The Gift of Giving

Happiness is a choice. Take it from someone who lives with depression that happiness is a choice. It might not be an easy choice, but it is one, nonetheless.

We, as a species, have developed strange concepts of what will bring us joy. We think that the more things we obtain, the more content with our lives we will be. Yet, people who's lives are consumed with the collection of things (I'm referencing hoarders) are some of the most miserable and dissatisfied people you will know. We assume that he who dies with the most toys wins; when that could not be further from the truth. It all lies in the experiences we have in the brief span that we spend on this planet - and the people we spend it with.

It truly is as simple as that.

This particular musing is sparked with the fact that I'm once again working retail during the holiday season. Work is rather chaotic at times and people collectively have much shorter fuses than they usually do. With Christmas being at the end of this week, there is an air of complete desperation in everyone that you come in contact with. Humans generally don't handle the rapid end of deadlines well and this is a big one. Yet, it's all in the pursuit of making others happy. Which, you would think would bring us joy in the act of giving; but we place so much importance on the items that we are acquiring that we forget about the whole reason of why we are doing it.

I've discovered that the older I get (and, really, I'm not that old), the less importance I have on acquiring things. Partially it has to do with how much I have moved in my adult life; but mainly it's because I have discovered that I get far more pleasure being with people than I do acquiring things. I'm filling my life with experiences, not stuff. And I am much more content in my life this way.

Something else that brings me joy is doing things for others. Taking care of people and their happiness. I am giving, sometimes to a fault, because I know exactly what it is like to go without. To be short changed by circumstances. So, if I'm in a place where I can help others, I will. I get fulfillment out of building others up, not tearing them down. And knowing that I gave what I could to ensure that their needs have been met.

Which is also why I treasure most those who do the same for me. Life is all about balance; so if I'm giving my all and getting nothing in return, I burn out and become resentful. As the saying goes, you cannot pour from an empty bucket.

Each person's journey is unique to themselves; as is what brings them the most satisfaction in life. Yet, collectively, when we reach our end, the only thing that matters most to ourselves (and those that we know), is how we treat one another. People think of their loved ones, not their bank accounts, on their death beds. They think of the things they wish they had done - not the things they wish they had bought.

So keep that in mind as the holiday season draws to a close. The one thing that your loved ones what most of is you.

Drawing To A Close

The beautiful thing about the past is that we can move forward from it. We can use the lessons that our mistakes teach us as a stepping stone to a better future. And we can use the pain of previous events to allow us to grow in full new directions.

As I'm writing this, it is almost three in the morning of December 13th. It is 12 days until Christmas and 18 days until New Year's Eve. Which means that 2015 is rapidly drawing to a close. This, as I have spoken about many times previously, has been a drastically difficult year for me. Health wise. Occupation wise. Relationship (both with friends and family) wise. Financial wise. I have been reminded of my own mortality. I have been shown time and time again that nothing is permanent. I have learned that not every opportunity that seems to be impeccable on paper is meant to be. But with every tribulation and trial, there has been room for me to grow and mature. I'm not as wise as I previously thought I was, but I do know that I am wiser than I previously have been. And, while I have suffered much, I have also developed equally so.

A very recent development with me is that I am now once again speaking with someone that I care deeply about. I won't go into details, but there was an incident last year in which I had my feelings hurt; and in turn, I hurt hers. She and I haven't spoken since; until very recently. And, while she hasn't outwardly said it, I know that she no longer trusts me. She has every right not to. And I know that the only way I can ever gain that trust back is to slowly rebuild it. There is also a massive body of water separating us now; which is honestly for the best. I cannot see her with any sort of frequency any more. There will be full weeks where we will not meet. Which is a polar opposite from before, when I would see her at least once a week. It also means that when I do see her, it's because I have traveled hours out of my way just to see her. Even if it is for only five minutes at a time.

I am an entirely different person than I was this time last year. Living in the shadowed wasteland of the city you have considered to be your home town does something to you. The place where you have grown most of your roots is rapidly rotting to the core. I spent much, if not all of last year in a constant shroud of deep-seated depression. The same goes for this year. In fact, it wasn't until I finally fully transitioned over here that the veil of suffering began to lift. Sure, I have had some setbacks (to put it mildly) since moving here; but I am overall significantly more happy than I have been in some time. More content with how things are. It helps also that I am back in the bookstore environment and working with an amazing team. I'm slowly beginning to make friends over here, as well. That alone has been more difficult; since free time has now become a premium.

There is another change that is happening. One of my best friends has been posting Buddhist stories and proverbs. The main focus of them is accepting circumstances just as they are. We human (and I am most definitely guilty of this) drive ourselves mad trying to find the "meaning of life" and all the events that happen within it. Yet, some times, things just are the way they are. Some things happen and we are not meant to know the meaning of them; if there is any at all. So, the teachings coupled with the slower pace of life and I am finally starting to find the calm I need. The serenity of the ordinary. I can actually be in the moment now and embrace it for what it is. And I am fully beginning to understand "Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself."

I do not know what 2016 has in store for me - but I'm okay with that. I do know that it will be a year of writing. I have this year's NaNoWriMo project that I'm going to actually turn into a novel. The same goes for last year's NaNoWriMo project. I'm also going to be outlining and beginning a young adult fantasy series. Seven books in that is the goal. And, before the closure of next year, I will have my memoir not only written, but hopefully published. That particular project I will be pulling much from this blog; as well as the previous major blog that I have written. Plus other topics that I have yet to touch on. I am also hoping to do some traveling next year. It has been far too long and my wanderlust gnaws at me daily.

In closing, I have one thing I wish my readers to do: let go. Life is too short for grudges. Life is too short to stay chained to the past. Life is too short to limit yourself to conceived notions of perfection. Let go and start living. Because none of us truly know how much time we actually have left.

Wet.

So, the other night I rode in the back of a cop car. And I couldn't have been happier about it.

Let me explain.

It has been raining pretty much non-stop this month. Now, since it's December and this is the Pacific Northwest, that really shouldn't surprise any one. But we had a warm and dry winter last year; follow by a hot and dry summer. 2015 was one of the driest years on record, so all of this precipitation that we've been getting as of late is desperately needed. The flip side of all this is that the ground has been so parched that it's having a hard time retaining all the water that's being dumped on it. Trees are falling as well, due to the sudden over saturation of the soil.

I personally do not own a car. They're bloody expensive and need constant upkeep.  And, to be frank, I don't make enough to own one. So there's that. Normally, the metro system is pretty extensive; but now that I'm living in Kitsap County, I'm discovering just how limited it is over here. With all the faults of King and Pierce County's metro systems, you can still rely on them to get you from point A to point B at pretty much any time, day or night. That is not the case over here. By any means. Which brings me to the story at hand.

The metro over here doesn't run on Sundays. At all. Neither the buses or the foot ferry. It's as if they think that people only travel six days a week. Any way, so this particular Sunday, the weather is being particularly nasty. The power went out for about ten minutes; and that was me prior to going to work. My roommate was able to drop me off pretty close to work, but I still had to walk about seven miles from where he dropped me off to where I work. Which, actually, turned out to be serendipitous; as I was able to help out an elderly man who had gotten a flat on the side of the road because of this. The downside is that it was sprinkling when I began the journey, and full blown pouring well into the trek north. And, because I had to rush out the door, I neglected to grab an umbrella on the way out the door.

So, I was pretty damp by the time I got to work, but I was able to get a hot tea before starting, so the combined hot tea and hot store allowed me to dry quickly. I had previously arranged a ride home with my roommate, so I wasn't that worried about the weather. A non-issue. Since I was closing, I knew that I couldn't get a ride home with any of my co-workers (the ones working that night don't live anywhere close to me). And, due to the fact that I have a new phone and number, he was pretty much my only option for a dry way home.

