Why are we afraid to change?
Why are we afraid to move forward or let go of the obvious things? Why are we afraid to let go of the ideas that either hurt us or held us back?
I think these are both fair and relatable questions.

If we are like a machine, or if we want to move like a machine and be smooth, then how are we able to find a sense of personal cohesion?
How do we move without intimidation?
Better yet, if we want to perfect what we do, than how do we remove the hiccups that create delays or cause us to fail at our moments of opportunity.
We have to move. We have to flow.
Of course, we do.

I have been asking you the question what is life?
What is this place?

Is this a waystation or is this some kind of momentary place where all things can, do, and will change?
Or maybe this is just a moment in time. You think?
Maybe this is some kind of temporary suspension, like a hint to an upcoming mystery, as if to foreshadow a new horizon which means, perhaps, maybe we should be looking for the obvious instead of overthinking the complications or digging in too deep.

What is life anyway?
What does it mean to live or get by and somehow, you have a few extra moments, at some point, just to look back at the work you’ve left behind, and say yeah, that was me.
I did that!

I suppose life is a collection of memories. Life is a series of moments and experiences and above all, life is the ever-changing road on which we began and, of course, we started, we found our way to the middle, and in the end, we find ourselves at the doorstep of mystery. And there we are at the entrance of twilight, wondering about the salvation of an afterlife or the sanctity of heaven, and thus, this is it.
No one knows what comes next.

This comes after a long night, which means this entry will be sappy, of course.
But there will be no apologies. Not for this anyway.
Perhaps I will apologize for what I have overlooked or took for granted. Maybe I will apologize for my shortsightedness or for the times when I saw the glass as half-empty instead of half-full.
But like I’ve been telling you, this is all part of a trick, which is not a trick to fool or to deceive but more, this is a trick to overcome the crazy bouts that come with insomnia and the unrelenting thoughts that linger until about 20 minutes before the alarm rings to get up and get out of bed.

Either way, this is from the heart.
All of it.

There comes a time when the excuses have to stop.
All of what we’ve done and what we’ve been through and, of course, all that we survived and endured have become part of our past as well as part of our life.
This is our seasoning.
Right?
This is what makes us who we are. Or, maybe not.
Maybe what makes us who we are isn’t about where we’ve come from. But more, this is about how we’ve overcome. Who we are is about how we’ve adapted, despite the challenges. Or more than anything else, who we are is not where we come but how we’ve faced our life and how we decided to make a change, whenever or wherever possible.

I have learned that there is a difference between someone who will hunt for sport and someone who will hunt for food. The difference is both huge and obvious. But moreover, when it comes to times of downfall or despair, the difference between the two is what decides which person will eat again and who will starve because of a lack or motivation.

The person who hunts for sport is not worried about their next meal or what happens if they shoot and miss. The person who hunts for food doesn’t know when they’ll eat again or where their next meal will come from. Therefore the intensity and intentions differ to a level of importance; whereas, one sees this as a game and the other sees this as a means to survive.

I was never emotional. Or should I say that I would never show emotion.
I would never share or talk about my emotions with anyone else, or tell someone about my feelings, or, at minimum, I would never dare to do this or expose my truths in fear that someone would tell about me or use this against me.
I never believed that it was safe to admit that I have feelings, which I do.
I have feelings.
We all do.

Everyone has feelings. We all have thoughts. We have desires. We have dreams and likes and needs and moments of weakness. This is all part of being human.
We have bouts with our own worries and self-doubt.
This is not just true. This is human.
At the same time, there is something brave about being human. There is something brave about being honest and open or humble and vulnerable.

If it is true that much of life is beyond our control and if it is also true that we have no control over people, places and things, then fine.
We have to live.
We have to find a way to keep going. Therefore, in an effort to pull off our trick, all we can do is live life to the best of our ability and act accordingly.
That’s it.
Act accordingly.
I love this idea.

Why give in? Why quit?
Why submit or lay down and give way to the weight?
Better yet, why drown in your own emotion?
If at all, why allow anyone the right to become the predictor of your fate?

Why?

I allow myself to look at the sky, east of course where the sun comes from.
I say this because this is where I am now and this is where I come from, the East coast, of course, as in New York, which is where I have always been.
I do not see myself back where you were, Hollywood or Los Angeles, or the long flights in business class, to which I wondered to myself, “Is this really me?”
I am not too far from you, my truthful and undisclosed sanctuary near the beaches at Point Lookout, or by the rocks at Jones Beach Inlet. I am keeping myself close to the vest or close to the heart, which is something I hold dearly, like a relic or piece of something so pure, like the dreams I have of an outgoing trip on my own boat, beautiful and big enough to take me far beyond where the world lives and deep in the ongoing sea.