I Love Love

Sorry to disappoint, but as you can probably guess from the picture above, this juicy love story is by no means juicy at all. But it is real. And it is undoubtedly the greatest love I will ever know. The love of a Savior who did the unthinkable. Who was the unthinkable.

Lately, I've really been struggling in regards to making my faith something other than a Sunday morning fling. I've been trying to compartmentalize my life so much, and it seems like in the process, my faith has ended up in the smallest, most insignificant compartment. So two days ago, I decided to make a change.

You see, daily devotion books have never been my strong point. The excitement and curiosity abounding from their pages lasts me about a week, and then I find myself dreading the devotional time instead of yearning for it. I read the words, but it always seems like I've heard something like them before. And soon enough, the devotional becomes just another book on my bookshelf that I happen to revisit a couple times each year. Try as I might, I haven't been able to find one that captivates both my hard-to-please interests and my longing to cultivate and nourish a deeper relationship with Jesus Christ.

So, two days ago I came to the conclusion that my inability to enjoy a devotion book does not mean that I'm some doomed Christian. It simply means that I have to be seeking Christ in other ways.

I've begun reading well-known or hugely empowering verses from the Word each day. And then I sit and I dwell on it. And then, right then and there, I ask myself how I'm going to allow that verse to become life-altering and how I can use that verse to allow Christ's light to shine through me in my everyday life. And in all honesty, it has been an absolutely amazing experience. 

Delving into the Bible on a daily basis without the structure of a set plan has become not only a boost to my spiritual life but also an unbelievable source of excitement. When you come across verses like the one above, you can't help but stand in awe of it all. Sheer, utter awe.

The love of my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ is so wide and so long and so high and so deep that I can't even fathom it. It's totally beyond our earthly, finite comprehension skills. But it's true. And in a world filled with struggles and disappointment and rejection and hatred and worry and fear and doubt and difficulty and need, what better way to face it then with a Friend who's faced it all before. A Friend whose love surpasses human understanding. A Friend whose ever-present presence cannot be hindered.

Now, that's what I call life-altering.   

Abbrevs

Yes; even the title of this post is an abbreviation because you simply cannot condone abbreviations without calling them abbrevs. That would be hypocritical. And I also cannot start this post without thanking my brother James. He was the one who first introduced me to the wonderful world of abbrevs. And shortly after this first encounter, I myself became addicted.

Now, it's important to establish the fact that not all abbrevs are okay. For example, they're just not as cool if they've been done b4. Excuse me, I mean before. When I say that, I mean things like lol, g2g, ik, or the worst offenders, r and u. Here's where it becomes a little confusing though. You see, it's not that cool to type those abbrevs, but it's totally acceptable to say them. As long as it's in a pretty sarcastic tone. If a friend tells a joke in class just go for it and say, "Nice one. LOL." Don't write it. Say it. And then obviously, saying "r" and "u" doesn't sound any different than "are" and "you", so feel free to let 'em fly whenever you'd like.

Alright, now that the most difficult part of the lesson is behind us, onward and upward we go. "Nbd" has to have a little paragraph of its own. It used to be uncool, but then people began tossing it around in such a funny and exaggerated way that it slowly but surely became acceptable at certain moments. For example: I just found a million dollar bill. nbd. It is the only cliche abbrev that can be both written and voiced. On occasion.

Next comes the fun part. The lesser-known abbrevs. My personal favorite: nast. Derived from the word nasty. Example: "Wow, your feet are nast." Another neat one is awk. Stemming from the word awkward. Example: "Your heavy breathing is making everyone in the room feel awk." The last one I will mention (though there are so many more available) is supes. As in super. Example: "You look supes fancy in your plaid shirt/pants combo." You see, the possibilities are limitless. I mean, my brother's favorite is cords, a way shorter version of corduroy pants. LIMITLESS.

And then sometimes, if you get extremely good at it, you can just drop the word altogether and only leave its first letter. "I found your b in my l so I decided to bring it back to y." (Hint: I found your book in my locker so I decided to bring it back to you.)

Abbrevs obvs can add so much spice to life, especially when you use them correctly. After all, a's are the b.

