With Apologies to 7-year-old Me

The first day of school with 7-year-old me in the middle, trying to rock the Catholic school uniform shorts. This happens to be my mother's favorite picture of her oldest children.

I am a writer for a mid-size newspaper in my hometown. It’s a chapter in my life which has been mostly enjoyable, but has left me with a great deal of time to reflect upon what has lead up to this point.

In doing this, I have also tried to take some time to do a little writing for myself, something I will enjoy doing when not having to stare at the computer screen at work. It’s been rather difficult, especially as I force myself out of the mindset of “reporter” to “creative writer.”

So in doing this, I have also taken more than my fair share of time updating a Facebook account, which has become both a tool for keeping in touch with friends from college I do not speak to on a regular basis and amusing myself by coming out with outlandish statements, some I swear are true.

However, it has recently occurred to me in looking at the content that I post ­and in relation, to the life adult-me leads, that my 7-year-old self would be utterly embarrassed and ashamed, really, that this is who he grows up to be.

So as a favor, I will go about listing those ways I have failed him. Perhaps at the end of this social experiment I will have made changes to allow this younger version of me some relief, or perhaps a TV deal, whichever comes first.