As I was getting off, I noticed that I had a missed call from him. I called him back and he told me that he wouldn't be able to pick me up, due to his son already being asleep and he wouldn't be able to pick me up, after all. Now, as I had just gotten a new phone and had a rather small check, a taxi was not an option. Uber and Lyft are less expensive, but do not serve Kitsap. At all. A coworker of mine lives not far from the mall (I'm alone at this point) and she was one of the few numbers I had in my phone, so I called her. Unfortunately, her son was also asleep. Which meant I was out of options. Which meant that I now facing the reality of walking 20 miles in the torrential rain and steady winds. 20 miles. It's already been dark for hours and the deluge was not going to be letting up any time soon. I, in full honesty, was starting to panic. Seven miles was pretty miserable in and of itself. I was now facing walking almost three times that length in even more severe weather and with significantly less visibility.

Now, before I continue, let me clear something up. It wasn't the distance that had to travel that bothered me. I've done 20 miles many times before. I've also had to walk in worse conditions. There was the blizzard back in... 2008 (I think. Or 2009. I can't remember which) that I walked a couple miles in. And I walked many a time in the heat and humidity of Texas summers. The "issue" (if you will) I was having was that the weather was not only unrelenting, it was also affecting visibility. There also isn't much as far as cover for most of trip. At least ten miles of it being on the freeway...

I stepped out from where I was taking shelter, and was soaked almost immediately. I haven't even begun my trek and I was already wet. Livid with my situation, I posted on Facebook my circumstances, and then bit the bullet and started walking. I was barely out of the parking lot and drenched. The coat I was wearing is normally really good with rain, but with the sheer volume of water cascading from the sky, it couldn't keep me dry. The rain as it beat against my hood sounded like the rain drumming the roof of a tent. The wind was not relenting; but neither was I. As utterly mad as I was; I had no other way of getting home than my own two feet.

About a mile down the road, I get a phone call. I ducked under a tree to answer it and discovered that it was my mom. She saw my post on Facebook and was extremely worried about me. I told her what was going on; and she recommended that I call 911 and see if they could help me at all. Which was something that hadn't even occurred to me. I told her I would call them and had to hang up, due to the fact that even though I was under a tree, I was still getting saturated.

I continued my journey and I was able to make it another two miles before finding shelter in the doorway of a cafe. My mom had been trying to reach me to see if I had made the call, so I called her back to let her know I was okay and hadn't been able to dial 911 yet. By now, my phone was at 1% battery, so I hung up and made the call. As soon as the operator answered, I let her know it was a non-emergency and proceeded to tell her my plight. She informed me that they normally don't do things like this (due to being understaffed), but she would put it out there and let me know that I may be getting a call from the Sheriff's office. I told her that my phone was at 1% and she let me know she was putting it out there right away. I hung up; and about five minutes later, I get a call from an unknown number. I answered and it was indeed one of the sheriffs. He also reiterated that they don't normally do anything like this; but he was five minutes away and was willing to help me this one time.

Relief passed over me as I hung up. I called my mom to let her know and she was deeply relieved. I had to hang up, in case they called me again; and just after ending the call, my phone died.

The thunder started to roll at that point and it started to rain even harder. Ten minutes passed and a cop car came rolling up to me. He got out and had to pat me down before letting me in the vehicle. Asked me some preliminary questions and then he let me in. He gave me a brief lecture about how they never do anything like this because they're short handed. We made some small talk, as well. The trip still took about 25 minutes and when he let me out, I shook his hand.

So, my hat is off to the Kitsap County Sheriff's office. They truly go above and beyond. And in full honesty, the only people I was angry at this entire time was those who are in charge of the Kitsap County Metro service. This situation could have been completely avoided if they actually made their service accessible.

Oh, and one last thing: as of this writing, my boots are still soaked through...

The Giving of Thanks

I'm going to open up this blog with two parables. The first is Buddhist, the second Christian. Before you flip out (or don't), fully read them. Soak them in and the underlying message that they tell. And, since Thanksgiving is tomorrow here in the States, I thought it would be most fitting if the two parables (and the subsequent post following them) be about gratitude and being thankful.

Here is the first:

"An honor student, frustrated with his life and with school, worried about what tomorrow may bring, approached his teacher asking for some guidance.

“The story goes,” says the teacher in response to his students request for help, “That a Buddhist Monk was walking through the mountains one day. Then, out of nowhere, a tiger appears, chasing the monk towards the edge of a cliff. The monk, in his quest to escape the tiger, runs to the edge of the cliff and climbs over the side, where he sees five other tigers 15 feet below him, waiting to eat him.

So the monk is just hanging there, holding on to a vine on the side of the cliff, waiting there for the little chance he has to escape or for his imminent demise. Then, as the monk hangs there, exploring his options, he turns to the left and sees a strawberry.

He smiles, “Wow what a magnificent strawberry!” he says to himself. So, he picks it and he eats it.

The student waited for his teacher to continue but it was clear that the teacher was done with the story. “That’s it? That is it the story? The monk is about to be eaten by tigers so he reaches out to pick and eat a strawberry?” the student exclaimed.

“What’s the point?” he added.

The teacher replied, “The lesson is to know and embrace the experience of being alive. You must be alive every second you are alive.”

The student responded, “But teacher, everyone is alive when they are alive.”

“No,” said the teacher. “It’s the experience of being alive in each moment, in each experience, good and bad. We must be alive every second we are alive and not simply exist and live out our days.”

The student, confused, questioned his teacher, asking, “But everyone alive is alive, aren’t they?” he insisted.

“No. Look at you now,” explained the teacher. “You are running around being chased by tigers, consumed with your thoughts of how it could be better, how you could be better if only things were different. Yet, you have shared with me over the past year several difficult situations, in addition to the circumstances that I have observed, how you were about to be eaten by tigers and how you have been saved in each situation. You can’t be alive if you are living in fear and if you’re living in fear you can’t see and experience life; the magnificence of your life that is right in front of you in each moment.”

The teacher asked, “Are you running around, grinning over the feeling of being the luckiest, most fortunate and appreciative person in the world because of what IS  present in your life today, or are you consumed with fear, what you DON’T have in your life or what may possibly happen some time in the future?”

The student thought for a moment, looked up at his teacher, smiled, and continued on with his day…"

Here is the second parable:

Jesus continued: “There was a man who had two sons. The younger one said to his father, ‘Father, give me my share of the estate.’ So he divided his property between them.

“Not long after that, the younger son got together all he had, set off for a distant country and there squandered his wealth in wild living.  After he had spent everything, there was a severe famine in that whole country, and he began to be in need.  So he went and hired himself out to a citizen of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed pigs.  He longed to fill his stomach with the pods that the pigs were eating, but no one gave him anything.

 “When he came to his senses, he said, ‘How many of my father’s hired servants have food to spare, and here I am starving to death!  I will set out and go back to my father and say to him: Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you.  I am no longer worthy to be called your son; make me like one of your hired servants.’  So he got up and went to his father.

“But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him.

 “The son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’

 “But the father said to his servants, ‘Quick! Bring the best robe and put it on him. Put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet.  Bring the fattened calf and kill it. Let’s have a feast and celebrate.  For this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.’ So they began to celebrate.

“Meanwhile, the older son was in the field. When he came near the house, he heard music and dancing.  So he called one of the servants and asked him what was going on.27 ‘Your brother has come,’ he replied, ‘and your father has killed the fattened calf because he has him back safe and sound.’

 “The older brother became angry and refused to go in. So his father went out and pleaded with him.  But he answered his father, ‘Look! All these years I’ve been slaving for you and never disobeyed your orders. Yet you never gave me even a young goat so I could celebrate with my friends.  But when this son of yours who has squandered your property with prostitutes comes home, you kill the fattened calf for him!’

“‘My son,’ the father said, ‘you are always with me, and everything I have is yours.  But we had to celebrate and be glad, because this brother of yours was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.’”

 Both parables have three characters. The first has the teacher, the student, and the monk. The second has a father and his two sons. Both parables have extreme conditions, which lead to serendipitous outcomes. The first has the monk finding a delectable strawberry. The second has the younger son coming to his senses and returning home. And both parables have a character who does not understand the series of events and experiences frustration. The first is the student and the second is the older son who stayed behind.