Music to Note

I've decided that the "Music to Note" portion of this blog will be making a frequent appearance. Each time it will feature everything from lesser known musicians who are on the verge of hitting it big like Ed Sheeran (from the previous "Music to Note") to musicians you wouldn't really know unless you knew them personally. Whatever the case may be, they all have one thing in common: talent. Genuine, passionate, inspiring, sick talent.

This evening's choice is Fox and the Hound. Jared DeMeester, the one tearin' up the vocals in this video like it's nobody's business, just so happens to be my brother's college roommate. So, chances are, you probably haven't heard of him. But holy cow; you're missing out.

So sit back, relax, and enjoy this musical snack. 

 

Care Less

"Be more concerned with your character than your reputation, because your character is what you really are, while your reputation is merely what others think you are."

John Wooden knows what's up.

And I could sit here all day and do the ever-popular, "I don't care what anyone else thinks about me" act, but at the end of the day, the truth of the matter is that I do. Not nearly as much as I used to, but I do care. It's not that I want to care; I don't think anyone ever wakes up in the morning and says, "Boy, I sure hope I'm influenced by the thoughts of the people around me today. I'm just really in the mood to live with a perpetual fear of being scrutinized." No; that would be absolutely ridiculous and completely unrealistic because we, as humans, have this undeniable longing to be accepted and to avoid judgment. We want to be cool. We want to be liked. We want to be wanted.

But then I thought about it. And then I thought some more. And then I took a break because that was a heck of a lot of deep thinking. In the end, here's what I came up with.

Character and reputation are about as similar as good and bad. Do you get what I'm saying? They're polar opposites. Your character is you, apart from any stereotype or rumor or judgment. Your reputation is nothing more than a perception. It could be you, but oftentimes it's not. Perception is not fact; it's not ever 100% true. It couldn't be or else it would in fact be a fact.

So essentially, caring about what other people think is nothing more than hoping that they will not make a rude or rushed educated guess about who you are and what you live for. And when you put it that way, caring less doesn't seem quite so insurmountable. Actually, it seems kind of nice. Kind of really, really freeing.

As much as I'd like to say that I've mastered the "care less" art, that would be a lie. It would be a big lie. But I am working on it. Have you ever gone shopping for new clothes and thought, I wonder which one of these shirts will get me more compliments? Been there, done that. I'm not afraid to admit it. Except now I've changed it to, I wonder. Wait, no I don't. I personally like this one better. It's so much easier when you only have to satisfy one person's interests (your own) as opposed to trying to shop for 400 people.

And that's just one small, superficial example. Your friends and family know your true character. And obviously they like what's going on with it. So, why on earth does it matter what he says or what she says or what those people over there say? It doesn't. That's their perception.

Use your reputation as an opportunity to prove your reputation wrong. That's all that a reputation will ever be good for. And if all else fails, just, care less.

New York, New York

You know how everyone goes through that stage where they either want to be an astronaut or a dolphin trainer? Yeah, for some reason, I skipped that stage. The only thing that could have possibly made me want to become an astronaut was if New York City was located on the moon. I wanted nothing more than to go there, to soak it all in, and to become the greatest actress of all time. Well, New York City is still part of my plan. The acting? Not so much. I found that if at the age of 13, you still haven't been in a single play or pursued a single audition, you don't have a great deal of promise or competitive edge in the acting industry.

So I moved on. To what, you ask? At the time, I couldn't have told you if I tried. I knew one thing for sure. It would not be anything related to English or writing. I had this great grade school English teacher, but the only bad thing was that we were never allowed to use "be" verbs. I'm talking "am, is, are, was, were". Good luck with that. And then we would have intense, pretty-much-run-on-without-being-run-on sentences that we would have to dissect and label and diagram. Moreover, since it was at that time when people were still pretending to be concerned about childhood obesity before giving up on the issue altogether, our teachers were trying to sneak any sort of physical activity into the classroom that they could. So, depending on  how many parts of the sentence we failed to properly diagram, we would have to do that many push-ups. Needless to say, I hated English. But secretly (you have to promise not to tell anyone), I loved every stinking minute of it.

