I am a pioneer on the roads of life. That is “roads,” plural not singular, because there are many avenues on which to live and different boulevards by which to take. “Pioneer” because my life is my one and only that no one else has lived, is living or will be living, so I am the first on its trail. I have tried to find my own way in this world and I have discovered that my trailblazing skills are not as skillful as Boone’s was in the early days. He at least knew where he was going, though I think that in the same way that parts of my path have been laid outside of my own control, he too encountered situations of difficult choices. As I stop for a moment and look back down the way, I am surprised at the amount of swerving over the past few years, not to mention the many forks in the road. There are more potholes and repairs than I wish there were, most of which I can name and others that I will not notice until later.

I look ahead now and I have a new desire to direct my path to a destination I should have been aiming for long ago. It is a destination that is seen from all roads, unable to be ignored except by the most ignorant. I have had many chances to turn to this place and I have many times been heading that direction, only to swerve back to going to who knows where. The mountain I seek is immense, daunting even, striking fear in my heart. I feel timid at the thought of traversing the mountain finally because I am familiar with the sight of it by looking at it constantly from afar but my familiarity pales in comparison to knowing. I am at the foot of the majesty, ready to begin my ascent.


“We are in the position of travelers who, after surveying a great mountain from afar, traveling around it, and observing how it dominates the landscape and determines the features of the surrounding countryside, now approach it directly, with the intention of climbing it.”

–          J. I. Packer in Knowing God



for chocolate lovers.

I feel very loved at the moment: A relaxing morning leading to a wonderful afternoon ending in an evening of good conversation and company. It is a strange feeling, though, love is. Have you ever really explored that feeling of love? Felt your way around it as it pulsed through your being? It is unexplainable but distinctively, Love. It is kind of warm and fuzzy, as funny as the cliché sounds, when I really delve into it. I look inside soul and I can almost see it permeating every seam, like a fire, but not burning or destruction, more like warm, warm chocolate running through my veins— with that smell and everything, like the one at the Ghirardelli. It must be different for you, but all I have to draw from is my own soul and no one else’s so I don’t know about that.

And the chocolate is overflowing, out of my skin, out of my pores. I don’t want to waste it, I want to share it with you. And the guy next door to me, and the lady at the cash register and even the driver that cuts me off. And not merely so that it doesn’t go to waste, because it can’t go to waste; no, I want to share it because it is just that good and when you have some you will realize you need it as much as I do.

I need Love. I need to be Loved. I need to Love. I love to Love. More than water, food, or shelter— it is something I yearn for, but not in a way of seeking attention. That is like infatuation or something that is something insignificant, something fleeting, compared to real Love. It is hard to admit it, because I am not coming from anywhere, from any angle. It is merely my statement of facts. It is the boring part of a movie that declares the violation of burning a DVD. It is truth and nothing more, just there to let people know about it. So, I say again: I need Love. I need to be Loved. I need to Love. I love to Love.

It breaks me that there are some children, teenagers, young men and young women that are not familiar with Love. It really does. And even with people that feel Love today, that know it in the present but did not know about it in the past, those people and their stories breaks me. Call me weak or what you may but it does. I suppose I take it for granted that Love is something that everyone automatically has always experienced and when confronted with the truth, I break for that person. I don’t really know why. I used to deny that feeling of breaking when I was younger and still do from time to time but I lately I have been embracing it.

I have an overflowing of Love in me. My soul is dipped in it. I have been blessed and I am blessed, though not through any achievement or special award or anything that may separate me from you.  No. I do not deserve Love, yet I have it and in abundance. The warm, rich, chocolate is overflowing; let me share it with you.



So, maybe I was a little hasty in setting the mood of this blog. I have been reading a little bit about what it is to blog and to write. The two are not one and the same, but have been skewed a little by the open access of the Internet. Not that this is a bad thing, no, it is a good thing, in my opinion. But for me to say that I “write to write” is not a correct statement. What I truly mean when I say that, and I just realized this now, is that I am writing to discover me. I am writing to discover my writing, my voice. As of now I do not know what that is, or who that is. All I know is that I want that voice to be one hundred percent completely absolutely me.

Not to say that I will identify myself by my blog or with my blog, or that I will change my being and person to conform to writing. And for those that think that “finding your voice” is as cliché and as fake as it gets (the other side of my thoughts included) you should do a little research and rethinking.

A reintroduction was in order—for this blog, and for my own personal mind. I will be writing to discover my voice, my style and ultimately myself in writing.


Running is a therapeutic hobby for me. Well, maybe not a hobby, I do it mostly for exercise but I often turn to running when I am stressed or have an overwhelming amount of energy. Or when I am feeling like a sloth.

Everyone should run a mile a day, or a week at least. I would not say that I love to run, but I enjoy the soreness and the exertion of tired lungs after a hard run.

“and if I was going anywhere, I was runnin’!”

Or something to that effect.


On my first attempt to publish this introduction I accidentally published nothing.  Also, by the end of that sentence I noticed that the posting box does not automatically capitalize or fix spelling mistakes so I will now be writing in Word and then copying and pasting into the posting thingy.

This blog is where I will record some of my thoughts that appear in my mind during the day. Partly for a class, partly out of my own curiosity and interest, I write to write.

Hopefully, I can get some pictures up here, too, at some point.