Life, whether you are born as a rich child in a castle or a poor child in a hut, is a difficult journey and rarely gives us the "answers" that we demand from it. Events, both good and bad, unfold that defy all concept of what we consider to have reason. They say that hindsight has 20/20 vision; but that isn't always the case, either. Yet, when we do have the luxury of hindsight and we see the pieces that have unfolded into the path we are on now, we should give thanks. 

The true spirit and meaning of Thanksgiving is not about feasting on turkey; any more than the true spirit and meaning of Christmas is about giving gifts. The true spirit and meaning of Thanksgiving is about being grateful for what we have and what we have overcome. Myself, for example, I have overcome being let go from a company that I loved, friendships ending, a cancer scare, and a brief bit of homelessness. In just this year alone. But I am grateful for the job that I have now and the team that I work with, the friendships I still have, seeing my sister and her family (which is a rare treat) this summer, and the fact that I have a roof over my head and food to eat. This year has not been the easiest, but I have survived it and more importantly learned from it. With each storm is a lesson to be learned, an opportunity to move on and move forward, or both.

There is no "easy button" when it comes to life. To presume so is not only folly, but an invitation for catastrophe. You may have woken up today, but there will be a day where you will see your last dawn. You may have plenty to eat, but there may be a time when you find yourself hungry and unable to fill your stomach. The money you have in the bank, the job that you hold (or don't), the place where you live, and most importantly, the people you have in your life-all that will change. Many times. Most times, without warning. 

So, give thanks. And be thankful. Life may not be easy; but I promise you it is entirely worth it.

The Plight of Hank Moody

I'll set the scene for you: Here I am, sitting in front of a computer. There's coffee in my cup. I've closed out of Facebook and cued up Tool on YouTube. There's a Word document open and I'm set to start writing. My fingertips start pounding on the keys and I instantly start creating literary magic. Things are going smashingly...until I stop. Three paragraphs in.

People think that writer's block is simply the lack of ideas to write about. That's definitely a big part of it. But it's also equally the lack of desire to continue writing. Struggling to come up with the urge to write is just as strong, if now stronger than the desperate search for words after months of searching for the right plot or character.

It takes a certain type of broken soul to constantly generate the lives of others.  Not in the tormented, hell-bent, solely narcissistic creatures that Hollywood portrays writers to be. Well, certain ones are, I'm not going to lie. I do share a trade with those who's sole focus is themselves and the image they love to project upon others. But, one trait, one universal characteristic that we all share is that we have the lives, fully developed people-entire worlds, even, living constantly inside our heads. And yet...there's times when those worlds disappear. Just vanish into the fog of day-to-day existence. Slip into the fold of mundania that can be innocously necrotic to the creative juices. Which is how the demise of many a novel and short story comes to be. The Great Fount of Literary Brilliance will sometimes just completely dry up and refuse to flow. Three paragraphs in. And, this the writer is truly blessed and lucky, they will know the circumstances in which their purpose decides to fly the coop. Most, including myself, are rarely, if ever, that fortunate.

There is a show that used to be on Showtime (it's now on Netflix-where I discovered it) called Californication. The main character is Hank Moody, a one hit wonder writer who's book became a big movie. The show takes place as Hank is going through a severe bout of writer's block. His "wife" (although they never got married) is in a strong committed relationship with another man and this devastates Hank Moody to the point of putting a bullet in his Muse. He, quite simply, can't write. He has talent and the vocabulary. The fan base to propel him back into the literary limelight whenever he wishes. He just...can't. His life is in perpetual turmoil (most of which is admittedly self-inflicted) and he longs for the ways and days of yesteryear. When he had everything that he ever wanted. And didn't realize exactly what he had until he lost it all. And, future reference, if you do check out the show-the first season is undeniably the best.

I know the plight of Hank Moody all to well. I sympathize with him and his complete lack of ability to do the one thing that he was put on this Earth to do. He doesn't lack the words (he's incredibly articulate and verbose), he just cannot translate that into putting forth, once again, the Great American Novel. He's suffering from, for lack of a better term, literary constipation. He's spinning the wheels of his fantastic lexicon and wasting in on the pointless diatribes on living in LA. I know his struggle all too well (although, I don't live in LA and have zero desire to) and I can honestly say that I am doing the same thing (albeit his...poor decisions I do not, and would not, ever consider pursuing). It's not that I lack the desire to create. I just can't. I love writing-don't get me wrong, but I know all what it's like to have life eternal swallowing up any and all desire to forge literary greatness.

Which brings me to this blog. If I ever had a digital lifeline, this is it. I had two other blogs, but this one is my most honest one. I said in the beginning that it would be no-holds-barred. I meant that, not only for your benefit, but my own. The complete ability to have full-on candor is, refreshing. A breath of fresh air. I love that I can come on here and be contemplative. Or vent. Or both. The fact that I can come on here and the words don't escape me. There is no cause for them to flee just as I'm reaching for them. It is here, on this blog, that I can finally and fully become the writer I always dreamed I would become.

Which also brings me to my (and Hanks' dilemma). Write a blog is good and all, but it's also a world away from writing a novel. Giving birth to a creation that the world entire will judge (good or bad), is paralyzing, to say the least. Calling or not, when the time comes to actually do what I was put on this Earth to do...I choke. Plain and simple. I get all up in my head (and not in the good, creative way) and I begin to overthink. Unintentionally overwhelm myself. Which is the breeding ground of doubt. Which is surefire death of all literary greatness.  Or even just mediocrity. Either way, I become my own worst enemy. And, thus, the inevitably cycle begins once again.

The Weight of Words

So, as I'm about to embark upon my first true attempt at becoming a novelist, I'm once again reminded of the weight of words. This particular challenge is to write a novel in the span of 30 days and 50,000 words. I sat down yesterday and hashed out a timeline (it's the only way that I outline) and I'm pretty excited about it. In fact, I'm thinking it's probably going to surpass the required word count. If I do it right.

Fifty-thousand. It's daunting when you think about it. But what is more daunting is the statements that are ten words or less. "I love you" is only three words; but it can fill you with unimaginable joy. Change just one word-"love" to "hate" and it can devastate someone, even years after the fact. "He's gone" is a very benign statement that is open to a plethora of interpretation. But add two more words at the beginning: "I"m sorry" and you come up with "I'm sorry, he's gone." Which, I'm not going to lie, is one phrase I've heard more than once and it is truly soul crushing to hear. Add the same two words at the beginning of "it's over" and you have a relationship that comes to an end. In fact, "I'm sorry, just on it's own can be said through a fount of tears. But it can also be a building block to better days.

We've become careless with our words. The aforementioned "I love you" is a phrase that has all but lost its meaning. Sure, we may tell someone that we truly care deeply about that we love them; but we also say it to friends, coworkers, and even random strangers (such as the pizza delivery person) who are giving us something we strongly desire. "Literally" is rapidly loosing its meaning due to overuse. "Epic" no longer is. With the over-gluttenous saturation of phrases that appear nonstop-and often in 140 characters or less, we are saying far more than we have ever had and communicating the least amount in human history. Add to it such phrases as "bae" and "yolo" and the English language is rapidly disintegrating at our own hands (or, really, out of our own mouths). And, on the flip side, we no longer listen to what a person is saying, but how we're going to respond to it.

Communication isn't dead; but at this rate, it's not long for this world.

I'm keeping this particular post short-it's just after two in the morning and I'm bloody tired. But, as I mentioned in the beginning, the weight of the words of this world are once again on my shoulders. Hopefully, this post will remind you to be less frivolous with the prose and speech in which you use every day.

Words still have a meaning. We just need to be reminded of their impact every now and again.

Writing A New Chapter

There's a popular saying that goes "when one door closes, another one opens". For the longest time (and still, to some extent now), the saying got on my nerves. Not just the fact that it's a trite concept of life; but also that it's such an unrealistic view on how things work. It's as if they believe that there's some magic fairy that waves their wand when things go bad and "poof" everything is better again.

