Note to Self

I am writing this entry to you from the dimness of a late-night thought. Mainly because I cannot sleep and partly because the thoughts I have are swirling around. There are no lights on but the soft gray from my computer screen brightens the loft where I keep my journals. I call this place my Writing Loft because this is where I write and like you, I need someplace sacred. I need someplace that makes sense, a sanctuary, someplace devoted and somewhere that I can retreat to and find salvation.

I am writing in the quietest setting with some soft background music playing with just a hint of sound. I come here each morning to make my daily confession. I do this to leash my thoughts to keep them from running away. 
I do this with no distractions and for no other reason than to deliver this to you with an open heart. But more, I do this to wipe away all the sorry images and decorations that we wear throughout the day—to just be real, so that I can be me and you can be you. There’s no need to be tough here. After all, it’s tough enough just to get through the day.
Know what I mean?

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Memory Lane

There are times when I find myself driving through my old hometown. So much has changed. The landscapes, the storefronts and the people have changed too. There are, however, the unchangeable familiarities that my mind will never forget; and when I’m home, it’s as though my body knows where to go. I don’t need to think about which direction to turn. Somehow, it’s as if my mind shuts off and I revert back to the different stations of my youth. And the town, she is fine with me. The old places and familiar streets are like an ever loving mother, anonymous and gentle, always welcoming and always comforting, regardless of who I was or what I did. 

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I Was a Kid Once Too

I was a kid once too. I admit it, I was part of a crowd. I admit to being part of the wild ones. We were the crazy kids in the town. We laughed and we carried on. We ran around and we caused some havoc. But we were young at the time and this is what kids do. Isn’t it?

We were both hopeful and hopeless; yet, we were all just trying to understand what life was all about. We wanted to learn and see things. We wanted to touch, taste and feel. We were trying to find our way around the playground and trying to find out who we were. What is this thing called life? Is any of this real? Are you real?
Was I?

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Friends: A New Series of Journals

Ah, the friend, the person who knows and the one who understands. I can say that I am lucky to have had friends in my life. I have had people who somehow instinctively know it is time for a call. These are real friends. These are the people to hang on to. These are the ones that will detail our memory and at the final time, when we find ourselves at the twilight of life and the dawn of a new entry, our friends and loved ones are the momentum that keeps the pulse going.

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In Closing

I think I will end this part of my journal here with this thought. Of course, I would like to punctuate this with some emotion to trigger the thought machine to take on a new direction.

It’s amazing to me how we grow up and somehow, we still manage to stay the same. We age some and we grow some. If we’re lucky, we learn some. Hopefully, we can change some and improve some too. I am thinking about the things I see throughout my day. I am thinking about people who honk their horns on the expressway. I’m thinking of people who refuse to allow the car beside them to merge ahead of them simply because they want to be the one who gets there first. It’s amazing to me the way we take on arguments with people we don’t know or people we will never see again. It equally amazes me how we completely surrender our sanity. 

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The Rewards of Finding Purpose

I go back to the point of this and the reason why I’ve decided to write this book or the others before it. At some point, I came to a staggering realization that I was part of the 85% who were unhappy with their work life, which bled into my home life. I was part of the mindless motions of everyday commuters. I had my traditional cup of coffee in hand and a newspaper folded beneath my arm. Each morning, I was heading to a job that was more of a habit than a passion. My body knew which way to go, when to turn left or right, when to pause, when to stop and when to go. I was almost Pavlovian in the sense that my day was mainly predictable. Nothing was ever exciting or fulfilling. Instead, mine was a simple case of life on the clock. I punched in to prove my existence and at the end of the day, I logged off to prove that I had ceased to exist in the corporate world.

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The Thought Machine

Here’s a great quote from the Buddha who said, “We are what we think, all that we are arises with our thoughts, with our thoughts we make the world.”

I love this quote because this helps us understand more about the way we think. Therefore, if we think something is true then we believe this must be true. Meanwhile thoughts are neither true or false. They’re only thoughts. There can be a thousand variances and still, thoughts are only thoughts. Nothing else.

This understanding helps me formulate a simple deduction. On average, I have read details that we think an estimated 70,000 thoughts on any given day. I suppose this makes the mind a busy place to be.

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Time to Go

Each year, we celebrate something old with something new. We celebrate birthdays and holidays, and of course, Thanksgiving and Christmas are claimed to be the most wonderful time of the year. We celebrate with our families. We enjoy meals at tables with unending plates of food. We exchange gifts. We welcome in the New Year and talk about our New Year’s resolution. Then we laugh and say, “Hey, maybe I’ll stick with it this year. You think?”

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On a Personal Note

This one might get a little personal. Then again, all of this is personal to me. I suppose that as a young boy, I wanted to grow up to be big and strong, just like my Father. I wanted to be like him and to think like him. I wanted to know how to fix things the same way he knew how to fix things. He was my hero and to me, I looked at my Father with such admiration. I wanted to be charismatic, just like he was. I wanted to be able to talk to people the way he could or tell a story and make it just as interesting.

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How to Endure

There is always someone around to tell you why your dreams will never work. There is always someone looking to disprove your theories. There will always be crabs in the bucket.
There is always someone who looks to criticize and point out your flaws. They’ll tell you what’s wrong to keep you down. And be mindful that this is about them. Not you.

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