And when high school came along, my love for writing grew and I became reacquainted with words that I had forced myself to believe were no longer a part of the English language. Do you have any idea how great it is to write is? Oh. So great, let me tell you.

I was in love. With words. With the way words could flow so simply and so smoothly. With the way words could paint a detailed, intricate portrait. With the way words were merely letters who had friends. And with the fact that I could write in fragments and still be successful, just as I'm doing now. And I couldn't think of any better place to unleash my writing than in New York City, that glorious city that never sleeps. The Big Apple.

I'm still in love with writing, that's for sure. But I'm also in love with New York. The hustle, the bustle, the sheer wonder of it all. Thankfully, I've come to find that writing, NYC, and I will be very happy together.

Life is just so beautiful. Don't be afraid of letting it be just that. Beautiful.

Hair

I'm sorry that this post has an extremely bland and short title. It's just that my hair is so big and frizzy that it essentially took up the whole title area. Not really of course, but pretty much. I have huge hair. Sometimes I'm even afraid that it may offend people or make them feel uncomfortable. But then I think, "Nah." They should feel honored.

You're still probably thinking, who writes a blog post solely about their own hair? Hmm. Me. It wasn't really anything I've been planning to do, but then yesterday, it hit me. It hit me when I was talking to my brother about something, and his response was, "Are you going to do something to that?" Yes; I soon discovered that the "that" he was referring to was my hair. And I can say without a doubt that it was the best, most uplifting insult I have ever received. Nope; I'm not going to do something to it.

However, that wasn't always the case. Before, when I was supposedly too little to own my own straightener, I used to live for the days when my sister would leave the house or even just leave her room, and then that blessed straightener would be all mine. I would literally dream about it. There was always something intriguing about being able to brush my hair. Without losing the brush. And then one year, I purchased a straightener of my very own, and my hair and I never looked back. It was shiny. It was straight. It was beautiful. And my hair wasn't half bad either.

But the more I straightened my hair, the more I wished that I hadn't straightened my hair. It would just lay flat, like I had put a huge glob of Elmer's glue in between it and my head. But I hadn't. Honest. It was in those moments that I realized I was deathly afraid of flat hair. It gave me nightmares. Not really, that would make me kind of weird.

But it still changed me. I decided to embrace my natural hair, embrace each person's stare, embrace my stylish flare. I liked it because no one looked like me (except on those rare occasions where I did straighten my hair). However, most mornings, I simply didn't have 4 hours to spare. That might be exaggerating; it might not be. You can take your pick. After all, it doesn't matter much anymore. Plus, if 80s hairstyles come around again, I'm way ahead of the trend.

And if you ask me, without my hair, my life would not be nearly as wanderFULL.

P.S. Shout out to my good buddy, humidity.

Music to Note

Ed Sheeran. The man of the hour. An English dream. He's cool now; he's hip now; he's notable now. But I can guarantee that a month or two from now, the whole world will realize this too, and then he will no longer be quite as extraordinary. After all, no singer ever is once you begin to hear them 20+ times on a "light" day. So here's my one piece of advice: Get him while he's hot. Make that, pretty much on fire.

And good luck, Mr. Sheeran. May you never become fully discovered.

I Want to Ban Bad Facebook-ers

Now, I'm not the biggest lover of facebook to begin with. I'm more of a twitter person. Sure, facebook is a great tool for connecting with old friends or posting pictures from a major trip every now and then, but sometimes, I see some of the things people do on there and I can't decide if I should be confused, mad, or concerned. And I'll explain to you why that is.

First of all, the names. I've always been a fan of the classic first and last name route, and I can even handle the middle name too. But that's about it. I mean, chances are, if your name is BigBooty Judy, and you request me as a friend or poke me, I'm not going to be super stoked about it. And then there are those other people who try to be a little more sneaky and just add a weird middle name like Tyrone GotMySwagOn Jones. Yeah, that's still not okay.

