When I was in high school, I co-founded a literary magazine. I named it and helped run it for 1 1/2 years until I graduated. I promptly forgot about it with the whirlwind of college and a fiancee and new writing ambitions.
Ten or so years later, I was visiting the old hometown with a high school friend. For some reason, we ended up at the high school. Huge old brick thing on the bluff of a hill, overlooking the bucolic river. School was out, but the administrators were still in. We meandered into the main office and asked about our old literary magazine. Was it still around? Indeed it still was! And even more, for their 10 year anniversary issue, someone had found one an original issue and "remixed" it. They had one we could look at. Well, I hated to admit it, it was kinda bad, but kudos for the attempt. I was impressed it lived on.
And here this morning, for some reason I'm thinking about this. Realizing that another 10 years have gone by and the photocopied issues I have packed with my journals are well over 20 years old now.
Note: when I searched for the literary magazine, the only reference I could find was in this obituary.
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Writing this. Reflecting on my life. I'm the one who never went back to the high school reunions. I did my time and walked my own path, never looking back. Even on my worst day, when I stress about future income and focus only on the things I have not done yet, it's better than if I had stayed in that small town, raised a family, not followed my dreams, or worse yet, not had any dreams to follow. Or even worse still, a requiem for a dream.
Here I am, sitting in my living room, with all my favorite things - my books, family heirlooms, music, my dog, coffee on my couch, doing what I love, writing. Breathing deep. Calm all around me. I feel a sense a momentary satisfaction. And deep gratitude for myself. To take these steps, to create my own path. To care to be the best at only one thing - at being myself.
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