August 9,1990 started out as any other summer day for me, all of my eight years drawn up to embrace the full bounty that is Summer Vacation for children of elementary age. It is truly a magical time for the youth, as the days are inexplicably long; longer, even, than the scientifically accepted almanac of the Earth's rotation, thus possessing a quality akin to alternate reality; surely anyone remembering childhood can look back and not believe how fast our summers seem now, what with no school vacations from work and the many indoor employments that force us to pretend that flourescent lighting is an acceptable substitute for sunlight. I can't tell you how many times my boss came to my desk and turned on the light in the morning, when I was just basking in the early streaks of natural light before the day pressed down on my internal stressors. I find myself increasingly in an internal debate, listing the pros and cons of the outside jobs versus the desk jobs. Being in natural light is definitely on the pro list for the summertime. I think my ideal job would allow me to be on a farm or in an orchard for most of the summer....
Anyway, I wasn't thinking about all of that back when I got my first diary (with a lock and key!).
That summer I pledged to myself that this pink diary from the stationery store down the block would be my first serious and everlasting foray into the profession of writing. At its core, professing one's thoughts and experiences is rightly intertwined with philosophy, education and recording and journaling, so my younger self should be high-fiving me right now, as I have always strived to maintain these early roots. I wonder if my parents held a pen and paper in front of me as a baby to see if that was my path. I have taken many twists and turns since then, but in all its permutations, the equations still add up to what I am doing right now...
Now if only I can make some living wage off of all this!
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