Cynical

CYNICAL

Adjective Believing that people are motivated by self-interest; distrustful of human sincerity or integrity. Doubtful as to whether something will happen or is worthwhile

I've never been a cynical person. Just the opposite really. I trust and I believe that people generally have good intentions.  Maybe that is how I satisfy my own self-interest.  I need to believe the world is a good place and that people are inherently good honest people in order to maintain my positive attitude.  I need to believe in the other person's sincerity.  It's what keeps my faith alive.

I listened to some advice against my...not better judgement.  I was waiting around for something I wanted and was told that maybe I should move on.  I denied, even fought the idea that I was waiting...but it was true. So I took one step away, took a chance on a moment and I was so wrong.  Again. It was like getting my hand slapped because I smiled.

I'm trying to understand why people are so deceptive. They think their deception is unintentional because they meant no harm in doing it.  Well, no harm to themselves because they certainly are not thinking of the other person's best interest.

Lets just stir up someone else's emotions and then say we didn't mean to.  That makes everything OK.

What I need is to have my soul satisfied.
I keep looking in the wrong direction.

Yet, I'll keep waiting for you.  It feels safer.

~KB

Deception...with the best intention

Just make eye contact
Stand a little closer
Talk a while
Share a smile
Laugh a lot
Touch her arm
Make her believe
Reel her in
Tell your secret... 
Break her heart
before or after you take her?


~KB

Growing up Russian

My Great Grandparents on my father's side came from Russia to the United States over 100 years ago and before my grandfather was born.  The story I've heard throughout my life was that my Great Grandfather was in the Russian Military and defected to the United States.

As far as I am aware they initially lived somewhere in New Jersey, then moved to Detroit Michigan, then to Danville Illinois where my grandfather's older brother was born.  I believe they moved around several times as my Grandfather grew up. 

During his late teen years or maybe early 20's, my grandfather and his parents had some sort of falling out and by the time I was born he rarely spoke of them.  They no longer existed in his life. My Grandfather was very much a U.S. Patriot and, on principle, considered his father a very bad person for defecting from his own country.  I never really gave it much thought in my younger years. 

I was Russian by blood and this fascinated me.  It was uncommon in my little town to find people of Russian descent.  English, Irish and Polish descent was much more common.  I wanted people to know I was Russian so I made it a point to talk about it often during my Elementary School years.  I even wanted to learn how to speak the Russian language, though I never did.

By the time I was 10 years old I was into gymnastics.  I was a typical girl doing cartwheels, round-offs, and flips across the front yard in my pigtails.  One of my teachers nicknamed me "Nadia" after Nadia Comaneci. At the time she was one of the most well known gymnasts in the world and my teacher said I reminded him of Nadia...because I was Russian and I wore pigtails and did gymnastics.  She wasn't Russian but being nicknamed after someone as famous as her was good enough for me.  The alternative would have been Olga Korbut who was in fact a well known Russian gymnast at the same time.  Both gymnasts were my idols, but I preferred to be called Nadia over Olga. 

I loved growing up Russian.


Over the years I would proudly announce I was Russian-Polish when asked. The Polish came from my mother's side. They were most definitely Polish. But it was always the Russian part that caught people attention. "You're Russian?" Yes I am! I'd say with a smile. Today I live in a much more diverse area and I doubt it would be as interesting a topic as it was when I was younger. But I cannot claim to be Russian any more.

I am not Russian. In my mid thirties I stumbled upon this bit of information. Honestly, I don't even remember how I came to know that I wasn't Russian. The shock of learning that I wasn't Russian is all that remains. It was like learning I was adopted and I didn't know who my real parents were. I didn't even want to know who they were because I wanted to be Russian. No, I was not adopted, but it turns out that my heritage was adopted.

My Great Grandparents on my father's side did not come from Russia. Maybe they came through Russia on their way to the U.S., or traveled with Russians along the way, but they definitely originated from Hungary. My name is Hungarian and it is as popular in Hungary as Smith is in the U.S. Ok, maybe not that popular, but you wont find my name in Russia.

In the early 1900's, when my ancestors immigrated to the United States from Hungary they were considered Gypsies.  They were called The Rom which was a mix of Russian, Siberian, Austrian-Hungarian Gypsies.  Apparently, it was easier to escape the Gypsy label by claiming a Russian heritage rather than Hungarian so they simply became "Russian". 