Then we've got the status issue. Don't get me wrong, it's totally cool if you enjoy cuddling, but I don't need a play by play. And I understand if you're really bored. What I don't understand is why that prompts you to post a "Truth is..." status. It's great to hear that you think everyone is pretty and you want to hang out with them sometime soon, but after the 38th post, it's just not as great. Plus, if you "bet I won't respond to your status with how we first met", I'm just going to have to let you win that bet. But holy cow, can you really read that paragraph even when all the letters have been jumbled around? That's impressive.

And then there are the pictures. Oh, the pictures, the pictures, the pictures. They usually speak for themselves. Sometimes, I feel like I know more about that person's bathroom than they do. I can see if they leave the toilet seat up, if they have a cool shower curtain, or if their mirror needs to be cleaned. And then I can tell if they're the type of person who likes to look happy in pictures or look injured. Or my personal favorite, "No makeup, all natural, *insert song lyrics." Wow, you have very luxurious lashes, naturally of course.

But sometimes, I feel bad. I'm really sorry, but I just won't be able to help you with your farm at the moment. And that sounds like it's going to be an awesome aquarium, but I think I'm going to have to pass this time. Anyway, good luck with your next game of online paddle ball.

Nevertheless, as much as I like to complain about these facebook issues, I still get a kick out of them. So, along with banning these violators, I would also like to extend a thank you. Thank you for the laughs. Thank you so much for the laughs. But now, please stop.

Throwback: Reliving the Daze of 90's Entertainment

Although some of us were still just toddling around at the turn of the millennium, the laughter and curiosity brought on by the entertainment of the 1990’s has not been soon forgotten – even sneaking into our world today through countless reruns and replays. Perhaps it was the timeless quality of the decade, the sheer innocence of it all, the fact that not every song and show was centered upon “mature themes and adult situations”. The 1990’s ushered in an age of excitement and discovery, activity and amazement, wonder and enjoyment. And I would guess that the proceeding information may not only be familiar to you, but may also allow you to become reacquainted with some dear old friends from what may seem like a lifetime ago.

One source of entertainment from the 90’s seems to be made fun of quite often today, but in a love-to-hate-it, hate-to-love-it sort of way. And that’s music.

Who could forget Aaron Carter? Some attempt to call him the “Justin Beiber” of his time, but many 90’s kids would beg to differ. His catchy tunes and easy-to-follow storylines had the ladies swooning, especially with songs like “Aaron’s Party” and “I Want Candy”.

But Aaron had some competition for the teen crowd’s attention, mostly coming from boy bands like the Backstreet Boys and *NSYNC. They “played games with our hearts”, made us “want it that way”, and left us with “no strings attached”, never wanting to say “bye, bye, bye.”

Yet, as much as the musicians thrived, they did not at all steal the show, the television show that is. Nickelodeon and Disney both introduced shows with characters who stole our hearts because not only were they fun to watch, they were also relatable.

There was Hey Arnold, the story of an awkward, football-headed fourth grader who had to deal with bullies, a girl named Helga who showed her affection for him by beating him up, and a friend named Gerald who had an afro that was obtrusively tall.

Then came the adventures of The Wild Thornberry’s, a quirky family who earned a paycheck by traveling around in their RV, all the while filming rare animals. Eliza, one of the daughters, had the ability to talk to animals and because of this, became best friends with her pet monkey.

Another show that captivated audiences was Rugrats, the story of Tommy Pickles, Chuckie Finster, and twins Phil and Lil as they went on “adventures” that were made possible when Tommy removed a screwdriver from his diaper to unlock the playpen.

For younger folks, maybe Blue’s Clues is a little bit more familiar. The story centered on a dog that helped her owner solve mysteries by placing her paw prints on “clues”. Perhaps the question of the ages that resulted from this show was, “Did Steve really go to college?” Probably not.

For more mature viewers, shows like Sister, Sister made it onto the scene, detailing the life of twins who were separated at birth and then reunited in a shoe store at the mall at the age of thirteen. Or there was Boy Meets World, following the life of the All-American boy Cory Matthews and his uniquely-named girlfriend Topanga. Viewers watched him grow from scrappy middle-schooler to married man.

