Phoenix

In high school, I edited a newspaper called The Phoenix. This word is the icon of rising from the ashes. I have been through a lot of shit in my life. A dysfunctional childhood in an alcoholic family, the loss of two siblings in the last six years to suicide and drug overdose, and a bunch of other things I don’t even discuss. I don’t talk about these things to play the victim, but simply to say that I choose not to. I have reached a point in my life where it is time to move on from the wounds of the past, some recent and quite painful, and turn to the future.

I have a museum to open and it includes a little candlemaking shop and I am excited about it. I am not sure how well I can handle everything that’s on my plate, but I am going to do it. I need help, I will ask for it where I can, and I will work it out. All my past mistakes and failures and pain have led me to this little moment where I am going to walk up the steps of this little historic brick building with a key, rising like that phoenix from the ashes of a life filled with pain and I am going to walk through that door with my head up and do my very best to make the dream of an international beachcombing museum with my little candlemaking shop in the back come to life. And for once believe in myself, no matter who else is believing in me too, that I can make it happen.

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