This may or may not be true but it is my supposition based on the information that I have found. It has been 15 years since I lost my Russian heritage and gained the Hungarian.  I've embraced it and now proudly announce I am Polish-Hungarian when asked.  Either way, I'd be just as happy to visit Moscow as I would Budapest.

There's only one thing still unsettled in the back of my mind.  What happened between my Grandfather and his father?  The story of my Great Grandfather defecting from the Russian Army doesn't sit well.  There are too many things that are not right about that story. The real story has to be an interesting one!

It happened over 100 years ago so maybe I'll never know the truth. 

~KB

Random Thoughts - No really

My mind is always running at about 120 miles per hour.  It starts with one thought then moves quickly through ten more, each vaguely related to the last.  One subject reminds me of another and then another, its like playing word association games in my head. What comes out of my mouth one minute is never related to what I say the next.  People tell me I’m random sometimes.  But that’s only because they don’t know how many thoughts have happened between my statements.  I wish my body would run as fast and as far as my mind.  It would certainly make running a whole lot easier.


I heard a quote today that caught my attention:

     "Bacon doesn't stop smelling good just because you became a Vegan."

Think about what that really means. It is applicable to most aspects of life.  

That's the difficulty with life.  Sometimes you have to give up what you want to get what you need.  You have to give up foods that you like to become healthier.  And those bad habits, the ones you sort of enjoy but they really don't make you feel good?  Give up those too.  Your mind needs to be healthy for your body to be healthy so give up those bad relationships, those bad thoughts, the past, the future and all those unhealthy desires.

What's left after you've given everything up?  The fabulous smell of bacon.  The agony every time you are faced with the decision to eat it or not.  Why do we care so much about how we feel anyway?  Do we really want to live that much longer?  Well, sure we do. We want more time with our loved ones.  We don't want to leave anyone behind....or be left behind.  That's the bottom line.

When someone we love leaves us we don't stop feeling love.  Sometimes what we feel is the love we had for them.....and sometimes what we feel is simply the love we are capable of giving.  Most of the time we can't tell the difference.  


~KB























  

Pensive

This place is like the pensive in the Harry Potter stories.  "This place" being my blog.  My writings are the golden strands of thoughts and memories pulled out of my head.  Some of them should be kept locked up tight in little glass jars because they are so sad and dark and unhealthy.  Those will remain drafts. Some of them will end up here because they deserve to see the light of day, to be acknowledged, or maybe laughed about. 

In fiction you can't tell which parts are based on reality. Fiction can seem so real. Reality though, especially the perception of reality in our minds, is mostly based on assumptions, thoughts blown out of proportion, and intricate details that never existed.  Our perceptions are often downright crazy. It's amazing just how far out of whack our thoughts of reality become if we let them.

I thought there was more to this.  But there's not.

~KB

Mopping the floor

My life is a traveling circus of crazy. I never know what's going to happen each day which probably contributes to my randomness. Bizarre and unexpected things happen without warning and if I weren't naturally such a laid back happy person I'd probably need medication.

I just sold my spare refrigerator and was expecting someone to pick it up at 9am this morning. I was out late last night and was tired because I didn't get much sleep. My house was a mess and needed to be cleaned up before anyone stepped foot inside.  This is a big place and it takes a lot of work and time to keep it clean.  It takes more work and time than I care to give it.  Except when someone will see it. 

I rolled out of bed at 7am and wandered downstairs to let the dogs out. As I stepped off the carpeted stairs and onto the bare tiled floor, still half asleep and dragging my feet, I very quickly realized that I was walking in water.

Out loud and to the empty house I said "Ew...what am I walking in?" My eyes were barely open and I didn't have my glasses on. I actually repeated that question several times as my feet splashed all the way down the hall. I opened the door and let the dogs out before turning around and surveying the situation. The whole floor was flooded. It wasn't just wet...it was about a half inch of standing water.

My eyes followed the large pool of water to the bathroom. There were soaking wet towels surrounding the base of the toilet. A wet roll of toilet paper which looked like it had been chewed on was sitting on the sink . Half a roll of paper towels and, oddly enough, part of the paper towel holder were also sitting on the sink. "What the hell happened?"

The floor was dry when I arrived home just before 2am.   I had gone straight to bed knowing I would be up early. Now people would be arriving in two hours and not only was my house a mess, but I had a large puddle of water in the path the refrigerator would be exiting the house. I shook my head and wandered back upstairs. I dried my feet and got back into bed. Maybe if I went back to sleep for a half hour I'd wake up and things would be normal. The floor would be dry.  It didn't happen.