And last, but certainly not least, came the Disney classics.

The Lion King was the story of Simba, a lion cub whose father was killed by his own brother. Thankfully, Simba was able to defeat this evil uncle (Scar) and became king of the Pride Lands.

Peter Pan was the story of a boy who could fly and could help others to fly too, leading them forth onto Never Land, a child’s dream.

The Little Mermaid told the story of Ariel, a mermaid who was willing to exchange her mermaid status for legs and land living so that she could be in the presence of a handsome prince named Eric.

Indeed, all of these shows and musicians have left a lasting impression on our hearts. An occasional walk down memory lane brings us back to a simpler time, a time when it didn’t seem weird that the parents didn’t notice when all of their children had left the gated play area, when talking to animals wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, when Aaron Carter truly did want Candy. Looking back on it now, it may seem a little funny or hard to believe, but that’s the beauty of childhood: imagination.

Living in an Instant Gratification Nation

It's so easy to point fingers, so easy to say that I exude selflessness and empathy, but I know in my heart that that's not always the case and I am just as much to blame for this increasingly self-absorbed nation as any other selfish, possession-consumed, superficial citizen of the United States. However, I do think that I am a bit different now, seeing as I actually recognize that I am a selfish, possession-consumed, superficial person. And if it hadn't been for my sister, I honestly have no idea if I ever would have realized that. That there are far greater struggles in the world than losing a contact or getting a B on a test that I had studied pretty hard for. Well, it's true. It may sound like I used to be some ignorant fool, but think about it. How many times have you gotten stuck in traffic or ruined a pricey shirt and literally thought the world was ending? Yeah, not even close to ending. Do you have any idea how incredibly blessed you are? Probably not. I just hope it doesn't take your sister moving to Rwanda for two and half years with the Peace Corps for you to come to grips with it.

For me, it did. That's my sister there in the picture, and I'm pretty sure you can figure out which one she is. She lives in a part of Africa (Rwanda) that's best known for the extreme genocide they experienced in the 90's. You know the one I'm talking about? The one where the United States pretended not to notice. Hundreds of thousands of people were brutally murdered, and families were torn apart and left with nothing more to live for. To this day, feelings regarding this incident are raw, and many struggling souls are still looking for a sense of direction and a source of healing. Clearly, I do not know struggle; they do. They've seen images that no horror film could ever even begin to depict. And yet, they press onward. They don't let it get them down. Instead they live, and they live to the fullest.

And they live life to the fullest despite having no running water and no sturdy, reliable home. Oh and how could I forgot? No grossly overabundant supply of food to hoard. Rather than living for all of these amenities, they live for each other and for the moment that lies right in front of them. To them, instant gratification is that overwhelming sense of satisfaction that comes from seeing someone else benefit from something you've done for them. Wow, that's humbling.

We could really learn something from these delicate people. From the gentle hands of the elderly, to the excitement of the small children who want nothing more than to be loved or noticed by anyone who visits their villages. My sister learned this as soon as she walked through her village the first time and found a line of children parading behind her with such a tremendous sense of pride and joy, especially when she would take the time to look back at them and flash them a smile or even stop and play a quick game with them. Yes; life can be simple, if we let it be. But we have to be willing to struggle.

Sleep: A Waste of Time

If I could write my own dictionary (hypothetically speaking of course), sleep would most assuredly be defined as just that: a waste of time. To some, I sound crazy, while to a small group of others, I probably sound like Gandhi. But for me, not sleeping has proven to be the best decision I've ever made. A decision that I didn't make. A decision that made me.

Confusing, am I right? Well, let me break it down for you. I used to hate it. Not being able to fall asleep until some ungodly hour and then still being forced to wake up at 6:47 AM for school every morning. It was terrible. Whenever September rolled around after a simply heavenly summer of being able to get at least 6 hours of sleep a night, I would dread those first school days, or to be more accurate, school nights. It's not that I hated school. I hated the idea of going to school on 2 hours and 30 minutes of sleep.