Yet, Newton's Third Law of Motion states that for every action, there's and opposite and equal reaction. And life is eternally in motion; so, perhaps, there's some truth to the glib platitude.

To be blunt, I'm not sure where my life is, at this moment. It's no longer in Limbo, but it doesn't feel like there's going to be any massive life changing events before the end of the year. Which, let's be honest, I'm quite grateful for that. This year has had it's fill of turbulence and I would be quite pleased if it would calm down for a bit. I'm working again (albeit severely part time); but I'm back in my element- a bookstore. I didn't realize how much I missed it until I started working for B&N. The commute is a nightmare, but when is it ever not? Most everyone has a dreadful commute, so why should I be any different. I'm single, still, but I'm much more open to the possibility of a relationship than I have been in quite some time. Let's be honest, if I keep waiting for the conditions to be right for me to date, I will die alone. Which is a concept that I'm not fond of at all.

No, as of this current moment, it feels as if I just allow myself to let go of the illusion of control over my life, then things will actually fall into place. What that exactly means, I'm not certain. But, if there has been one indisputable fact that this year has given me, it's that the harder I try to "fix things", the more likely they are to unravel. So, by doing the exact opposite-letting go, I'm actually letting life take care of itself. At least in theory.

In ten days, I begin NaNoWriMo. I'm finally writing a book. And, I'm actually kinda at peace with it. I'm not stressing about it (yet) and I'm not doubting myself as to whether or not I can pull it off. I haven't had the opportunity to put together an outline; but considering the format I'm going with, an outline might now work in the first place. No, the one thing that does give me apprehension is that I looked up just how many words 1,667 is (that, by the way, is the daily word count needed to pull off 50k by the end of November) and it was a lot more than what I was expecting. But, it's only insurmountable if I psych myself out about it. Will I face challenges? Of course. Without a doubt. But it's worth it. Not only is it the reason I was put on this Earth, but it's something I deeply enjoy doing. Which was something else I was reminded of as I started working at B&N.

Sometimes fate needs you to pave your own way, and other times life needs you to just let things happen. I had a dream the other night that was a huge wake up call. I was basically shown that I have been stressing way too hard about things that were never in my control to begin with. Instead of walking through a door, I've been pushing at a wall trying to make it open. So, as I write this book and create a fictional life, I'm going to let my real life play out in whatever way it needs to.

Because, sometimes the best way to make a change is to do nothing at all.

Get Scrappy.

So, next month is NaNoWriMo: National Novel Writing Month. There's a well known online organization that gets people to participate and become novelists. I've made several stabs in the past, but this year is going to be my year.

So, what exactly does that mean? 50,000 words in 30 days. Or, 1,667 words a day. To put that into perspective, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (46,333), The Giver (43,617), and Fahrenheit 451 (46,118) all had a lesser word count. Also factor in that Thanksgiving counts as one of those days. So if you don't want to write then, you're going to have to double up somewhere else. Also, (because I'm insane like this), I fully plan on continuing to blog in November, as well. 

It's not easy. The best advice I have ever received when it came to writing came from none other than Patrick Rothfuss (author of The Name of the Wind). I asked him what his best advice for completing NaNoWriMo and he told me "Sit your ass in a chair and write. That's really it." Or, as Ernest Hemingway put it: "There's nothing to writing. All you do is sit at a typewriter and bleed."

Honestly, that's exactly what writing truly means. There's a whole hell of a lot of blood, sweat, and tears that goes into writing something. As Frank Herbert put it: "Fear is a mind killer" and  there is a lot of that that happens as you put words to page. "Is this crap?" is something I ask myself with each blog post, poem, short story, etc. In fact, with my blog (and my poetry), I hit "submit" before reading it. That prevents me from butchering it or allowing it to get to my head. In fact, I rarely ever read my own posts. So, the fact that I'm dedicating a month of my life and creating a piece of work that I hope and pray will hit bookstores some day is daunting, to say the very least. I'm facing very real adversaries; both external (time and extenuating circumstances) and internal (doubt and distraction). 

I'm scrappy. Which is a very nice way of saying I'm stubborn and hate to give up.  When I'm truly dedicated to a project, nothing else matters. I pour every ounce of my being into what I am creating. And this particular project is one that I have made multiple attempts at. Which makes me all the more determined. So, by hell or by high water, I'm writing a book.

"Every Saint Has a Past, Every Sinner Has a Future"

I make no excuses for my past. I'm human. I screw up-A LOT. Daily, to be honest. I'm far from perfect, and I make no bones about it. I've burned bridges that should still be standing. I've stayed on bridges that were clearly in flames. I trust too much, and not enough. I forgive and I hold on; probably much longer than I should. I am my own worst enemy, but I know I'm not the only enemy I have. And I know that those who hold a grudge against me have every right to.

But, at the end of the day, I'm still trying.

I was shot down, again, by unnamed tech company today. And there's a strong chance that I may have to leave B&N due to transportation issues. Both of which makes me equally sad and angry. I have fought, so damn hard, so completely damn hard, to finally get ahead and get my life back on track this year; only to be met with roadblock after roadblock. Mind you, there have been some (more than some, to be honest) that have been my fault. I am, as mentioned before, my own worst enemy. But, on the flip-side, there have been instances (such as my cancer scare this summer) that came out of the blue. Or the elongated job hunt that dragged on months longer than it should have. This has been a hell of a year and it's not over yet.

But I'm still kicking.

"Even foul balls are practice for home runs." I came up with that this evening when discussing this year's events. Ok, to be honest, it popped into my head and I typed it out. But I like it. Just like I like the Oscar Wilde quote that I'm using as the title. I know I'm not perfect. I know there are those out there who have every right to be angry at me, and are. I know I'm not done screwing up.

But I'm also not done trying to make things right.

"The Lannisters always pay their debts" is a very nefarious saying in the Game of Thrones/Song of Ice and Fire series. But, when Tyrion, the so-called Imp says it, he means it in the sense of the good of the realm. He doesn't care about gold or glory. He's there to right the wrongs and to finally fix the Seven Kingdoms (even as they tirelessly try to tear themselves apart). He's also my favorite character in the series. He actually gives a damn about Westeros and, even though all the odds are stacked against him (physical limitations being chief among them), he's still trying to not only right the wrongs of others, but of his own faults and disastrous mistakes. He is hardly a saint, but he's also a sinner who is trying. He could care less about his own fate-if anything, he has damned himself in his own mind. But if one commoner is spared or The Wall gains one more brother who will fight the good fight; then he can rest well knowing that there was some benevolence in the Universe. If only for a short while.

To be completely honest, I have no clue how this year is going to end. To call it a roller coaster is far too cliche to aptly describe it. I, frankly, don't even know if I'll survive to see the end of it. None of us have that guarantee. But I do know that when the end comes (may it be the end of the year or the end of my life) that I will not be who I was at the beginning of it. I'm stronger now. I'm more determined now. I'm more humble now. And I'm less perfect now. But, as we shed the facade of "perfection" do we truly allow ourselves to grow and become the individuals we were meant to be all along.

Small Town, Big Changes

Life is all about finding the balance in chaos. Accepting the things you cannot change and having the courage to change the things that you can. And, more importantly, being in the moment and appreciating it for what it is.

I'm finally settling in to where I'm living now. As mentioned in the last post, I moved (quite suddenly) last month to a small town on the Olympic Peninsula. It's gorgeous out here, but it's a bit of a culture shock to where I was living before. It's not like Auburn is a bustling hub-bub, but it is a city, surrounded by other cities. Out here, I'm truly in the middle of nowhere. There's pockets of civilization surrounded by forest. Now, mind you, I did grow up in the boonies, but it has been a long time since I've lived in that environment. People are in no hurry to get to where their going and everything shuts down pretty early. I was on the bus the other day and people were chatting with the bus driver as if it was an everyday conversation. People smile and wave at me as I'm walking down the street. It's...an adjustment. A good adjustment, but one, nonetheless.

