NURTURE

Life is not easy. It requires focus within me to accomplish. I love writing. I could write about nothing, similar to what I’m doing right now. I want to write. Make a couple dollars from it, and it would be perfect. It’s not so easy, but nothing is.

That’s not meant to bring a sense of morbidity. In fact, the converse. I want to nurture my gifts this year. I believe I’ve kept up my gains, my skills and whatnot. Not enough, though. That’s being human, man. We can always do more. Easily. Well, there’s “easy” in another form again. I want to hold these gifts inside me, and take care of them. Blow up all of the acts of service it needs. Write when I feel the urge, not waiting until it’s diffused and watered down. Writing when it’s fresh. Still steaming. Hot, sweet coffee isn’t as pleasurable when left sat out for half an hour. Truth. In fact, fact.

Steady practice. Exercising. Sharpening skills as a blade I wield to protect me. That’s good. The more I write, the more good stuff comes through. Writing more will simply equal better outcomes. More growth. It’s..kinda easy. I don’t know how to set up some kind of blogging system without seeming corny. I’m better on the page than in person, thanks to a Bob’s Burgers reference. My voice limits me with how fast my noggin moves. A curse, I dare say. When I can document words, more often in digital pages than tree shavings, no shade, I conjure my “best work.”

I love my colorful pens and bullet journal to hold my documentations of meals with friends and depressive thoughts. I’ll filter a little melancholy in here, but the journals get dark-dark. It’s not bad to be vulnerable with audiences, but I gotta build a LITTLE facade at least. I don’t know how to look back on my past writings in journals and be proud. I kinda do. Most of the time, it’s cringeworthy. Not that it isn’t a sign of growth, and it doesn’t make it any more pleasant to wince at wrongfully arranged grammar and subpar thesaurus lifelines. You don’t have to replace every word, man. You’re scratching your identity.

I don’t know what I want. I know vague, romanticized to nauseating details of my life that I want. My film sanctuaries, my orange cats and relentless wanderlust sending me to foreign lands and consistent exposure to cultures I wish I had seen lifetimes ago. How will I get there? Fortunately and unfortunately: money. Dollars to dollars that will get me to these gag-reflex inducing lifestyle choices I crave. Tokyo Cafe walls, overflowing bookshelves and record collections, and nights of flushed cheeks and swaying with my significant other in a cramped yet aromatic kitchen.

Nurture. A word used (by me) to describe dear friendships, compassionate professors, and media that feeds my consciousness with good content. Not a lot of my friends, family, and auxiliary characters of my kickass life will be surprised when I pull this word out for “Morgan’s New Year’s Word.” Though a recent buzzword I use in numerous conversations, I want to pull this word apart this year, take in bit by bit what it may offer me, and remain attentive to achieving..ultimate nurturement. Yeah, let’s go with that.

I made this little ditty on Christmas Eve of 2022. My goal for this year is to nurture the gifts I hold, and I feel a substantial step towards that is leaking out of my comfort zone and getting my voice out there, hence this portfolio-blog-site amalgamation that this turns out to be. I'm enlivened beyond words on getting this thing started, and I'm even more pumped to see where they take me, and the people they choose to happen upon. Welcome to Mo’s Media!!!!!!