And then. I got over it. Out  of the blue, I got over it. I got WAY over it. I got so over it that I fell in love with it. You know how some people become really goofy and slap-happy the later into the night it gets? Yeah, that happens to me too. But then I made an incredible discovery. Amidst these momentary lapses of intelligence, I actually did my best thinking. Because not only did I brainstorm better than at any other time of day, but I was also able to combine this brain power with that middle-of-the-night, somehow-dry-and-saturated-at-the-same-time wit that we've all encountered at some point or another in our lives. And bam, the rest is history. Essentially, this pleasant insomnia chose me, and I owe it so many many thanks, especially for sticking with me despite all my efforts to move on. I mean, I never run out of time, I never feel the pressure to construct a bedtime schedule, and I basically have lived longer than most of my peers. Now, that's what I call a storybook life.

Have a great afternoon. The day is young.

P.S. Shout out to coffee.

I Wish Cancer Would Get Cancer

My blog's entitled "It's a Wanderfull Life, " so why on earth would I be talking about something so serious, something so grave and depressing? And the answer? Because I don't write fiction. I write what's real and what hits home, and I write about every aspect of this life. I do believe that life can be wonderful, but that in no way means that it's going to be clear blue skies and joy rides all along the way. I guess the true test of whether or not you have a wonderful life comes in deciding whether or not the trials and hardships and straight-up crap of this world are going to keep you down or allow you to become the person you were designed to be. Cancer is awful. It's an incessant, undermining, emotionless bully. And I hate it. I hate how it tears families apart. I hate how it tears the patient apart. I hate how it is tearing the world apart. And I hate how it's winning.

It may sound cliche, but I'll say it all the more, if I had one wish, it wouldn't be that cancer could be cured, it would be that cancer ceased to exist altogether. I can't tell you how many sleepless nights I've spent dwelling on this, on that absolutely extraordinary idea. I've never been an emotional person. Except about cancer. It seems so distant and so unassuming when you don't know anyone really close to you who has it, but when someone you love more than life itself lets you in on those fateful words, cancer goes from being a monstar you've heard of before to being a convicted murderer that you see face-to-face in the courtroom. First, you get mad; you get so mad. You want to teach cancer a lesson. And then you get sad; you get so sad. You spend night after night crying and praying and sometimes even wishing that you could take your grandpa's or your cousin's or your friend's place. And then you become resilient; you become so resilient. You're able to look cancer in the face and say, "Back off jerk, you don't belong here anymore."

But it still is never the same. You can't take back those years that your loved one spent recovering from invasive surgeries or enduring round after round of chemotherapy. You can't always get back the sparkle that was once in their eyes or the soft, soothing sunlight that once flooded from every word they spoke. You can't always get back the vivacious energy and life that touched everything they did before it all. But sometimes, you can get pretty darn close.

And then all the treatment and all the tiredness and all the emotional storms become worth it. Hugs are a little bit tighter. Smiles are a little bit bigger. And schedules are a little less relevant. Life is no longer about living but about revelling and soaking and sharing and loving. You no longer breathe in air, you breathe in opportunity and gratitude and sweet, sweet... sweetness.

Do I hate cancer? More than almost anything else. I wish cancer would get some sort of untreatable cancer. I want people to live without worry that they will get cancer or that their cancer will come back or that someone near and dear to their hearts will get cancer. It sucks, and for the life of me, I cannot get over how angry and upset it makes me. But I've realized that life doesn't have some happiness guarantee. Essentially, it owes me nothing. But I've made a promise to myself that I will make the best of every moment this life gives me. Worry doesn't add a single hour to this life; fear doesn't make things any easier. So the threat of cancer's not bringing me down. No way, no how. I'm blessed and nothing will get in the way of this wanderfull life. I can only wish that others will soon come to believe the same.

Stay positive. Stay strong. And never, ever, ever give cancer the pride of a job well done.

Let the Games Begin

Today is the most anticipated day of my summer: the opening ceremonies of the London 2012 Olympic Games. In fact, it's the first time in my life that I can actually remember anticipating these Olympics very much at all. Perhaps it's because I was just in London this past April, and now I'm obsessed beyond the point of a healthy addiction. Perhaps it's because this is the first year I've noticed that there are other Olympic sports besides gymnastics. Perhaps it's because of Ryan Lochte. But most likely it's because I've realized that this is one of the only times that the most underappreciated sport of all time finally gets somewhat of the spotlight it deserves. I'm talking running, not just track and field, but the marathon too.