And, now for the big news part. I've been keeping this under my hat because it's been stuff in development and I didn't want to spill the beans until things were official. I, as of yesterday, am gainfully employed once again. It's part time (only 18 hours), but it's something. And it's Barnes and Noble, so I'll be surrounded by books once again. And, speaking of employment, I'm also currently in talks with a tech company in Seattle. I won't disclose that one unless things become official, but that one would be full time, with a solid base pay plus commission. If I get hired on with them, I'll have to let B&N know that I got a better offer. Which wouldn't be hard because I don't even have a start date with them. So there's a (very slim) chance that I will get the offer from said tech company before I even begin B&N. But, also, if things fall through with the tech company, I'm still employed. Which is a massive sigh of relief.

The other bit of big news is that I'm finally going to be getting serious with my writing. I helped a friend move last week and one of her new roommates is someone who blogs professionally. Recently had a post published by the Huffington Post. She gave me a couple websites that get bloggers paid and published. I've signed up for both and will be posting from them soon. I will, of course, keep this one up and updated as regular as possible. But there's a strong chance you'll see my name in print soon. Fingers crossed anyway.

The other thing is that, as of this writing, NaNoWriMo is 25 days away. This year, by hook or by crook, I'm doing it. No more excuses, and, more importantly, no more crazy work schedule to prevent me from writing. That has been the main hurdle in the past and that is one that is finally out of my way. I also have a phenomenal idea that has been bouncing around my skull for the past few days that I'm going to go with. The story actually takes place in two different time periods: the "present" (actually 2011) day, with an old man turning 90, and 70 years prior, when that same man enters World War II just after turning 20. The old man is someone who is very unassuming and is spending the winter of his life in a nursing home. No one takes him seriously and he's considered frail. Wasting away. He's also missing his right leg. The parallel story is how he goes to war and even serves under General Patton in North Africa, where he loses his leg and is sent home. And how he watches his close friends go to Normandy and never return.

It's bittersweet, don't get me wrong. The idea came to me as I was wandering around a grocery store and saw an old man wearing an old army coat. There were some kids who walked right by him and didn't even glance at him. The disinterested kid I'm going to have in the story is going to be his own great-grandson, who really does not want to go to the birthday celebration of his great-grandfather. When he gets there, the two of them spend some time alone together and the kid finally works up the courage to ask about the leg. By the end of the novel, the kid will have some massive respect for the great-grandfather. I'm not sure yet if the old man will live to the end (closing chapter being a funeral). I don't have all the details, but I'm going to flesh it out now so come November 1st, I can just write.

So, yeah, that's the latest. I'm still alive. I'm still kicking. I'm not in a glass half full or empty state of mind. There's liquid in it and that's all that matters at this point.

Acceptance.

Not everything is meant to work out. Not every company that you work for, friendship that you start, or living situation that you enter is supposed to last. Nothing is guaranteed in life. Nothing. If we are lucky, truly lucky, these things that we imagine are permanent will last for a few decades. Some people remain at the same company for 50 years and have just as long marriages. But, in the end, death or other circumstances will eventually end that, too.

This isn't necessarily a bad thing. I have had to walk away from toxic jobs, relationships, and even friendships in an act of self-preseveration. I even moved halfway across the country when work completely dried up in the state where I spent most of my life. Doors close and open; and if we are truly fortunate, we know why. Because, let's be honest, sometimes even hindsight isn't 20/20.

It's been an interesting month for me. I spent the first half of it homeless. I won't go into details, but there was a lot of spontaneous couch surfing and last minute moving. Even where I'm at now isn't a permanent situation, but I accept it for what it is. Change has happened daily and often with little to no warning. Doors opening and closing with almost neck-breaking velocity. And through all the turmoil I have begun to accept that I don't necessarily have to know the "why" things are going the way they are and just accept that change and death are the two only fixtures in life.  I'm not going to lie- I've been undergoing a very strong bout of depression all month. Self-doubt, immense anger, and bitterness have clouded my head for much of this month. I have been cutting myself off from people by choice because I know that I have not been the best to be around. There's been times when I just couldn't handle being around the human race, so I walked away. No warning, no explanation, just left. And I came back when I was in a better head space.

There has been some good things that have come from this. I know who my friends are now and just the extent of how much they love me. I'm probably the closest to my mom than I've been in a long time. It's one thing to suspect who has your back and a whole other thing when they follow through-even when, in the beginning, they found out through the word of mouth of others. My "safety net" (if you will) is strong. Much stronger than I ever would have expected. And the love and support I have received from them has brought me to tears more than once this month. I have felt so alone and they have undeniably proven that I'm not. Which was something I desperately needed to have affirmed. It is also looking like there's a strong change that I'm going to become a custodian for one of the local schools. Hardly glamorous, but the pay is almost $2 more an hour than I have ever made and the benefits are spectacular. It's also a Monday through Friday job. No more uncertainty for my schedule. Which will also give me the freedom to write-which is something I've waited years for.

If I get the custodian position, it means that I'm walking away from 15 years in the customer service and sales field. I'm walking away from the one solid profession I have held since my senior year in high school. That...has been a hard pill to swallow. I'm damn good at what I do, but I've reached a point where I'm pretty much un-hireable if I continue down this path. I don't have a college education or a tech background and I've reached a point where my experience is pretty much pointless because of this. So I'm walking away from a decade and a half of my life and accepting defeat. To know that, no matter where I apply, the positions I apply for, I'm "unworthy" of what their looking for in a candidate has been hard. This door is finally closing, and it may be closing for good.

On the flip-side, it also makes me realize that, if I were to continue to pursue, and receive, these sales positions, then I will never become published. The life of a salesman is constantly changing and schedules are in constant fluctuation. You are on the constant hunt for the bottom dollar. And, work-life balance? If you're lucky, you can land a job with semi-regular hours that will give you the illusion of this. If I become a custodian, I will finally gain that freedom in my life and still receive a nice paycheck to boot. I can finally, actually, become the writer (and author) I've always imagined I could become. I can finally buckle down and complete NaNoWriMo. I can finally see my name in print; which is something that hasn't happened since high school. I can finally create the worlds and breathe into life characters once again. And I can finally start doing what I was put on this Earth to do.

This month has been painful. This year has been full of chaos. I have been filled with uncertainty and doubt for most of this period. But no storm is permanent. Not all pain is perpetual. If there has been one thing that this month has re-taught me is that to accept that the illusion of control we assume we have, we really don't. Things change, people chance, circumstances change. Even pain is an agent of change. So, I end this post with a quote: "If you're going through hell, keep going." - Winston Churchill.

A Life Less Ordinary

I taught myself conversational Vietnamese one afternoon because I was bored. True story. I was working at a book store in North Bend and it was a pretty dead day. There was a a small Vietnamese phrase book that covered things like ordering food, asking where the bathroom was, etc. It had the Vietnamese words, then how to pronounce them, and the English translation. It took me about a half hour to completely master it. I also know a smattering of French, my German is rusty (but warms up with ample practice), and I should really get around to learning Spanish. That's the first thing you should know about me.

I've dabbled in quantum and astrophysics. When I was in high school, I deduced that actual time travel would never occur on Earth because of the constant gravitational pull slowing down the process. Using Newton's Three Laws of Motion, I figured out that one would have to be in deep space, void of any possible gravitational interruptions for it to be truly possible. But, humans will never achieve it and live, due the fact that it would require the force, speed, and subsequent heat of that of a nuclear explosion. Later on, in my early twenties, I discovered the book On The Shoulders of Giants by Stephen Hawking and it became my instant favorite book. It still is up there on my list. I highly recommend you check it out. It's a fascinating read. That's the second thing you should know about me.

I saw my dad die when I was 23. It still is the most traumatic and life changing event that has happened. He had an asthma attack and died before the paramedics even reached the house. It had only taken them 15 minutes to get there, but it was already too late. I learned that night just how quickly and suddenly life ends. And most of the time, without warning. I've battled crippling depression and insomnia ever since. That's the third thing you should know about me.

