La Bella Vita

This week, the leaves changed. The bright green chlorophyl seems to have vanished alongside the warm, westerly wind, leaving orange and red pigments amidst the branches. The new cold air serves as a reminder that winter is nigh and the sun will begin to reveal itself less and less. I am not personally a fan of winter. Maybe it's the frigid temperatures and wind chill against my skin while going for a morning run, or maybe it's the surplus of incompetent drivers that seem to gravitate towards the town where I live. Either way, shovelling your car out of the snow before driving to work at 4:30am is not ideal for any individual. I don't care how keen you are. But there is also a comfort in the changing of the seasons. As much as I do miss the warm sun on my back, and the feeling of sand between my toes with warm water to submerge myself into periodically, the cold weather is a reminder of the Gods consistency. If for example, one year, winter never showed its face and we s...

Today is the fifth of August, and I'm packing my bags for a second time to travel to Denver. Part of me wants to lace up my shoes and go for a run, just to prove that superstition is purely a notion. But part of me wants to stay home, where I am "safe." That is what the last year has been for me. This level of feeling 'safety' when I am pursuing life in a forward fashion. I'm not sure why this has suddenly become an issue. But it has. I think the need for safety is a direct contributor to vulnerability. And by holding back, by playing it safe, we save ourselves from potential pain. And in being vulnerable, we lose one face, and often gain another. And sometimes it's a face we don't really want people to see. A good friend of mine introduced me to the book 'Scary Close,' by Don Miller. I first thought it was going to be a book of strong impression to be more emotionally intimate with people we interact with every day. But I realise now, it...

I always have to run the day that I board a plane. There is not much that gets in the way of my deep desire for this to occur. The reason being, what if my plane is delayed? What if they add a layover and I’m stuck for 12 hours in some random airport? What if I land, and my baggage isn’t there, and with that includes my running shoes? There is just a peace that I attain when getting a good run in before I board a plane. And there is no talking me out of it.  Until this. This past week I was gathering my bags and shuffling around the house frantically packing my suitcase for my flight. Finally, my trip away into the mountains... Hiking boots, running shoes, ‘togs’ for random swimming holes, and warm clothes for the possibility of a snowboard sesh. I needed it, this time in nature to regroup and explore. So... I laced up my running shoes like any other departure morning, and ran out the door. Clocking into my fifth mile, I rise over the last big hill, looking at the last hal...

2015. Today marks a new day, a new year, a new moment in time. But I must be getting old, because I asked myself last night as I curled up by the fire, "isn't every day a new day, a new year, a new moment?"  I find myself falling into the socially acceptable norm, by making a list of new year's resolutions. Despite my stubborn tendency to view new years as overrated, I still proceeded to make a list. But not without first reflecting on 2014.  2014 marks a lot of things, but this year it marked mostly good-byes. Some were intentional, others were not. But each good-bye was flagged with some sort of emotion that has brought me to where I am today. I realised this year, that people are often not who you think they are. And amidst that there is a loss of trust, friendship and faith. I found that somewhere in my flooded list of friends, were people I was pushing harder to maintain relationships with, and the road was a one way street. I found that effo...

29 October 2014 (Chicago) 30 October 2014 (Australia)  Seventeen. That’s the number. The number of what? The number of planes I’ve boarded in the last 12 months, including the one I am currently on. I’m always flying, I’m always moving, I’m always going somewhere.  On the way to the Dallas Fort Worth airport this morning, the traffic was stopped for about a mile, and I sat in silence with my brother as we crawled down the interstate highway. I enjoy silence, there is a beauty in nothing being said. But my brother broke the silence with a question that almost 4 hours later still has my attention.  “Is everything you own in that suitcase?”  I peered over my shoulder and looked at the blue, green, and yellow piece of luggage that has also boarded each of these 17 different planes with me.  “Yeah, I guess it is.”  Sure, I have a few pieces of life in a few different locations around...

It has defined me for the last 5 years of my life. The sheet of cool breeze that touches my face every morning, the small beads of sweat that formulate on my lower back, the squeaky chirps of the birds only heard when the sun wakes up. The rhythm that my feet initiate, travels up my legs and into my hips. The cadence my body marches to is familiar and safe. My core remains stable as I trod along sand, dirt, rock, and road. My bedroom is like a jail cell. I sit in it waiting for the sun to come up, so my body can loosen itself in the form it knows best. I lie horizontally for what feels like centuries, and when the smallest peak of light creeps through the clouds, I rise. I sit on the edge of my bed for only a moment, to look out my window to a world of unknown. Anything can happen today. I may not be here tonight. But since I have been given the gift of rising from this plane at this very moment, I will do so. I sometimes feel like a child on Christmas. I anxiously await that moment...