I was never sure if I knew what love is. I suppose I compared it to the artwork of Benfield, which I am certainly a fan of him and Thomas Kinkade. Either of them, for some reason, have the ability to inspire me with their paintings. But wait – what is this?
Is this too sappy for an early morning explanation of where I am (or why)?
But wait – there’s more.

I suppose all of this goes against the grain of what I was taught. All of this goes against what I used to think or believe. As far as what it means to be a man, I understand that my definition has changed over the years.
Then again, I have changed over the years too. I am not who I was nor do I want to be who I used to be.

At the same time, I am working on this new life which I have been telling you about. I realize that I have to let go. I have to unburden myself, which means I have to rid myself from the wreckage of my past or the so-called past dilemmas that either led me towards an idea of personal destruction or furthered my drowning moments in emotional quicksand.

I suppose the real question is . . .
What if I take a shot?
What if I go at it and I miss?
What if I give it everything I have and I come up short?
Or worse, what if I fall and then I end up with dirt on my face?

This letter to all is my letter of intention.
This is to you –
This is to the one who keeps my time. This is to the one who keeps track of my mistakes and my faults and to the one who reminds me of my misspoken chaos or the times which I regret.

Life has a way of directing or redirecting us to where we’re supposed to be. This has nothing to do with whether we favor our position or not .
I believe this. I believe in the nature of our soul and I believe in destiny.
I believe this with all of my heart and with all that I have because whenever possible, no matter how dark or stuck life might seem, I know that somehow, there’s a plan for me. I know there’s something out there. However, I also know that on many occasions, it’s been me who stood in my way.
As for the way, the light, the truth and the hope, I believe that this is out there too.
I know it is. So come what may, I will do what I have to.
I will go where I need to and should I fall, then I’ll get up.
Should I see something inspiring or motivating that in my heart, I can feel this, deep down, then I’ll know that this is where I want to go.

So why write?
What does this do?
What do these journals do?
Does this help?

Maybe . . .

I am sitting in a small room, softly lit by a small lava lamp, which is important to me for different reasons. For all intents and purposes, I suppose I will call this my living room and my writing room. Above anything else; I suppose I’ll call this place my shelter from the storms.
Behind me is the blowing-hum of an air conditioner which is in the window of an upstairs apartment in a small house. I am sitting at a small desk, which is big enough for me and my laptop which, of course, is the way that I am speaking to you now.
I am building a new space for myself which is far from easy nor is this without any challenge or damages. In fact, i have plenty of both at the moment. But then again, who doesn’t?
So much has happened in such a short amount of time; hence, this is my reason for this journal. This is why I have decided to call this my notes from the neighborhood. This is my new spot and my new neighborhood, which means I have the chance to create a new beginning for myself.
I think I’ll call this my opportunity . . .

Everything is new now. Then again, everything is always new in the morning.
Nothing is the same.

Nothing will ever be the same again –

I remember thinking this. Throughout my life, I remember feeling this way at different points too and for different reasons. At one point, this was the way to think and feel. Keep it new. Keep it fresh. More accurately, keep it wild so life will never get old.
Only, I grew older – I suppose.

My next chapter is opening up in ways that I had not expected. I have not seen too much of my new neighborhood. However, I am learning the streets now. I’m finding my way around and carving a new path as well as a new daily routine. My trips into the City are somewhat easier and quick too, which is good in the morning.
Still, there’s more to come. There’s more to a move than just “moving in,” so-to-speak. There’s more for me to handle and learn. But that’s fine.
I don’t mind learning. I don’t mind the growing pains as much anymore either – because I know they can’t hurt me forever.
(Whomever “they” may be.)

I’m the new kid in town. And that’s fine.
I’m in a new place. I’m in a new station in life and my position is not what it was, but then again, nothing is what it was and for me. I say that’s a good thing.
I can’t believe what took place for me to get here, which is not to say the ride was spectacular; however, in either case, I’m at where I’m at which is here –
pleading for something, hoping, waiting and openly confessing myself without ego or the fiascos of senseless pride. So, here it is, me, abandoning an old version of “Self” and with all my heart, I only want one thing.
I want to be crazy . . .
How about that?

And words . . .
We use them all the time. We speak them and we often forget that words have meaning. We know this. At least we know this is true from an intellectual standpoint. But sometimes, either haphazardly or unintentionally or perhaps in a moment of frustration or anger, we say words which we might not see as stinging or painful; however, we tend to forget that our words do have an impact.
This is certainly true when talking about the people we love the most. Yes, I am guilty of saying things that I shouldn’t have said. I am guilty of putting my foot in my mouth, so-to-speak. I am guilty of hitting below the belt or saying things in a fight without thinking and later on I have to face the aftermath of what I said.