The Path Least Traveled Is The One You Create

I am walking a path. Twists, turns, ups, downs. Some time it feels as if I am hopelessly lost. I forget why I’m even here. It is at those times that I become paranoid about the path I’m on. It’s at those times of panic that I usually sit down. I don’t want to move in fear of continuing into the “unforeseeable”

These are my rest periods. As hard as it may be to breathe during these times, these are the times to catch  my breath. To remember what I’m here for. To look at myself. My cuts and scrapes and scars from all the thorns, falls, and close calls. From all my careless and less than careful moments. I look backwards to the way I’ve been. It’s already been quite a journey. Then, I use a vision that doesn’t require my eyes. I look into myself. I’ve grown so much. That’s what experience does to a person, when they start using their falls as opportunities to learn. Took me a while understand how to view them that way. Took me even longer to understand that I don’t know everything. Ignorance is bliss, and young people are chock-full of ignorance. At least I was, but what can you expect? Most young people have little to no understanding of how the world ACTUALLY works, let alone experience in it. My blessing is that I was so ignorant, so much, while so young. Knowledge is often found powerless against ignorance. The carelessness created from bliss leads to mistake. It is from these mistakes that wisdom can be instilled, if you are willing to learn, that is. You must accept that you may not know as much as you think you do, and you must be willing to learn, in order to grow. I’ve now seen all that I was and all that I’ve done. I see all that I am and can now begin, consciously, doing. The mysticism surrounding the path is now stronger. The unknown is, once again, enticing. The uncertainty is now gone. For I am certain that I will make the best of whatever has yet to come.

I Write, Therefore I Am

I used to always feel as if I was not meant for this world. In fact, part of me still feels that way. I will always credit writing to be one of the main reasons I still exist on Earth. Writing is my tie to this world. Often it feels as if my writings belong here, but I do not. But my writings come from my thoughts, and my thoughts come from myself. Without me, there would me none of my writings. Without my writing, what would be of me?

I Used To Hate The Rain, But Lately I Find Myself Praying For A Thunderstorm

I was reading before the storm hit. The heavens were bellowing with thunder. moments before the rain started. I put down my book and stared out the window that was to my right. As the rain reigned down harder and harder, an urge I’ve had, for sometime now, grew larger and larger. After a few more seconds, I could no longer stifle my desire. I flung myself out of my recliner and stripped my clothes off, only to replace them with a bathing suit. I grabbed a towel and ran down the steps, out the door, out to my backyard. Each raindrop that splattered against my bare skin sent an electric shiver throughout my body. I howled up to the sky, daring the thunder to return my call. Once I was completely soaked, I began to do some yoga. Once I was limbered up, I danced in the rain and continued to howl, laughing at the sheer enjoyment of simply being alive and in that moment. This has been the most spiritually cleansing action I’ve done for myself in quite some time. My recommendation: When you hear the warning shots of thunder, keep a bathing suit close to you.

Sporadic Anxiety

My thoughts are the crashing waves that pulled me out to sea. It’s as if the light of the full moon awakened Poseidon. Judging by the strength of the current, his awakening was not a pleasant one. The ocean had me in its grasp now. Stealing me from my tranquil shore, dragging me through the coral and broken shells. I bob in and out of the water. Every now and then, strands of seaweed caress my legs, begging me to stay. Each time, their offer becomes appealing. But that sort of stability would be deadly, so I kick and I thrash and I refuse to be enticed. It’s reached the point of sink or swim. I never learned how to carelessly float on my back. So if you see me merely floating along, it’s because life has left my body. That image fuels my adrenaline, but my bursting speed is short lived. I’ve always been poor at pacing myself. These harsh waters have once again become overly-threatening. It’s the space between each wave that pushes me under water, that I am able to quiet these thoughts of drowning. Breathe. Slow down. The water is no longer tossing me aimlessly, but pushing me in the right direction. Breathe. Stroke. There is nothing left but this now. As my energy becomes more reserved, my pace finally develops for the long run. Breathe. Stroke. The ocean has calmed. A man lost at sea, on the brink of destruction, is now headed back to shore.

Stolen or Given?

Earlier today, I spontaneously arrived at the conclusion that I favor the phrase “my heart was stolen” over “I gave my heart to…”. These are two phrases that I believe most people would view to be the same but to me, are powerfully different, and equally as beautiful. To give your heart to someone means that you have kept a firm grip on it, whether it be because of someone abusing your love in the past, spitefully divorced parents who have tarnished your idea of what love is supposed to be like, fear that the bond you and another share will fade away while you lay there hoping, or maybe you’re just careful. But for whatever reason you may have, you have been keeping your heart close to you in much more than the obvious, physical manner. To give your heart to somebody means you believe that they’ve earned your trust and love. You’ve let all your walls, security measurements, and protocols down so that you may finally embrace another. By my last sentence, it should be apparent that giving your heart to someone is very risky , but to have it stolen, can be much more frightening. To have your heart stolen is hardly, if ever, under your control. It takes a little time, but when it happens, it’s sudden. You don’t even realize that a person is quietly picking the locks to your chest. Maybe you weren’t being careful. You never intended for your heart to be in the hands of another person, but turning back is no longer an option. To “have your heart stolen” and “to give your heart to another person” are both equally beautiful experiences with the possibility to be devastating. Picking a rose doesn’t come without the threat of thorns, after all. To talk on a more personal note: I would much rather have my heart stolen, than to give it up. My heart is well guarded and well hidden, and if you have the skill to take it from me, then for better or for worse, it is yours.

-Davy Jones

Sometimes Excitement Should Not Be Contained

One of the many things I love is singing happy birthday, with a group of people. The “Birthday Song” is a song of celebration, therefore it should be sung accordingly. It isn’t about sounding perfect or being melodically beautiful, or even in key! It is a song that should be shouted into the atmosphere with a goal of the stars feeling one’s passion. Having a song that is pleasant to the ears is always nice, but there is something heartwarming about a group of people yelling “Happy birthday” out of the excitement of celebration for someone’s mark of another year on this earth. It is said that you should never let your emotions get the best of you, but sometimes excitement should not be contained.

Happy Birthday Savannah.

Take Your Time

There have been many times where I have turned myself around and picked up my successful tendencies. There has also been just as many instances where I have found myself back on the beaten path of bad habit. I need to learn to walk more carefully. I become so overwhelmingly motivated that I don’t just turn myself around, I take off sprinting in my new found direction. Having intense motivation is never a bad thing, but this journey is, without a doubt, a long one. One is always more likely to follow through traveling if they walk instead of run. Too many times have I sprinted off in my new direction with the burning phoenix of motivation at my feet, only to find myself back on the beaten path, out of breath and fatigued. I need to learn to take my time, one step at a time. Breathe in. Breathe out. Turn myself around. Breathe in. Breathe out. I have now started my new journey at a steady pace.