Ryan Hall, Galen Rupp, Evan Jager, Shalane Flanagan, Kara Goucher, and the list goes on and on. These people are certifiably insane, and honestly, I've never met or heard of a truly successful runner who isn't. 120 mile weeks, 18 mile tempo runs, two-a-days, three-a-days. As a well-seasoned runner myself, this shocks me, so I can't even begin to imagine what the general public thinks of it. And yet, I would venture to say that 90% of the so-called "avid" Olympic trial viewers have never heard the names listed at the beginning of this paragraph, and many still will be clueless two and a half weeks from now. But in my opinion, they deserve so much more. The time they put in, the effort they constantly give, and the pain they endure on a daily basis cannot and should not go unnoticed.

While these runners may make it seem "easy", it most assuredly is not. Even if running has never interested you, I challenge you to give it one more shot in the coming days. And if you take nothing away from it, at least learn from their work ethic and undefeatable attitude. After all, hard work and an unquenchable thirst to push past any obstacle thrown your way are two ingredients for a wonderful - and wanderfull - life.

The Detailed Simplicity on Sun’s Set

Sure, the scintillating sunshine seems so simple, seems so sure;

That is, until its daily bow when light becomes a blur.

While many disregard and wend on another way,

Some accustomed audience members settle in for that day’s play.

Indeed, it’s like a season pass, and one that’s free of charge.

The attendance may be small, but the splendor’s always large.

The seasons are quite biased when it comes to time of day.

In summer, it’s a late show; in winter, matinée.

The sun knows full well when its first cue is near,

For its stage d’rections aren’t written; they merely appear.

As the lank, cumbrous trees are stroked back by the breeze,

It’s as though they’re the curtain, falling open with ease.

Then the eyes do a dance as they take in the scene –

Pink, orange, blue, and yellow, red, purple, and green.

Yes, the smooth sorbet sky quickly steals the show

As its soft, cotton hues caress viewers below.

Soon it’s tousled aside to make way for the star.

After all, he’s devoted; he commutes from quite far.

“There it is!” the crowd cries as they bat their keen eyes,

The only play they recall where there’s bliss when one dies.

Perhaps this is due to the fact that it’s brief,

That the sun will rise tomorrow to expectant relief.

But let’s back to the scene where the blood-orange globe jigs,

Where it sashays and it frolics, then it sinks and it digs.

Down it steps from the stage with a strange regal air,

As its clutch to the clouds starts to loosen, then tear.

Then it shatters against the harsh curve of the earth;

Yet the crash makes no sound, ushers in silent worth.

And that’s how it ends, or so the crowd thinks,

Without knowing the sun and night sky exchanged winks.

For after a time, a new star saves the day,

Escorted by thousands of guests all the way.

The evening expanse comes to soften the blow

Of seeing a friend say farewell and then go.

The audience ruptures into unhindered applause,

Never pining to end, even pining to pause.

If only these folks knew this happened each day,

That life’s natural treasures can keep boredom at bay.   

Rest Less

A small town. A small high school. A small - make that nonexistent - variety of things to do. Some may call it a recipe for disaster, but for me, it's proven to be a recipe for motivation. A motivation to see this small town not as a crutch or a hindrance, but as a launching pad. I'm ready to wander. I'm ready to take my restless self and rest less. I'm ready to do whatever it takes to not only leave for a big city, but take that big city by storm. That's not to say that I hate my quaint little, nothing-to-do town because that is not the case at all. I've just always known that I belong somewhere much bigger. Someplace hip and happening. Dare I say it, New York City. So welcome to the journey. It begins as I embark on my last year of high school, and it will undoubtedly include everything from the good to the bad to the ugly. What's in store you ask? I haven't a clue. But I can guarantee that it will be filled with a whole bunch of a certain f-word. Fun, that is. Here we go.