What was, what is, and what hopefully will be....

Strange.  I always find myself back at the keyboard.  A year or two can pass without typing a single post, and then someway the world finds a way to bring me back to writing.  Usually this is sparked by my own desire or need to write.  This time, however the suggestion came from someone else.  They were right, writing does help - it always does.  It was actually really interesting to read my previous posts.  I had forgotten how I felt (not so long ago).  I had also forgotten how much I enjoyed writing.  I bet you forget a lot of things you like to do over time.  It must be like survival of the fittest, only for personal activities.  As we get older, and more engulfed by work and life, we forget the many things we like to do.  One by one activities are chiseled away for extra hours at work, or because they become too inconvenient to do.  Excuses creep into play that are often linked to being "too tired" or it being "too far away". I fear that if you cut enough of the activities you once enjoyed that your life will be so basic that it will follow a simple pattern day in and day out.  A minimalist perspective isn't always a good one.  While I have done a good job at keeping active, my favourite thing, the activity that I love the most was cut from my routien over 12 years ago.  Only now am I remembering this love.  It's been three weeks since I revisited this love, and already the feeling is overpowering.  Why on earth did I ever stop?  And how do I get back to the point that I was at so many years ago.  I get a taste of it once a week, but I want more, I want it every day....

Change. I'm fighting it. What I have to do, and what I want to do are two very seperate actions. What I'm waiting for is what's holding me back. I have so much momentum, and I sit here like a salmon in the river fighting the strong never ending current. It's almost fall, and if I don't stop fighting I too will end up stuck in a pool with no escape. I know this. I did this for a year and a half, and I swore to myself I would be strong, that I would fight the battle I refused to before. I would not waiver, I would not stop. The one difference between then and now is that I have kept and followed through with my own plans, I have stayed on my own path. This weekend I ran a half marathon. I run another race in two weeks. I run for many reasons. The main reason: I like the pain. It reminds me that Im alive. It drowns out any mental pain I have as well, and lets me things out to completion... Maybe I'm "running" from dealing with the truth I know I must confront soon. I sell my weeks for days of happiness. The cost is too high sadly. "I know you, you knowThat I ain't me soUs remains impossible". I will always miss you. BUT I wont miss this feeling.

Confession: I have written two blogs prior to this one. One was deleted in a moment of vulnerability. I had written private thoughts in a public forum, which was the greatest thing. I liked the fact that I could write and my thoughts were sent off into the unknown, to be read by the unknown. I had a moment in which I considered opening these gates to those within my known world: More specifically the person who has (and seemingly will ever) know me. And so to save it from the eyes of those not ment to see it I clicked the *delete* button and sent my thoughts and writing into the virtual trash bin, never to be read again. I regret this. It was my most vulnerable time, and probably (from what I remember) some of my best writing. The second blog I wrote was not quite as precious. In fact, I recently discovered that it came up in one user's search for "bitterness in relationships". NOT a huge claim to fame, as I really don't considder myself to be a bitter person. I was hurt then, not bitter. There's a difference. BUT yes this blog still exists, and while I would like to delete it, the lessons learned from my first blog scream for me to avoid handing that blog the same fate. And so it stays. For now anyways.

There is a point to this rant, and it will be found in my next post. I have learned in my blogging years to keep things short, otherwise people get bored and resort to skimming, or closing the page all togehter.

3 days, a building passes by, and there he lays.... A gummie suicide

For about a week I have been passing this poor guy on the sidewalk. It's sad that a gummie bear saw no hope in the future and as a result made the choice to toss his life away on the sidewalk outside of my appartment. What's worse? No one has taken the time to mourn his passing, or at least to pick him up and give him the proper burrial for such a gummie. Clearly its not easy being orange and green at the same time. I'm sure for this perticular bear it was a means of countless discussions and never ending issues. Really I think he was lucky to be two different colours at one time.. Essentially you get two for one! If only he could have seen things that way. But no, he didn't and now he sits, passed by daily by all of the residents in my appartment building as well as those passing through looking for a shortcut to town. Poor little guy.

Shhh! Don't tell!

Secrets. Some are BIG, some are small. Some are made to be told, while others are ment to be held forever. Secrets can be your own, or you can keep them for others. Everyone has them, some more than others. What do you do with a sercret? Some bury it, some write it down. Me? I forget them. I forget the ones that are big, that I swear to others that I promise to keep forever. I have probably heard more secrets than most people, but the number I could actually summon from the depths of my various though patterns could easily be counted on one hand... Two at the most. I'm a great person to tell a secret to (if you have no intention of discussing it in the distant future). What do I do with my own secrets? I usually tell someone. NOW I can write them here, and release them into the world of unknown. That's the great thing about a blog such as this one. I can say anything and everything, and MAYBE someone wil read it (and maybe someone wont). BUT the freedom that being the unknown, dispersing my thoughts into the unknown allows for an amount of clear and open candor that no other venu/stage can offer. I love that.

To quit = to be free.

To "quit"

There are numerous definitions. There are various perspectives. There are multiple synonyms. In short it means to do/be the following:

Absolved of a duty or an obligation; free.

The last word in this sentence is key. Free. I joined a team this summer. I liked that. I liked comitting to something and knowing that it would be a constant in my life. Consistancy and routien are good ways to keep yourself moving forward. They give you a base, and the strength that comes with such a structure. I found in this case however, that the cost of such a structure caused more grief than it did good. I clung and forced myself to withstand temptations to relieve myself of this stress on principle alone. I would not be labled as a quitter. I would not prematurely force the finnish of something. I would survive, I would make it mine. BUT exponentialy the stress grew, and tighter and tighter my grasp became as I clung to the reminents of my desire to stay. My desire dissolved and turned into my minds illusions of a better day. This brings forth a question that I have struggled with in various capacities. At what point is it time to stop fighting, struggling, grasping for air and just stand up, turn around and walk away.?

You have to start somewhere....

I am starting here. A picture a day, and verbiage to go along with it. A year of posts, and nothing less. No skipping, no exceptions.