I do believe in a cosmic sense. I believe in the vastness of the sky and that, in some way, there is a purpose for everything.
I do believe in the compilation of our stories and the main events of our lives. From this, we become, we grow and we learn. Whether we move forward or quit, I know that there is an answer. I know there’s something we’ve all been searching for; and more, I know there are times when we passed an opportunity or there are times when we wished we turned right instead of left or left instead of right.

I have been asked about these journals and my reason for why I involve us together or why I personalize this and always include “you” as part of my story.
Well, I think that before I answer this, it is important to explain that yes, I am one of those people who talks to themselves. Not only do I talk to myself, but I’ve been known to argue with myself from time to time. If I’m being honest, I’ve lost a few of those arguments as well. 

In a short entry, I want to express something special to me. First, I want to be clear that I do not blame anyone for my past or my decisions. However, I do say that had I met with people who care for me (like the way they do now) then perhaps I might have been encouraged to keep going or try a little harder and never give up on myself.

I love this. . .

The following entry is written as more of a stream of conscious format. This is me in a sense, emotionally venting but also hoping that, yes, we can pull things together in a way that helps everything make sense.
Either way, the sun will go up and down and the moon will find its nightly pocket in the sky. Either way, the day will turn into night and the night will eventually turn into sunrise. Either way, this is life. Together we are no more different than we are the same.

This here is a little thing about life in the view of an introspective moment –
November, 2022: Manhattan, New York City

It is a day that’s passed the last of October. More accurately, today is the first of a month that draws us closer to the holiday season. I am alone, by myself, and driving fast (to say the least) on a parkway with my mind detached and my body taking over as a form of habit.
I am not thinking yet I am reacting in an automatic sense that my body knows which way to go and how to turn. 

It was a day like today. The leaves had already changed and the trees were nearly empty. There was a crazy little stir in our bellies which would only happen once in a year. There was something to this day called Halloween. There was something about the scary movies and the long list of candies which were readily available except, of course, when there was the stirring little fears of danger because (and I’m sure this must have happened somewhere but . . .) there were always tales of someone tampering with candies or putting pins in chocolate bars. But I never saw anything like that.

Like anyone else, I am simply another human in this world. As a human, I’m one of those humans whose weight has gone up and down. This means my body has gone through changes. I’ve aged some and my healing process is not what it used to be.
Neither is my metabolism for that matter.
I am not here to appeal to anyone for sympathy nor judgment. I am fine; in fact, I’m improving on a daily basis. However, rather than appeal to anyone for unsolicited advice; instead, I am here to expose myself as a regular person who’s been both up and down on the scale.

I’d rather normalize the concepts of eating, or should I say not eating properly. I’d like to do this without shame or without disguising this as something else. No, this is a simple text from a used-to-be skinny kid who could eat as much as I wanted, whenever I wanted; then one day, age decided to show up.

I have always been a fan of background music. Perhaps you’ve noticed this with some of my previous entries, especially when I describe music as a necessity to set the stage and improve the atmosphere.
I use music to help me navigate and move around. I might not be listening to every word or every lyric but somehow, the music can almost put me in a state of auto-pilot. I might not even notice the song playing at the surface level of my thinking but I can hear everything. I can feel the rhythm and I can feel the change in my chemistry. I can feel the music which, to me, is the exact intention. This is what music does; it helps us invoke a feeling or somehow, music puts rhythm to our thoughts that cannot be explained.
I don’t need the volume to be loud so much but in fairness, I do enjoy the loud volumes. I do admit that certain driving music can result in me pedaling faster, so-to-speak. But then again, different music inspires different emotions and different emotions respond with different changes in our chemistry. 

I want to know what it means to face the sea from the west coast. I want to be south of the border, maybe in Baja or perhaps somewhere else in Mexico. More to the point, I want to be someplace where time takes a vacation. The world takes on a tropical appeal and all else is simple and easy, like an offshore breeze through the palms along the shoreline. I want to face the blueness of the Pacific and search myself for a moment of calmness. All the while, I could be soaking in the sun – and the waves could tumble into the surf, the world would be behind me and I would be miles away, detached from all the hustling cars and cabbies, and light years from the loud intrusions of a place otherwise known as civilization. 

I want to find myself elsewhere and cloaked by the sun and covered with the scent of suntan lotion. I could see me this way, standing in my best tropical pose; a pair of sunglasses pulled up on my head to hold the hair from my eyes, a tan glow to my skin, and maybe there’s a nearby hammock for me to rest upon with a little coconut to drink out of – and of course, this would come with the obligatory chunk of pineapple, a tiny drink umbrella that perches from the top of my coconut drink and ah, that would be nice.

I was somewhere around the age of junior high school crushes at the time. I was living through this so-called thing called teenage life while eagerly looking for experimentation. I was trying to find myself in the sense that me as I was, a young man, smaller than the rest of my class, and puny to some degree; I knew that I needed an edge. After all, everyone has an edge whether it’s a sense of humor, charm, a new toy or something bright to stand out – everyone has something about them.
I wanted to find my way across the bridges of popularity and be at least somewhat cool. I can remember looking at the others in my social surroundings. I looked at those who were seen as popular or the so-called popular. I noticed where they sat and who they sat with and I wondered what was it about them that made them different from me – or better yet, what made them different from anybody or everybody else?