My Wonderland?

My wallet was stolen on the subway on Sunday, which I feel is the city's way of finally opening it's arms to me and allowing me to experience every part of it. And I'm soaking it all in.

That's not how I felt on Sunday though.

I seriously have been in one of those moods lately where everything is out to get me, even though it really might not be. It's not that I have trouble remembering the good things in life - it's that I literally feel like I can't. But now I'm getting over it. I'm starting to remember the good things. And here it is, sports fans, the grand conclusion from the awful few days that resulted from the wallet thievery: Something a lot worse needed to happen to me, so I could remember that it's not that I couldn't see the good things - it's that I refused to.

So over the past four days, I've compiled a short, simple list of the good things that happened only since the incident, so I could remind myself how often they come into my life. Here's what I got so far: rhino, pizza with extra cheese, fudge coated Oreos, having somewhere to go when I woke up scared, being described as "kick ass," long distance pillow hugs, in-person Texan hugs, and my mom.

My blog is very self-centered and I feel very involved in myself when I'm writing it, but isn't that actually the point of it? I write to share what I'm thinking. I write to have a voice. Really, I write mostly for myself. I create my art for myself. And something inside tells me that all artists are a bit selfish. I mean, you have to do it for yourself. If you always do it for other people, you'll never feel good enough. You'll absolutely never measure up. If there's no part of you doing it for yourself, you'll never feel pride. Excessive pride is a sin, but deserved pride - I think that's allowed. I'll track my growth through this blog. One day, when I'm forty, I'll look back on it and think "Wow, I was lame." Hopefully by then I can rewrite some of this stuff into a book of memoirs.

So overall, I'd say thanks, New York, for being one of my Wonderlands. And thanks, if you read this or read my blog at all, for traveling for a bit into my nonsensical world as a struggle to figure it all out. And I welcome you to share your journey with me as well. After all, I hate it when it's all about me. Especially since about half the time, I have no idea what's going on.

"I wonder if I've been changed in the night? Let me think. Was I the same when I got up this morning? I almost think I can remember feeling a little different. But if I'm not the same, the next question is 'Who in the world am I?' Ah, that's the great puzzle!"