referring to.

After 8 years and 10 months of employment, and hours of sitting in front of a screen for the means of making profit to a multi-million dollar company of foreign origins, and mindlessly pushing buttons to release cargo at U.S. Customs, and finding less and less cause for jubilation at the end of the workweek, and after refusing to let go of a naive notion of becoming a writer, after all of this, I walked away from a traditional path.

Most paths in life are often thrusted upon you by fate. A carpenter may instill his son the virtues of carpentry, whether or not the son wishes to pursue a life of woodwork. Perhaps, he’s into dentistry, or deep-sea diving, or dwelling in caves in Northern India.

But sometimes, one has the slightest of chances, however slight, to evaluate and change the path you’re on for something seemingly more enjoyable.

It’s in these cases where one can refresh the determinant factors of success that often were thrusted upon us in the same manner as our career choices and areas of study may have been thrusted upon by our peers, parents, or other outside factors.

Maybe a roof over her head may not be a factor of success to, say, a pilot. Perhaps to her, more hours in the sky are a better determinant factor of happiness than the amount of dresses she has in her closet. Or, perhaps, you find greater satisfaction in discovering species of freshwater fish on the beaches of a Costa Rican fishing town and you don’t feel the need to purchase a new phone for the sake of owning one.

The bottom line is: it’s up to you.

Some times.

Now, to jump back into the topic of my journey, since February, I have been writing a novel and short stories, albeit with bursts of non-activity and reckless boredom.

Some days, the writing spreads its wings and flies in all directions out like an unkindness of ravens flapping with no regard in the sky.

Other times the words leak out like a leaky faucet dropping dews of bathwater into an empty porcelain tub.

Those times, my head is wrapped with guilt at not taking advantage of this second chance I’ve been bestowed, that isn’t always afforded to other, more hardworking, dreamers. Instead, my mind wanders and I find myself idly swiping at my screen on social media platforms and mind-numbing tasks on mobile games that bombard my pupils with more games to download and waste more time away.

Capricious thing this motivation.

This is, by no means, a letter to scold myself or anyone, for that matter. Nor is this a letter with the keys to some esoteric treasure chest with the secrets to success laying in wait for the first reader to decipher its cryptic meaning and profit off of its teachings.

All I’m saying is if I can get over the fact that 9 months in, I’m not where I thought I would be, all circumstances and global pandemics aside, and relent to write and share this with the world, then maybe it’s not so hard for you, the reader, to start over and

Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe not.

Hoping this letter served you in some way,

MM

“Our hearts used to beat as one. Now, only one of our hearts beat.”

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