by Shelt Garner
I hate to inform you that I’m no longer young. As such, even if I get what I want, which is to become a successful novelist / screenwriter / photographer and I turn into one of those insufferable wealthy liberals who can afford Blue Apron meals — I will never get to enjoy my youth in New York City or LA.
The only way I can console myself is by accepting that I did get to have some sort of youthful fun in Seoul a long time ago. That was pretty cool. But I really long to live in either NYC or LA.
I visit NYC every once in a while and I love it. I love it because of its energy and how much it reminds me of Seoul. In Seoul, however, people won’t talk to you because they can’t speak English while in NYC they won’t talk to you because they are too busy and they don’t care.
I think if I ever get a little extra money that my best shot is to go to LA because I’m a good enough schmoozer that I could probably talk myself into a three picture deal just by getting drunk and having a very interesting conversation with a producer.
But there comes a moment when I have to measure those expectations some. Unless I win the fucking lottery — which I suppose is possible — any success I have from this point on will be framed by my age.
I will be an “old person” who “came out of the blue” to be successful. But I can’t help that I’m a late bloomer and always have been. That’s just my lot in life. One thing I do know, however, is that I still have one last hattrick in me. I believe with all my heart that the best is yet to come.
I’m going to surprise a lot of people who think I’m a loser, or a failure or just another Internet crank. I’m going to be bonified, as they say.
While there’s life, there’s hope.