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. 

Before we move on to understand why life moves in full-circle, first and foremost, we have to look back at what brings us back to where we came from.
What is it?
Are my reasons to circle back to a familiar place to find some kind of comfort?
Is this something that can help restore an inner peace? Or do we revert back to an old or more comfortable setting so that our surface mind can think about greater tasks at hand?

Home . . .
What a great word this is.
Home. This is a word worth saying again.
The dictionary says that home is a place where someone lives. I say there is more to this. I say there’s more to a home than where we live. I say home is more than where you hang your hat. Then again, the dictionary also says that home is a place or institution for people in need of care or professional supervision.
Well?
Guilty as charged.

This has been a long time coming, I suppose. These journals of mine have grown into a collection and, to me, these collections are maps, details and descriptions of changes which have taken place in my life. This is something which has taken shape and grown, just like a child who grows from an infant to a teen and from a teen to a young adult
This has become my baby as well as a piece of my heart.
This has become an outlet to me or a porthole that allows me to escape from the bullshit and the everyday norm. But there’s more.
These journals have become a way to reach you on a daily basis and keep me safe in a place which I have created, especially for us.