One Step at a Time.

There's something about the raw exhaustion of physical exertion that I'm addicted to.
The rhythmic oneness that comes from a cleared mind and pounding feet is exhilarating. I blast music and drown out the clutter of my life. Not only does it calm me, but it makes me feel alive. The bulging of my calves as they push against the ground, the deep, meaningful breaths, the gentle swaying of my arms at my side as I drive forward. By the end of a workout, I'm so hyped up on adreneline that an overwhelming sense of euphoria comes over me. I've always considered myself an active person, but I feel as if I've never worked hard enough to reach my full potential.
I don't know what exactly has inspired me to start getting serious, but I've been inspired nonetheless. I've already started and intend on seeing my newfound motivation through. My goal is by the end of summer to be in the best physical shape I've ever been in. I'm annoyed at the fact I've never worked hard enough to see such aspirations through. What better time than now? I want the most I can get out of life and I feel like a good start is with one's own body. I want to get all I can out of what I've been given. Live in the moment. Be content with what I've accomplished given my circumstances. Be happy. I feel like more often than not people are so focused on pleasing others that they forget themselves. I just wish I would have come to this realization sooner...

"So who all who live to see such times, but that is not for them to decide. All you have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to you"
-Gandalf

Bits and Pieces.

There are those.
There are those who piece their life together
with clean cut straight edged lines;
delicate, precise, deliberate.
Proceed with caution measure out
draw a plan then follow it through
eliminating error.
For if the outline is already there, where’s the room for doubt?

Then there are those.
Then there are those who collage their life together
with scrappy rips of torn edges;
eclectic, layered, robust.
Throw caution to the wind
a blank canvas waiting to be plastered
paste it on.
For if you jump right into it, outline or not, where’s the time for collecting dust?

Then if
Then if life is a mosaic
and in the end all pieces fit,
it shouldn’t matter how it’s created
what matters is that it was made at all,
that an art so beautiful could be made from bits so small.

Hesitation.

I'll admit it, I've thought about blogging for a while...a long while. Yet for some reason, something always seemed to hold me back. I've tried to pinpoint the hesitation. Maybe it's my love/hate relationship with technology. Maybe it's the intimidation of other much more eloquent, philosophically contemplative bloggers such as my brilliantly talented best friend. Maybe it's simply the world wide web exposure of something as personal as my life. Wherever the hesitation rose from, my need to express my thoughts through written text seems to have finally overcome the uncertainty.
By no means do I have a set purpose to writing. I am simply choosing to do so because I can. Is that not reason enough?
In this twisted, convoluted journey we call life I feel as if expression of oneself is vital to individuality. It's easy to get caught up in the enormity of the world and lose yourself. Life is beautiful. Life is irreplaceable. Life is fleeting. The small details that sometimes matter the most tend to get lost amidst the passage of time. I suppose you could consider this my attmept to document some of these small details of my life. To not forget to remember myself.

"Are we to paint what's on the face, what's inside the face, or what's behind it?"
-Picasso