I am sitting on an outbound bus with the sun going down. The moon arrived early for its shift today and across the Hudson, which is between me and the City, I can see the spires of tall New York City buildings, pushing their needles into the palms of the sunset.
I am older now but the romance has not left me. Not at all. I still feel the same way and to me, she is just as beautiful—or better yet, she is more beautiful now and beautiful as ever.
My feelings towards her are still as impactful as when I was young and wild. This place has seen me through decades of changes. She is always there for me, regardless of my faults or past misgivings. Besides, she knows my truths, which I suppose was something that used to frighten me.
I have seen her from the Eastside and the Westside and from the Downtown side on cobblestone streets, which still exist. I’ve been with her from the SoHo side, to the Uptown side, from the parks, and to the Avenues with alphabets. She is still very real to me; my City.

There are different phrases for when someone “Goes away,” to dry out or clean up. One phrase that I hear is, “He went to the farm,” which is interesting to me because in my case, I was literally on a farm for 11 months. But I get it. There will always be slang terms. There will always be an attachment to opinions and connections to stigma. I understand that anonymity is not always anonymous and that people talk to keep the rumor factories alive.
To be clear, I was in three different treatment facilities. I was in two of them twice. And I say this without shame. I offer this without regret and openly identify myself as a person who needed help. But this is more about people and our relationships than it is about rehabs and recovery. This is more about the connections we make and the people we meet. This is about what people share with each other when it seems like the entire world is about to fall apart. 
That’s what this is about.

More and more, I think the farther I move away from my former self, the more I realize that I am more than who I ever thought I could be. I am more than my surroundings. My eyes are open now; or better yet, maybe I’m not afraid to see anymore. Maybe I’ve given myself the permission to move on. I have gone beyond the crossroads and come to the understanding that I am more powerful than the influence of my environment. I can change. I can improve. I can say goodbye and walk away. I can learn new things and choose a new life.
The more I grow as a person, the more I realize that this is all within my grasp. I do not have to submit or allow myself to be overrun by circumstances. There is no law that says I have to be defined by my situations. It’s true. In fact, if ever there is a miracle it is the day we realize our own abilities to walk away.

The Old Man used to tell me, “If you sleep with dogs, you’ll wake up with fleas.”
Then he’d point to my friends and point out my condition.
Then he’d say, “You’re gonna have to start scratching soon.”
I suppose he was right.

There are people who look to help and people who look to speak. There are times when silence is best. There are times when all we need is a friend to be there, not necessarily to say anything or least of all, the right thing—but just to be there is perfect enough.

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?