At 8am I decided to get moving. I had a lot of work to do and not a lot of time to do it. I mopped and vacuumed and did all the dishes. The truck pulled into the driveway just as I had finished. The guys did their thing. They removed the doors from the refrigerator and hauled it up the stairs and out the front door. Some greenish liquid leaked out of the fridge as they moved it down the recently mopped and clean hallway to the door. I grabbed the mop, washed the floor again, and then walked outside to watch the guys secure the fridge to the back of the truck.

After the guys left I went back inside. Still barefoot, I headed for the kitchen to fill my coffee cup. My feet stuck to the recently dried and allegedly clean floor. I mean...really stuck...like tacky glue. I had to peel my feet off with every step. Once again I grabbed the mop and washed the floor. I let the dogs in after it dried. Then I watched them leave muddy paw prints all over my three times mopped and clean floor. I had about enough mopping for the day so I laid down on the couch and took a nap.

~KB

A Dilemma

This was written many months ago in the depths of my despair. 

Here’s my dilemma.

I believe relationships are hard work. I also believe in true love. Even in true love relationships are hard work. Things go wrong and you have to work together to fix them. If you love someone you never walk away. You figure it out and you fight for it…no matter what. This is a basic core belief.

I walked away. I was hurt so badly that my core belief wasn’t enough to hold it together.

So if I can walk away…what is it that I believe in? How do I rationalize and justify that in my heart?

How can I think another person would trust me to love them deeply enough to never walk away
…when I can’t even trust myself to do that?

If walking away wasn’t breaking a core belief then in the end I wasn’t in love. Was I?

When did it stop? Did it fade away or die suddenly?

KB~

Meeting a Kiwi

This story starts out with “I met this guy…”

It doesn’t end the way you’d expect. It’s about a Kiwi...but not the fruit.

I was down in Louisville Kentucky in October. I’m down there twice a year for trade shows. This particular trip was much like the rest. A whole bunch of industry business people wandering around, live music in the street, and a lot of restaurants with tables and bars on the sidewalks.  It was like summerfest.

I stayed at the Seelbach Hilton Hotel which is a fabulous place to stay downtown. The rooms don't feel like hotel rooms. When the door was closed it was like being in a beautiful Victorian bedroom. Some day I’d like to take someone there to enjoy it with me.

My last evening was the night I met this guy. I was out at my favorite Irish Pub with a group. It was a comfortable temperature outside and we were scattered around the street waiting for a table. It was worth the wait.

I was standing near the entry to the restaurant when this guy asked me if I had a light. I was alone and watching the band and he caught me off guard. I noticed he had a heavy accent when he spoke. Sounded Australian or something but I wasn’t sure.

He was nice looking, about my age and looked like he just got off a motorcycle. Heavy boots and leather jacket, that kind of stuff.  Normally I would have just handed him the lighter but he got my attention.  Instead, I lit it and held it out for him. He didn’t touch my hand.

His name was Grant and he said he had never been Louisville before and thought the music in the street was cool. I had a hard time understanding what he was saying with his heavy accent. (It was the kind of accent you could listen to in the dark, if you know what I mean) I asked where he was from and he said he was a Kiwi from New Zealand. He told me he was a produce buyer. This was his first trip to the United States.

Interesting. Why was a produce buyer from NZ in Louisville, Kentucky? It's not a hot destination spot for tourists.  I'm guessing it isn't the best place to buy produce...in October.  Unfortunately, my table was ready at that moment. He walked away with a smile.

After dinner my group wandered across the street to another bar. As soon as we walked in I saw Grant and he smiled when he saw me. He bought me a drink. We talked but the music was loud and I couldn't understand what he was saying...mostly we just drank. As the night went on people from my group disappeared. I'm sure they all went back to their rooms to sleep since we were all leaving in the morning.  I don't sleep much so I wasn't concerned about the time.

Grant and I sat at a table outside. I asked why he was in Louisville. That’s when the real conversation started. He had arrived on the east coast a week earlier. He bought a Harley and was riding it all the way across the States to the west coast. Louisville was his planned stop for the night. He was meeting a friend the next day in Kansas, then they were heading to Route 66 for the rest of the trip west. Of course, I was fascinated.