I took care of my grandparents (his parents) during my mid-twenties. I was working full time, made a stab at college, and lived and took care of them all at the same time.  Grandma had full on dementia and Grandpa was a diabetic who took terrible care of himself. Towards the end of her life, he was the only one that she even recognized and she passed away in a care center five years after my dad died. Grandpa's heath took a understandable turn for the worst and he wound up getting thyroid cancer. He passed away five years after she did and I was in Texas at the time. One of my biggest regrets was that I was not there with him at the end. That's the fourth thing you should know about me.

I up and moved to Texas at the beginning of 2012. I had been pretty much unemployed all of 2011 and it wasn't looking like the economy in Washington was going to improve in the foreseeable future; so I just moved. Packed up and left. My sister lives down there, so I stayed with her for a bit. Within three months, I was working at a bank and building myself a nice little career. Adjusting, as best as I could, considering how different the two places are. But it wasn't long after I moved down there that I started feeling the pangs of home sickness. It gradually grew stronger and stronger until I was absolutely miserable being down there. Despite how improved my life had become, I missed home. And when my grandfather passed away and I was half a continent away, that was the final straw for me. So, at the end of 2013, I moved back. I do miss Texas and Washington isn't the home it used to be, but I wouldn't trade either experience for the world. That's the fifth thing you should know about me.

I'm a salesman by vocation. I've been doing it since immediately out of high school and I continue to do it to this day. I've sold everything from Cutco knives to financial services. From books to Proactiv. It works well with my jack-of-all-trades mentality. Also, as most salespeople are, I'm a very impatient person. More correctly, I'm patient when I need to be, but even that wanes if gone on too long. I'm also admittedly charismatic and have no problem talking to strangers. However, if you ever see me at a party, I'm always watching people first. Observing. Analyzing their every move and word. That's the sixth thing you should know about me.

I may be a salesman by vocation, but I was born a storyteller. In elementary school, I had a couple teachers tell me how impressed they were with my writing skills. In junior high, I wrote a story that got an award with the local Kuwanis. In high school, I was on the newspaper for two years. I've had three blogs (four, if you count the one on LinkedIn), a Twitter account with a few celebrity followers, and a couple dozen (at least) poems. But the real goal is to be a novelist. That's always been my dream. That's the seventh thing you should know about me.

There's other facts, like that I'm left-handed, travel as frequently as possible, enjoy history immensely, love old movies (some of the best movies ever made were in black and white), love classical music, love books, etc. But, those things and more are things that I would much rather you learn as you get to know me. All this post was was a small window into my world.

Flash Fiction Experiment #1

So of the best writers out there all have the same advice when it comes to writing: Just do it. Hemingway took it a step further and said "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed." Which leads me to this very moment: an experiment. They say that a 1,000 monkeys could bang out the works of Shakespeare, given enough time. This experiment is going to be a bit shorter than that. Just me, a whole lot of insomnia induced sleep exhaustion, some random music (I think I'll go with some chillstep to give it a cool vibe), and zero clue as to what I'm about to write. So, without further ado, here goes:

Bret Sanders sat at the bar, watching the room. Couples were laughing, one guy was trying way too hard to impressed the clearly uninterested blind date he had found on the Internet the previous night, and there was a girl in the corner reading the latest John Grisham novel and sipping on a dirty martini. Do people still drink those? he pondered as he continued to trace the room with a growing bit of uneasiness in his gut. 

His contact was late. His contact was never late and tonight he was precisely five minutes and thirty-seven seconds late. The second hand on his Rolex ever kept ticking forward, despite its owner's growing annoyance and apprehension. He normally did these jobs sober, but if his contact was going to continue to delay him, he may have to buckle and at least order a beer. After all, the bartender was already cocking an eyebrow at him for sipping on his ice water. No need to draw any attention to himself if he didn't have to. Nothing good could ever come from being remembered. 

A shrill, tinny pseudo-orchestra erupted next to him and the woman sitting next to him quickly snapped up her phone, making that annoying tone cease. The bartender shot her a look and he took the brief opportunity to examine the beers on tap. Coor's. Budweiser. Sam Adams. All standard fare. His eyes found Guinness and he gestured to the bartender for a pint. The man grunted and filled his order. That's okay. I"m not here to make friends. The sooner she gets here, the sooner I can get out of this sorry excuse for a watering hole. 

His burner cell buzzed once again his hip. He flipped it open and the text message contained one word: Made. Suddenly the temperature in the room dropped twenty degrees and his eyes scoured each face and body movement. No red flags. He turned to the bartender and shot him a look. He returned it with utmost surprise, and, before he could respond further, a bullet took a subsonic path from one temple through the other. The woman with the rancid ringtone screamed as he dropped to the floor. She almost immediately joined him, with a matching mortal wound where her right eye should have been. He glanced over and saw Book Girl was not where she was sitting. Even amiss the now chaos of people fleeing for their lives, he could see she was not among them.

Knowing if he remained there a second longer, he would also wind up a chalk outline, he rolled out from his position and under the nearest table. Glass shattered above him from a high powered projectile. He reached behind his back and dislodged the 9mm that he had taped to his back earlier that night. The shooter, whoever it was, had to be in the room, somewhere. And since the guy took out two innocents almost immediately, he must be close. Before he had a chance to peek out and assess the situation, there was more gunfire, but this time to is right. 

Shots were now being exchanged above his head. If he didn't act now, he would only have himself to blame for his own demise. He kicked out the chair in front of him and it struck a running target. Whoever it was collapsed after taking two rounds from two different shooters. He aimed his Glock at the now revealed shooter at the far end of bar. His first shot hit the bar and the second hit his target in the gut. He fired off a third and fourth, which struck his target in the chest, emitting a stray of red.

A hand above him knocked the table out from above him and he saw Book Girl pointing an identical Glock at him. "Don't shoot! You've been made!" 

"Who are you?!" He shouted at her, still pointing his pistol at her chest. 

"I'm the one who just saved your ass. Go take a look at who you just shot. That was your contact. You've been made, and if you don't get out now, you'll have the same fate as your bartender friend." 

The Scare

My butt hurts. The reason my butt hurts is because I got a shot there this evening. A shot of antibiotics. And, to be honest, I was quite relieved to get the prognosis of an infection that accompanied said shot. Let me back up and explain:

For the past few weeks, I have been experiencing a...discomfort, if you will, in a very specific location on my body. My groin. Actually, a very specific location on my groin. And this discomfort stayed in that very, very localized area of my body. It started first as a mild, albeit confusing, sensation that occurred once every three or four days at a time. The intensity on the pain scale was between a three and a four. Noticeable, for certain, but entirely infrequent and mild enough to ignore. That, unfortunately, didn't last long.

Soon it escalated to every day. And then multiple times a a day. To then a near constant. Same exact location this entire time; and varying degrees in intensity (never greater than a five on the pain scale). And then last Friday happened.

I was spending the evening with some friends. My stomach was in knots and I was nauseous to the point of fighting throwing up. And that sensation was at a constant six on the pain scale. Basically, it felt like someone (and, pardon the graphic description) was constantly squeezing my left testicle. Then, late evening/early morning hit, just as I was about to get some sleep, I had an attack: the best I can describe is that of the description of a woman having contractions. It lasted for less than five minutes and it spiked to about an eight or nine on the pain scale. I was writhing in pain. The last time I had an episode like that what when I was dealing with my right kidney (which I'll get to in a minute). Fast forward to Saturday night and I had an equally intense attack after another full day of that squeezing sensation. Which is why I made the decision Sunday morning to go to the hospital as soon as possible. Which was today.

