Today is the first day of the rest of your life.
Where has the summer gone? They lock it inside a closet at night in the health club where I work. I've grown flabby. I work at a gym. Inside. I've started having panic attacks. I'm not sure why.
There are millions of people in the word who have no idea you exist. They don't give a shit what color your hair is or if you have roots the size of texas. They don't care how pale you are or what sheets you have in your college dorm room. And they don't give a flying fuck what your mother thinks. The only reason any of these people might ever even have one iota of knowledge to your whereabouts is if you get off your ass and do something fantastic.
Stop worrying about money. Stop worrying about what car you drive or where your going to college. Stop thinking about the kids you might not have with the man you might not be with in 10 years. Stop panicking about wether you'll be able to find a job when you graduate. For all the Universe knows you could be a fire performer living on a small island off the coast of asia by then. You could die. You could not die. Living in "Suburban America" means you have a chance of getting cancer or an intestinal disease. It also means you don't. Who The Fuck Knows. We sure don't. And I'm pretty sure none of the fortune tellers at Marie Laveau's House of Voodoo do either. Quit Worrying. Your grandmother says 10 Novenas every morning so you don't have to. Take that as a promise for health and sanity. But we can't promise too much else. Or that'd be cheating.
Today is the first day of the rest of your life. Right now. This second. In the middle of the night in a hotel in San Antonio, Texas, where you parents are snoring in the bed next to you.
You are made up of millions of particles and molecules. Matter. Magic Space Plasma. Just like everything else.
And just like everything else, you are breaking down second by second. Minute by minute your body loses a cell or sheds a layer. So make the most of it. If you wanna have pink hair, have pink hair. If you wanna drive a fucking hearse, drive a fucking hearse. Get tattooed. Get married. Move to Oslo. Become a lesbian. Start a business. Join a church. Have a baby. Colonize the moon with teacup schnauzer puppies. Just Fucking Do It.
Do Something Great.
Anything. Right Now.
Because today is the first day of the rest of your life. And who really cares what your mother's going to think? No One. Thats Who.
I am never going to reach a day sometime in 2022, sitting at the kitchen table, sipping my coffee, when I look up over my NY Times and think "Thats it! I've reached "The Rest Of My Life". Story over.
Not going to happen. Promise.
Because there will always be something more.
There will always be shoes to buy and bills to pay and art to create.
And no one really gives a fuck how much money you make or babies you have or republicans you voted for.
Because it doesn't matter in the long run.
So create something worth caring about.
Create something that will only happen once.
Preserve a second in history.
Make some people on the small coastal island of fire performers look up from their MacBooks and give a fuck.
If just for a second.
Because Today Is The First Day Of The Rest Of Your Life.
And Goddamnit. Its Awesome.