I asked a lot of questions about traveling on a motorcycle. Then I had to ask him to repeat many of the answers because I couldn’t understand him. He told me he had two pairs of clothes for the trip. Reminded me of growing up and only having two pairs of jeans.  My mom used to say "one to wear and one to wash."  One pair would fit in the bike while he wore the other pair.  He said he had to buy the leather jacket because it was colder than he expected. I guess October isn't that cold in New Zealand.  

We went and sat on the curb when the bar closed and the tables were moved inside.  Grant wasn’t just a produce buyer, although that’s how he described himself. He was actually the owner of a company in NZ similar to Peapod. The first grocery and produce delivery company in the country, according to Grant. It was a start up and apparently it was doing well.

He went to college in Japan and had a bunch of high level business and tech degrees. I don’t recall the specifics. I was impressed though. Good looking, smart…business minded. (Why did he live so far away that it wasn’t just in another time zone...it was in a different day?)

His mother was a chef so he grew up in the kitchen, learned to cook, and how to buy the best produce. He talked about his love of cooking. He made me want to learn to cook better. And he made me hungry.

Grant told me he had been together with his girlfriend for seven years and they had two young boys together. They broke up 18 months before this trip because he had put so much time into building his company that he neglected their relationship. The company grew so fast that he couldn’t manage business and family. He missed his boys. He missed his girlfriend. He told me why they weren't married but I don’t remember the reason now.

So here was this Kiwi guy sitting next to me on a curb in Louisville Kentucky at 4 o’clock in the morning pouring his heart out to a total stranger. The stress of the job and the loss of his family was too much to handle so he decided to take a sabbatical and I was sitting right smack in the middle of it. 

It started to rain. We both looked up at the sky, then looked at each other and laughed. I stretched my feet out into the street as if to say “I’ll stay if you stay.” We didn’t move. We got drenched and talked until some time after the sun came up. He told me that people from New Zealand were called Kiwi’s because that was the national fruit. More Kiwi were grown in NZ than anywhere else in the world. I intended to buy some Kiwi as soon as I got home.

At 7am Grant and I walked down to the Starbucks. After our order was filled we headed to my hotel. As we arrived he realized he could see his hotel from mine so he didn’t need a ride. We hugged and said good bye. I wished him well on the rest of his trip then I turned and walked away. I never looked back. I wondered if he did.

I hadn’t slept all night and had to drive six hours home. I drove and thought about Grant. Just another person putting my issues back into perspective. I thought about how destructive it was to put your heart into something without balancing your life. How much of my own dedication to school and work contributed to my loss? Was I neglectful or just blind? I contemplated that for a while. And then I let it go.

I don't know if Grant ever made it across the U.S.  Or if he made it back home to NZ. Or if his sabbatical solved his life problems.  But I do know I wont forget that Kiwi.
KB~

I Dont Miss A Thing

Standing on the world tonight
Find a little balance stayin up all night
And chase the sunlight…
My mind is drifting away
On the sea of an ordinary day
You bring me back to the same old place
Wondering what goes through your head
Looking for answers or needing some space
Its all about you…
Hoping you don’t put up a fight
We’ll be wrong but always get it right
Leaving again without a trace

I don’t miss a thing
Even when you’re not looking….

KB~

Mirage

Just back tracking a little bit....this was written on October 18th, 2012. 
I read it again today and thought I should post it. 

I wanted to write something today. It’s a feeling I haven’t had in over two years. I think it means my heart is finally content. The things that have happened over the past two years have thrown me off balance. I’ve endured some major emotional upheaval and I’m in a weird place.

Right now I feel like I’m standing in a room with many open doors and I keep turning in circles looking at each one. I’m not ready to walk through any of them. Not because I’m confused, but because I’m fascinated. There are so many options that it’s exciting. I don’t want to choose one yet because prefer to stand in the middle and enjoy it. It makes me dizzy and happy.

I wish I had taken the time to look at all those doors years ago. They were always there… but I ignored them. I kept walking through the ones right in front of me in my decidedly determined way. I would never look sideways or be derailed by options. I had a destination and I was going to get there. And then my destination slowly evaporated like a mirage.

How weird to have your destination disappear. To have everything you thought you knew turn out to be so wrong. To realize you’ve been fighting the wrong enemy the whole time. What was once black and white… is now white and black. It’s the same reality but turned inside out and backwards. Weird.