Now, before you think of me as the boy who cried wolf, I want you to take three things into consideration: the very specific and unchanging location of this. the gradual to sudden severity of what was happening, and, most importantly, that this is not the first scare that I've had. Back in early to mid 2008, I had a lump on my right kidney. A lump so large that it protruded out of my skin. The symptom were almost identical, including the severity of the attacks. I also attempted to get tested back then; but I didn't have adequate insurance, so I had to go to the ER to get it checked out. To which the nurse who "treated" me (felt it, put pressure on it causing an attack so intense I nearly blacked out from the pain) and then told me I was dehydrated and need to start drinking more water. To this day, I was never fully was tested for cancer and I still have to be careful with my kidneys. Which is precisely why, after the second attack in the span of 24 hours occurred, I made it a point to not repeat history and to legitimately get checked out this time around.

While the prognosis, thank God, was minor (especially compared to what I have been suspecting it was in the days leading up to me seeking medical attention), it did serve as a proper wake up call. Once again, I was faced with the reminder of my own mortality. And, really, not just the fact that my life will end, but the painfully real fact that I have no idea how and when it will end. As I laid on that gurney this afternoon, being taken to receive an ultrasound, it finally sunk in that all the plans I have made are for not if I don't act upon them. The only way I will ever become a published novelist is to sit down and write. The only way I will ever have a family of my own is if I take the risk of dating. The only way I will be able to become financially comfortable is by landing an actual decent job and start investing and saving. And, most importantly, the only way I can live a happy and healthy life is if I finally start taking care of my health and welfare. The full sum of a life is that of actions and consequences. A constant stream of events that span your first and last breath.

The fact of the matter, the one that I was once again brutally reminded of, is that I'm going to die. It could be tomorrow or when I turn 80. Regardless of when it does happen, it, without a doubt, will. Yet, instead of viewing this finality in the lens of hopeless despair, I am choosing now to take full reins of the remaining time allotted to me and to make full use of it. I know what it's like to live with regrets and "what if's". I know, full well, what it's like to go to bed after a wasted day. The hours I spend on Facebook could be hours spent hiking in the woods or helping the poor. Learning a new language or further mastering the one that is native to me. Instead of sitting on the couch, I should be traveling the world. And the last thing I want as I draw my last breath is to be filled with regret from all the chances I was too afraid to take.

The Time Machine Inside My Head

One of the benefits of being a writer, especially a blogger, is that we're allowed the luxury of introspection. It's entirely expected that we go around contemplating the going-ons of the world we live in. We ruminate equally on the lives of others and of ourselves.  Which brings me to tonight's post: the time machine inside my head.

This evening I was in need of a walk to clear my head and to get a slight change in scenery. I didn't want to travel far, so I picked Safeway as my destination. I rarely go there (for no reason, really), so worked perfectly as a mild escape from the day-to-day pattern of life that I have. I took my time going there, ducking into another local market to wander and glanced in a local coffee shop that was barren of customers, but still open, nonetheless. The important factor to keep in mind is that the path I chose and took was down Main Street. I'll get to its importance in a minute.

Anyway, I reached Safeway, strolled around for about ten minutes, and then left. The whole point of this trip was, not to buy anything, but as I mentioned several times, to slip away. While I was in Safeway, I noticed that a local brewery had already released a pumpkin beer, which, now that I think about it, was the trigger to my contemplative journey back. It seems odd at first glance, but it's a subconscious signal of the changing of the seasons; which will eventually lead to the ending of another year. The unrepressible march of time continues forward.

As I began my stroll back, and this is where the importance of Main Street comes into play, I happened to start to approach the new high school. The old high school, the one I went to, was finally demolished this month. Out with the old and in with the new. Very little else has changed (structurally, anyway) on Main Street, but, as a whole, the demise of the old school is just another severed tie that once held my past to my present. The drive-in movie theater closed a few years back. The drive-in restaurant that used to hold a classic car show every Friday was closed down last year. A clothing store that used to sell letterman jackets and school rings finally went out of business this year. An old drug store that was around for 50 years is now a thrift shop that helps the local humane society. Even my 15 year high school reunion, which took place a couple weeks back, only had five people, counting myself. To sum it up, I was meant to move back here just so I could finally close the chapter of my hometown and move away forever.

It's bittersweet, this change. I'm no longer saddened or angered by the drastic spike in crime and meth that has swallowed up a town I used to call home. No, now all I am is just disappointed in the course of events that led to it. I do not grieve as I accept the very real future of me walking away and turning my back to it. It's just a let down that it had to happen this way. That we, as a species, are not allowed to have nice things, because we will only bring them to a ruin. We tarnish what we touch, as if a reverse King Midas. And even now, it what could be claimed as the pinnacle of technological advancement, still cannot get past our petty differences and self inflicted invisible barriers to become one race of people working towards one goal. It is truly this that I lament the most.

The other piece of the puzzle that brought me to this point was something I came across earlier this summer online. It's a picture on Imgur entitled "Only 90's kids will...oh...": http://imgur.com/gallery/uPims It sums up everything that my generation struggles with the most-rapid change. Some quotes from it include: "because so much technological advancement  happened in a rapid time frame when we were growing up that we can clearly remember having technologies that are now obsolete..." "Just to add onto that, our childhood wasn't even that technology based. We grew up knowing of chalk, skateboards, jump rope, street hockey, playgrounds, butterfly collecting, etc. Slowly technology took over our lives and now there are hardly kids playing outside in the summer." and finally "Not to mention, ours was the last generation that grew up with all those bright promises of "hard work, go to college, and you'll have a successful life," only to find those hopes abruptly dashed when the housing bubble burst."

You could argue that we as a society have evolved to a point where such technologies are integral; but we're still at a point where random strangers hide behind their keyboards, starting flame wars and spewing hatred to individuals who they have never even met. Or cyber bullying, which is even worse than regular bullying because of how quickly and anonymously is spreads like digital wildfire. Kids and teens have always been ruthless to one another; but entire reputations are destroyed in minutes over rumors spread over Facebook and Instagram. People always ask where the parents are; not considering that they're glued to the same devices their offspring are. We don't talk, we text. We don't laugh, we LOL with a straight face. Why go to a communal movie theater when you can sit alone in your room watching Netflix? We have fully succumbed to mechanical agoraphobia; and it not only happened overnight, it happened without us even realizing it. And we "90's kids" were at the head of the parade that led us down this road.

And the fact of the matter is this: we can no longer control what we have created. This addiction is too entwined for us to ever quit.

As I mentioned before, one of my goals this year was closure. Letting go and moving on from the things that haunt my thoughts and steal the sleep from me. And, it is with much sadness, that I am choosing to walk away from this town and to not look back. While I still hold dear these memories; this town is of no more use to me than the Walkman I once had as a child.

The Changing of the Season

August, for whatever reason, tends to be the one month out of the year that is a catalyst for change. Maybe it's the beginning of the transition from Summer to Autumn. Maybe it's the fact that the year is now over half over and any change that hasn't happened yet needs to hurry up and start. Maybe it's left over from when I was in school and August meant starting school in September; thus the beginning of another cycle in my life. I'm not sure why this particular month is a powerful change agent, but it is and (from what I recall) always has been.

This has been a busy summer for me. Much has happened in a short amount of time. Some good, some bad, some events quite unexpected. But through the apparent chaos of it, I have been at relative peace with life. I am no longer "a hearse, carrying dead hurts" (Mostly Prove Me Wrong by Fiction Family). I've made it a point this year to bring closure to my past as best as I can. With malice towards none, I move forward with my life; only making time for those who choose to be in my life. What free time I have is precious to me and I would rather spend time with someone that respects that. That way, those who choose not to spend time with me close that door all on their own. No bridges are burned that way, either. I no longer take it personal when someone doesn't want to spend their time with me. It, quite simply, is what it is.

On the flipside, I'm not closing that door for anyone, either. I've already spent some time with a few friends who I haven't seen in years. If someone, anyone really, wants to be in my life, all they have to do is reach out and make the effort. I'm more than willing to meet them halfway and bridge any gap there is between us. Friendship is extremely important to me; and I would hate to think that I have lost one forever.

