Although you are reading this on Christmas Day, (hopefully if my auto pre-posting worked…) I am writing it on Sunday afternoon. I am heading to family tomorrow for most of the week and am trying to get a few days worth of posts up before I leave.
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Recently I was talking with someone about the blog and it became even clearer that although photography and great images are an important source of inspiration for me, the main reason I continue with FH is as a creative outlet for my writing. Although I know most people pop into FH for the naked men, I still strive to write something even remotely meaningful now and then, especially at Christmas.
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I was struck by last nights Saturday Night Live, not only because it one of the most enjoyable in years, but because the music video’s (Do it on my Twin Bed )hilarity in part came out of how spot on truthful it was. As you read this, I will have just spent two nights sleeping, or trying to sleep in my old single bed. I am pretty thin, but I am over 6ft tall and attempting manoeuvre the bed, especially if a niece, nephew or pet jumps in, can be a struggle.
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My ‘old room’ isn’t actually my childhood room; my parents sold the house I grew up in when I was 17. I joined them briefly in their new home, but then was in and out mostly during summer break from University for much of my early twenties. I came back to live after graduation, but only for about 10 months until I moved out for good. That doesn’t mean the room doesn’t hold memories, it was the room I first had sex with a woman in, and the room I last had sex with a woman in (the same woman…). It was also the room whose four walls witnessed my official transformation into who I am today.
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The room holds the desk that used to hide my Playgirls, underneath the bottom drawer. The closet that I used to hide my (self)…. alcohol and weed in. The floor than handled all my pacing before many big events. The bed is, and always was a bit uncomfortable, I never quite fit in it correctly but never really understood why until I moved out and got a bed of my own. As I look forward to a few days in that room, and in that bed.... I am struck by how lucky I am to be going home to a place that isn’t all together that comfortable, and a room that doesn’t fit who I now have become in my thirties.
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I am not sure I could truly appreciate the home I have created for myself, the friends I have acquired and the life I have built without occasionally going back home to be reminded about what was. Those experiences helped form who I am today, the good, the bad and the wonderful. Although some of the memories are painful and most I don’t want to relive on a regular basis, my Christmas trips home help remind me why some of the shit I deal with in May, July and September is really not all that bad.
I hope you all have a Merry Christmas and wish you all just a few uncomfortable moments revisiting your past. They really can help you appreciate your present and ensure that they are not repeated too too many times in the future.
Thanks to Frisky Frolic for the images!
Recently I was talking with someone about the blog and it became even clearer that although photography and great images are an important source of inspiration for me, the main reason I continue with FH is as a creative outlet for my writing. Although I know most people pop into FH for the naked men, I still strive to write something even remotely meaningful now and then, especially at Christmas.
I was struck by last nights Saturday Night Live, not only because it one of the most enjoyable in years, but because the music video’s (Do it on my Twin Bed )hilarity in part came out of how spot on truthful it was. As you read this, I will have just spent two nights sleeping, or trying to sleep in my old single bed. I am pretty thin, but I am over 6ft tall and attempting manoeuvre the bed, especially if a niece, nephew or pet jumps in, can be a struggle.
My ‘old room’ isn’t actually my childhood room; my parents sold the house I grew up in when I was 17. I joined them briefly in their new home, but then was in and out mostly during summer break from University for much of my early twenties. I came back to live after graduation, but only for about 10 months until I moved out for good. That doesn’t mean the room doesn’t hold memories, it was the room I first had sex with a woman in, and the room I last had sex with a woman in (the same woman…). It was also the room whose four walls witnessed my official transformation into who I am today.
The room holds the desk that used to hide my Playgirls, underneath the bottom drawer. The closet that I used to hide my (self)…. alcohol and weed in. The floor than handled all my pacing before many big events. The bed is, and always was a bit uncomfortable, I never quite fit in it correctly but never really understood why until I moved out and got a bed of my own. As I look forward to a few days in that room, and in that bed.... I am struck by how lucky I am to be going home to a place that isn’t all together that comfortable, and a room that doesn’t fit who I now have become in my thirties.
I am not sure I could truly appreciate the home I have created for myself, the friends I have acquired and the life I have built without occasionally going back home to be reminded about what was. Those experiences helped form who I am today, the good, the bad and the wonderful. Although some of the memories are painful and most I don’t want to relive on a regular basis, my Christmas trips home help remind me why some of the shit I deal with in May, July and September is really not all that bad.
I hope you all have a Merry Christmas and wish you all just a few uncomfortable moments revisiting your past. They really can help you appreciate your present and ensure that they are not repeated too too many times in the future.
Thanks to Frisky Frolic for the images!