My heart was ripped out of my chest and stomped on until it was in tiny little pieces. That may sound a little dramatic but that is how it felt. I’ve spent the past seven months scraping up the little bits and pieces off the pavement and duct taping them together. It’s a slow process that requires careful consideration of each piece and detail. I have to leave off the dead parts. They are of no use to me now.

My heart may not be whole yet but it is content. I can feel it beating again. It reaches out and touches the possibilities, then pulls away as if it just touched a hot stove. It smiled at me to let me know it is preparing to jump.

No, it’s not going to jump into the abyss of darkness and despair. As it turns out… above that abyss there is a harness and a zipline. I’ve seen it. I’ve done it. I’ve looked into that abyss and I didn’t die. I’m on the other side now and I don’t think I have ever felt as alive. But I feel ungrounded like bouncing on a trampoline. Its fun… until it’s not. I imagine I will continue to feel ungrounded until I walk through the next door and go after the next mirage. I’m looking forward to it.

KB~

I want salad!

Do you remember, back in the day, when a salad consisted of Iceberg lettuce, cucumbers, tomatoes, maybe a crouton or two, and a homemade vinegar and oil “Italian” dressing? My grandmother would make this dressing in a little carafe; she’d add a few herbs and spices, then hand the bottle to me to shake. When I finished shaking the bottle, I’d watch the oil separate from the vinegar, and all the herbs settle to the bottom. I miss those days.

Today, I can’t get a decent “house” salad anywhere. I order a house salad and I get a plate of dandelion greens, red cabbage looking stuff, and purple…who knows what it’s called…lettuce. It’s bitter, it’s yucky, and it wilts in the dressing. I’m sorry but that is NOT lettuce!

Even worse, if you look past the house salad on the menu, you will find all the new funky salads, with fruits and nuts and tofu, and stuff with names I’ve never heard. That’s all fine and dandy for you health-nuts. They are indeed healthy for you. Spinach and dandelion greens are high in essential vitamins and minerals. Round it out with fruits, and high nutrient density, low saturated fat nuts, and you’ve got a deliciously healthy salad. Great! I don’t want that!

I want crisp cold iceberg lettuce. It has virtually no nutritional value whatsoever. Well, it does have some value, though much less than Romaine. It was considered a good source for several nutrients, but apparently the levels of those nutrients are so low that it’s not worth your time. So…the fact that it tastes good, it’s enjoyable to eat, and it doesn’t make you fat…isn’t enough to keep it on the menu.

Then, with my crisp cold iceberg lettuce, I would like big meaty red tomato wedges. Not those tiny cherry tomatoes that pop when you bite them. Those things are hard to cut, they are full of seeds and tomato slime, and once again, a little bitter compared to a big beefsteak tomato. I’m never sure if I should eat a cherry tomato whole, cut them in half, or just bite part of one off the fork. Have you ever tried to bite one in half? I recommend not doing it in public.

Top my salad off with a few slices of cucumber and a few croutons. I need some crunch in my salad to give it a little texture. Sorry, nuts are not the right texture. Yes, bread is bad for you these days. It contains carbohydrates. How many croutons equal a slice of bread? I have no idea, but I bet I could make four salads out of one slice-of-bread sized crouton.

And no, I do not want any other type of fruit on my salad. No raisins, oranges, apples, or anything sweet on my salad and that includes Asian f-ing dressing.

My grandmother doesn’t make her fantastic oil and vinegar dressing any more. I wish I knew how she did it and I’d make my own. I’m sure it’s fairly simple but I can’t ask her. None of the bottled “Italian” dressing can compare so I prefer to avoid that disappointment and generally choose Ranch dressing. Not “Cool” or “Cucumber” or even “Ancho-Chipotle” Ranch. Just Plain Ranch please!

Tomorrow I’ll go back to eating all the high nutrient greens with the fruits and nuts.
I like them just fine.

KB~

Worth Remembering –#1

This past year sucked. There… I said it. But it didn’t all suck. Matter of fact, more of it was good than bad. You’ll notice my blog stops in 2010 and then starts again in 2013. I didn’t write at all in 2011 or 2012. Two years I’d rather forget. However, there are a couple of experiences that are worth remembering. Some of them became very important to me. They probably changed my life in the best possible way and I am grateful for them. I want to come back here to this page in a few years and read this and be thankful over and over again.

Early April 2012 I had just finished grocery shopping and was still in the parking lot when my phone rang. It was my friend Jim who called to ask for my help. I was in bad shape and he didn’t know it. He asked me to help with a charity event. One of his long time friends had been in a car accident six months ago. She was still in the hospital mostly paralyzed and as I recall, recently off the ventilator. The charity event was to raise money to cover her medical bills. She had a husband and children at home who were struggling with their situation.

