Some days I wake up feeling like the ocean. A consistent, reliable color. When you look to the bottom of the ocean it’s always calm. It’s always consistent.
The ocean is the part of me that you know. The me that’s here for the world to see. The “successful” guy, whatever that means. The confident writer. The good son. The best friend. The person the world wants me to show up as most of the time. Just up until the point they don’t—mostly when it’s convenient for them, not for me.
Other days, I wake up feeling like the sky. A constant evolution in color. There’s nothing really consistent about the sky. Yes, it’s different depending on location. A sunny LA might mean a gloomy San Francisco, but tomorrow, in that same location, the sky is likely to change. Actually, it’s likely to change at moment's notice. That doesn’t happen to the ocean. The sky is tumultuous, evolving, and something that you can never quite peg. As many would suggest, not even the weatherman.
The sky is the part of me that you don’t know. The me that only some of you have met…
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