I recall a morning, cold as ever, bright and beautiful and the world around me was still new.
I was young. The world was changing, and my life was about to take on a brand-new look.
I was on a farm. I was living in the middle of a time that I never thought I would rethink or look to revisit in my mind.
I lived on a farm in a small therapeutic community for 11 months. I was cleared from my past and facing the facts that I needed to undergo a change.

It is mild today, and still warm, yet,
this is more like a testament or a qualifying moment,
as if to be an elegy or serious reflection of say,
the tiny bits of mercury that rise and fall
like the seasons and the tide, which range from warm to cool—and still,
another year has been tallied
and calculated.
We are still alive, at least I think so.

I think the question makes sense to ask,
what does it mean to really be alive? If we are alive, does everyone know what it means to live?

I understand when you tell me how you’ve waited for so long, or how you’ve waited for tomorrow to come, but then you woke up, just to realize that tomorrow never showed up.
At least, not the way you thought it would.
I understand what it means to make plans. I suppose we all do.
Everyone has a plan. We have hopes and dreams.
We have ideas and we have wants and needs.

I know what it means to have a hope or to have a dream and then somehow, or perhaps drastically, I understand the shock that comes when our plans change, or didn’t work out, or come true.
Life is always unexpected.
Know this.

I have been coming here for years now. Then again, you already know this, at least that’s what I assume.
I come here to sit with you, like this, quietly.
But more than anything, I come here to motivate myself. I do this so I can start my day.
Sometimes, I come here to expose myself, or to free myself from the burdens of thought.
Other times, I come here to spill myself in the black and white version of letters and words, sentences and paragraphs. I do this to build something for myself. I do this to include you more in my life and yes, i do this because I need to.
This is part of me now, just like my heart beat or the blood in my veins or the breath in my lungs, these journals and the contents within them are all part of me.
I share them no matter what, and regardless if this reaches my intention or the destination or if this opens you up to me, more or less, I still have to try.

Life is happening. All the time.
The question about this is simple. Even when the answers are unfriendly or when the answers are unlikeable, the answers are simple too.

There will always be a choice. We might not like the choices. We might not favor either of them and sometimes, there will be days when we have to choose the lesser of two evils.
I know.
Either way, the questions are simple.
And so are the answers.

I am not fit to judge. I am not better or worse than you or anyone else. I have no right to point fingers nor am I fit to say who is righteous and who should be saved, who could be fixed, and who will always be broken.
I have no time for talks like this.

I am writing this as a note to you. Then again, all of my notes are to you.
So, I’m not sure if this is a note or if this is a moment of clarity or a moment of awareness, or maybe this is a mission statement.
Yes, that’s it.
This is all of the above.
There are stages of change, such as the moments when there is pre-contemplation, or when all is unclear and muted and unseen. Next is the wake-up call. This is when we find ourselves in the stages of contemplation and next is determination, and then comes action. Next is maintenance because nothing can be sterling without the care to keep it polished.
Understand?

I saw something interesting last night. I woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep. I felt restless and anxious. Plus, I was hungry too.
I got up and put on some sweats and a t-shirt.
I got in my car and started to drive.

I suppose the future can start once the past is gone. So, what does that mean?
I suppose that means this moment is more important than we think.
So, here I am world, just waiting for the next big thing to come along and grab me by the hand, and off we can go at the drop of a hat. The two of us, maybe out to sea, somewhere; but hey, who knows?

Maybe this is just me rambling. Or maybe this is a rant.
Or maybe I’ve been inspired to get back to my hopes and dreams and perhaps this is a call for me to get back to the work I love.

I used to tell people that I have two jobs.
One job pays my bills.
The other job pays my heart.
I think I like that explanation.

I’ve always wanted to create my own position in the mental health industry.
Why not? I’m crazy too.

Waves come in to hit the shore.
I love it this way, the beach in the wintertime, and the cold air, the blue sky and the bright sun, which is high and full but the winds are cold—but not to me.

No, I suppose this is the warmest place I can think of.
The beach in wintertime . . .
The gulls fly overhead and the waves seem to echo, like the sound of something revolving which, to me, I see this as Mother Earth’s breathing in and out, up and down, like the chest of the world filling as she inhales, and going down as Mother breathes out.