Jim asked me to come shoot the event while he handled the raffle. He didn’t know my situation. He didn’t know that I was in such bad shape I could barely hold a conversation with him. I sat in my car and choked back my tears while I listened to his request. What I wanted to do was say no. I couldn’t help him. I wanted to go lie in my bed and suffer alone. The last thing I wanted to do was be out in public. I didn’t even think I had it in me to do the job. How could I be the happy photographer gathering groups of people together and making them smile when I was ready to break down sobbing at the drop of a hat?

I said yes. I forced myself to say yes. At that moment I knew that the only way to make myself feel better was to help someone else. I thought I was helping Jim. I didn’t know at the time that I was helping myself. I hung up the phone and cried. How was I going to make it through this day?

After I arrived at the event and listened to the story of Jim’s friend, Lilly Farmer, and I knew I had to help. I didn’t know anyone in the place except Jim and his wife Becky. They were busy with the set up and neither knew what had recently happened to me. I broke out my camera and slowly began engaging with the people. It didn’t take long to find some inner balance. Photography always calmed me. I may not have been the most cheerful photographer but I smiled.

My voice shook when I spoke. My body was shaking inside. I had been shaking inside for two months straight. It was the type of shaking that occurs after a serious physical injury as you are going into shock from the pain. My pain was not physical, but It was the most excruciating emotional pain I had ever felt. It was the type of pain that made me feel like I was dying. Every fiber of my being hurt. I didn’t want to die. If my body was dying from emotional pain then I needed to stop it.

Lilly Farmer’s family was so awesome! There were many people there to support her. They were so upbeat and positive about her recovery that I couldn’t help but feel it too. Then I realized something so incredibly important that it changed my entire outlook on the day. Lilly’s situation was far worse than mine.

Here was a woman who had her life yanked out from under her. Her husband, children, family, and friends were all there fighting for her. She was a good person and she didn’t deserve what happened to her. My life had been yanked out from under me as well, but I could stand up and fight for myself. She could not. My situation was not as bad as hers. It put my life back into perspective. It put my situation into perspective. There are far worse things than what happened to me. She was living proof.

Lilly was on video monitors throughout the room. They had a computer set up in one corner with a video camera so she could see and hear us. I decided to go introduce myself. I didn’t know what to say so I stumbled through my introduction and gave her my best wishes. Then, I went back to work capturing all the joy in the room for her sake. I wanted to make sure she could see all the love and support through my images. It gave me purpose.

By the end of the day I was exhausted. I had been on my feet for many hours. The event was a huge success. It was the first day in nearly in two months that I hadn’t cried for several hours. It was my first step forward from my own pain and suffering. I was so grateful for the opportunity to give to someone else that I cried all the way home. I felt the joy of the day while I was crying in pain. I will never forget that day because I believe it prevented me from sliding too far into my depression. Someone had thrown me a rope and I intended to hang on to it for dear life.

KB

You Don’t Need To

An exhilarating numbness radiates outward from my bones to my skin. It’s a mixture of deep pain and incredible happiness. Every breath I take is slow and satisfying, though I feel like I could forget to take the next one. Life is at a standstill and yet it is moving so quickly.

Everything is contrary.

The past and the future are moving in opposite directions. It’s like standing between two speeding trains. If I reach my hand out I could touch one and get burned. One train is going east and one going west. You’ll never truly understand the irony of that.

The present is in the middle.

I want to travel to the future without skipping the good parts of the present. I know what’s out there. In the future. That’s the exhilaration I feel. It’s the same feeling you get just before you reach your goal. When you’re exhausted and ready to quit and yet you force yourself to just keep going. To push on. Then the adrenaline kicks in and you feel the rush that propels you forward. It makes my skin tingle.

You feel like you can do anything.

I’m stuck there. At the moment before the adrenaline kicks in. I want to quit. But I don’t need to so I tell myself to keep going. Just keep going. Stop thinking. Focus on the present because it is the fastest way to the future.

The world is in perfect balance when everything is contrary.

It is contrary to reach the point past that which you believed you would go. Or could go. And yet… you are there. The feeling of wanting to be there and not wanting to be there are equal. So I stand still.

I accept that I cannot be anywhere else but in the present.


KB