I’ve been to Paris...

California.

I’ve seen Paul McCartney live twice.

I have cried both times.

I’ve walked right into my dad’s jokes

and right into opportunities

and right into poles.

I’ve learned not to question schizophrenic homeless people, but I’ve learned to question common wisdom.

I’ve come through for myself 

and my friends 

and my parents 

and my dogs.

I’ve also let myself down a time or two.

I’ve read David Sedaris until 3am.

I’ve shot zombies until 

3am.

I’ve realized that my parents are much wiser than I am.

I’ve listened to Ted Talks

about feminism

and pointillism

and cartoons.

I’ve rented a wet suit

and a kayak

and a paddle board

and a llama.

I’ve enjoyed having an old car I can park anywhere without fear of getting robbed.

I’ve enjoyed driving my dad’s sports car.

I’ve been impressed by my generation’s creativity 

and depressed by my generation’s apathy.

I’ve stepped back and realized how

lucky I am.

I’ve stepped back and realized how little sense so much makes.

I’ve tried to make sense of it all only to have it make less sense.

I’ve realized I’m a devout agnostic

and a devout 

omnivore.

I’ve encouraged my dad to eat more fruit.

I’ve been happy when he listened to me.

I’ve been frustrated when he gave me an avocado for lunch.

I’ve listened to The Who and Bowie and The Zombies more than I have listened to anything produced after 1980.

I’ve developed a posthumous 

crush on Octavius Caesar.

I’ve encouraged my mom not to be so superstitious about the color red.

I’ve sometimes secretly secretly decided against wearing red sweaters for the same reason.

I’ve experienced very little of the world.

But I’ve been in several different Chilis.  

I try to support independent business. 

But I really like Starbucks.

I shop at Urban Outfitters

even though I don’t agree with their politics

because sometimes I sell out.

I eat my yogurt with a fork just because I like the challenge.

I always think things are

getting better

even if there not.

I’ve always have had a cynical internal monologue.

I’ve always made weird faces in public.

I’ve been cautiously impulsive.

I drive very reasonably

but DMV wrote under the notes section on my license test that I drive too fast.

I’m proud of that.

That someone would think I am the kind of person who drives too fast.

Because I’m not.

I’m the kind of person who feels guilty for testing grapes at the supermarket.

I’m the kind of person that obeys  street signs completely.

I’m the kind of person who always locks the front door

and then checks again to make sure its locked.

I’ve apologized too much.

I’ve then apologized more.

I have a life-size cardboard cutout of Gene Wilder.

I’ve read Gene Wilder’s autobiography and seen Young Frankenstein more than two dozen times.

I’ve watched every episode of 30 Rock more than four times.

I’ve campaigned for Obama.

I’ve made movies that have made me happy. 

I am relentlessly hopeful. 

I believe one day I will go to 

Paris...       Texas.