Speaking of transition, career wise, it looks like I will be working once again in Seattle. Every recruiter I have talked to recently is there. Every job and company I have looked at is there. I'm feeling the pull to transition north and I'm not getting in my own way. There's a lot of opportunity there and I feel like that is where the next chapter in my life will begin. If that means living up there as well, well only time and life will tell. I honestly don't know where I will wind up, but I know when the next phase begins, everything will fall into place pretty much overnight. That is how it has been happening for a while now-life stagnant for months at a time and then change just up and happening all at once. At least this time around I'm seeing the signs before they happen.

Speaking of the unexpected happening and seeing the signs beforehand, I know that I won't be single for much longer. No specific individual comes to mind, but the pieces are falling into place for me to enter into a relationship. With the stabilizing of my life just around the corner and the fact that I'm no longer fighting the urge to date (I'm not going to date someone when nothing is working out for me. If I'm not stable in my own life, I'm not going to bring turbulence into someone else's.). And, while I do have an affinity for finding the fairer sex, something tells me it's going to be someone I know already. I just have no idea who.

Another itch I'm about to scratch is my urge to write. Not just blog, but an honest to goodness novel. Or even just a collection of short stories. I have so many ideas rattling around in my head that I cannot wait to turn them into a book. I've even considered selecting some of these posts and putting them into an anthology to essays (think David Sedaris). If I do go that route, I'm going to have to flesh out the ones I select so they're longer in length. Which I'm cool with doing. Regardless of the route I go, it's going to have to happen soon. The desire to create is palpable.

The seasons of life are about to change. With the cooling of the temperatures and the return of the rain, so also begins another cycle of metamorphosis. I shed the cocoon once more, spread my wings, and take another flight of faith.

The Winds of Change are Blowing

So it begins.

A new chapter in my life has begun. I woke up yesterday morning with the feeling that everything was different. That this past weekend has changed the course of my life. For better or worse, I begin on a path that I will walk for the rest of my life.

The question is: what?

Not to be cryptic, but I have no idea what the change is or will be. It was an amazingly fantastic weekend, but there wasn't anything remotely overt in the life changing department. The only thing is that I can tell you is that I woke up stronger. Ready to take on the world once more. I regained my determination to make this life mine and to not take any prisoners or compromises in the path that I feel I should be walking. To the future that I will make my own.

I will say this: I'm done putting my life on hold. I'm done waiting. The kid gloves are coming off and I'm putting myself and my needs first. I'm not saying "no more mister nice guy" because I am always going to be that guy. I'm always going to be there for others and to treat them better than I treat myself. But I am getting out of my own way and I'm ready to take this life by the horns and see where the bucking bronco takes me.

The last time this happened, this feeling, I was living in Texas two months later. I am no stranger to sudden and drastic life changes. When I let go of my doubts and get out of my own way, big, nay, drastic life changes happen overnight. And it has begun once again. I'm wiping the slate entirely clean and starting from scratch.

As of right now, everything is an option. Living situation. Relationship status. Job and career path. Empires will rise and fall and the mental eclipse that has been blackening my potential is rolling away once more. It's time to hit the ground running and to show the world just exactly what I'm made of. It's time to bring forth why I was put on this Earth to begin with.

The winds of change are blowing. And the air has never been sweeter.

The Words in My Veins

"Oh girl, this boat is sinking. There's no sea left for me. And how the sky gets heavy, when you are underneath it. Oh, I want to sail away from here. And God.... He came down, down, down..."  - Otherside by Macklemore.

As a writer, there is nothing more intimidating than a blank screen and a blinking cursor. Ideally, it's an invitation to create, but it can be the most frightening and paralyzing thing you can see. There's a lot of doubt that fills the very essence of your being as you look at the possibility of either utter and complete failure or skyrocketing success. Or, the worst of it all-mediocrity. Because I, like every other writer, would rather be a terrible writer than a mediocre one. One who's craft is utter meaningless crap.

Being a writer is the loneliest type of magician there is. We create whole worlds; while we can barely live in our own. We're shut-ins by nature. We HAVE to be shut ins-the world is a noisy place and full of distraction. We're dysfunctional by default and the best of us are truly broken souls. Some of, hell probably most of the greats dealt with crippling depression and more than a few committed suicide. And addiction is something that runs just as rampant in the wordsmith community. We let the coping mechanisms take over; and most of the time we don't even realized it. Writing staves off the demons in our head for a while, but never permanently. Which is the other main drive of why we keep writing. And, to clear the air right now-no writer writes to get rich. No real writers, any way. The biggest and most universal addiction that writers have is writing itself. The flow of words as they materialize in front of us is almost a high. No, strike that, it is one. When a writer is "in the zone" we're getting high on our own craft and there's a fire inside us that allows us to feel alive once more. Which is why when we stop writing, the crushing weight of depression kicks back in. Hence the quote at the beginning of this post.

By nature, writers are difficult people to be around for an extended period of time. I am, at the very least self-actualized to both realized and admit this. I know how moody I can be; even if I don't realize at the time how difficult I'm being. Don't get me wrong-we're (for the most part) very down-to-earth and (somewhat) friendly people. Some of us (such as myself) are also extremely non-judgmental people you'll ever meet. But being around us for an extended period of time is about as good for you as being around untreated uranium. By nature we can be extremely self-destructive and it's hard to maintain a friendship that is constantly doubting themselves. One minute we can think we're the best writer that has ever put pen to paper and the next we want to set fire to everything we have ever written. Especially during the editing process.

Before you start thinking we're the most terrible people to ever walk this Earth, there's many redeemable qualities about us. First off, we LOVE our readers. I cannot emphasize that enough. To know that someone is reading our work (and hopefully is enjoying it) is the biggest thrill. The most gratifying experience is when someone says that they love our work. I'm not going to lie-we may be skeptical at first, but that's only because, as I mentioned before, we constantly doubt ourselves and our work. So, and I mean this from the bottom of my heart, we love our readers far more than you love us. Someone told me recently that they loved something I had written and I wanted to hug the crap out of them.

Second is our quirks are pretty awesome. Writers love our tools. I'm a big quality pen freak. Quality pens are pretty much the best thing ever. Especially when you hear them scratch over quality paper and the magic begins again. And typewriters. Despite where technology has taken us, every writer should not only own a typewriter, but use it at least once a year. I personally do not own one, but I will as soon I have the ways and means to pick one up. Growing up, my family had an electric Smith Corona and the hum it made while it sat there waiting for the magic to begin; followed by the ecstasy educing sound of the pounding of each letter hitting the paper and the creation of each word. The clanking and rattling is the best sound in the world. As soon as I can, I'm going to find and pick up one of those Smith Coronas for myself. I honestly know and believe that I need one of those in my life.

Writers are also readers and we're always searching for amazing quotes. When I came across this Buzzfeed article the other day, I had to bookmark it immediately: http://www.buzzfeed.com/jenniferschaffer/i-am-i-am-i-am#.mtr7xMeBa The perfect turn of a phrase is what we live for. There is a strange electricity in the forming or reading of a perfect sentence. In fact, the one of the best  is Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn; as every sentence is razor sharp and cuts to the bone. Not a single word is wasted and that is truly a rare thing to find in any novel. I honestly tip my hat to her.

Brevity, as you may have noticed, is not my strong suit. I realize that. Which is why I'm cutting this short. Writers have a strong tendency to go off on tangents and I'm a perfect example of this. To be blunt, I had the strong urge to write and this is what came from that. I will add, in closing, that I started watching the show Californiacation yesterday and the show struck pretty close to home for me. The show, if you're not aware, is about a writer who is dealing with crippling bout of writer's block and it's about his struggle to not only write, but deal with life while he can't. If you do check out the show, be forwarded that there is a lot of sex, drinking, and somewhat drug use. He also smokes like a chimney. But he also has a lot of redeeming factors about him. And it is honestly the most closest depiction of what being a writer is truly like. Because, at the end of the day, the thing that is most vital to writers is writing itself.