I came to a break in the road but not after a long drawn-out routine of rehearsal and practiced speeches. Something happened. I suppose we can call this awareness. I suppose a time came when I woke up and it was time to move.
I came to the understanding that maybe there is an easier way to live or think or be and feel. Of course there was. I am also sure the saying holds true about simple ideas for complicated people; likewise, I am sure that I have complicated simple ideas with disbelief or doubt. Maybe this is where the challenge comes from – it’s all in the mind, which was truly my biggest obstacle.

This series of published journals will be number eight of its kind. The intention here is the same as the intention with all the others. My aim is to create a resource of improvement that is simple, relatable and understandable. The goal is to be happy. That’s it.
Plain and simple.

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?

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. 

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?

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.