Life in New York never really changed much; routines were a part of life, especially during the week. I don't remember much about my school there, or what I did during the daily commutes, but I do remember what I would do every single day...over and over and over again for at least two years: Wake up at 5 o'clock in the morning, pour a gratuitously large bowl of cereal, determine the proper cereal-to-milk-ratio, then watch Your Regularly Scheduled Program of Family Matters, a personal favorite. Most kids my age awoke around 7 o'clock, seeing as school didn't start until 8, but I enjoyed sneaking down the stairs and tip-toeing across the obnoxiously loud hardwood kitchen floor. The sense of waking up before everyone else incited some amateur adrenaline - a sense of petty accomplishment. Obviously, over time, these habits went away (I've reciprocated my sleeping schedule almost entirely), but for whatever reason, I've cherished, in some crazy, minute way, that I was able to rise so early and carry that much energy throughout the day. And even then, as I helplessly felt myself become more and more of a late-night person, I realized that many things, on numerous scales and levels can change for the better or the worse. For me, it has to do entirely with perspective.
In the Summer of 2009, after the hardest hit of the economic recession, my dad was met with an incredible socioeconomic decision: he could either leave his somewhat-executive job and search for another in New York's already-crumbling economy or move out to Wisconsin, where his current job would be waiting for him. For months, my sisters and I were very reluctant at the idea: moving to an entirely foreign area of the country to us, having to adjust to a slew of new friends. None of it sounded beyond a burden, but I grew to realize that a change of scenery might not have been the worst thing in the world.
Well, soon enough, we did move in September of 2009. Suddenly, every thing I disdained or disliked seemed so petty: the fight between Jeff, Arden and me, waking up early, redundant commutes to and from school. It all seemed so distant, and as the exit for Pewaukee grew larger and larger, an entire lifestyle had shriveled and disappeared in the blink of an eye.
Christian- all of your memoirs were beyond beautiful, and in your second one, the way you described what had happened was so inspiring and I got so into the story that I honestly teared up a bit, as weird as that sounds....
ReplyDeleteAnyways, you have a defined strength of your writing tone and ability to really paint a picture of what's going on instead of flat out telling the reader what is happening. I think you showed this really well in your second and third memoirs.
The only thing I think you could touch on a little more before turning in your final memoir would be to add a little more to your fourth edition. I think it could be missing some in the plot, so try to add some more of that if you could! But honestly, you did a truly amazing job in the entirety of your memoirs.