This is the start of something new. At least I hope so. It may be nothing, but it could be something. I want to try.

Those fifteen words gnaw at me. I can’t stop thinking about them. About decisions. Good ones that I cling to. Bad ones that have made me who I am.

I want a place where I can put into words what I feel. A place to share how I see the world, and what I think about it.

This is my decision.

I don’t consider myself a writer. Rather, I consider myself a “word scientist.” Someone so fascinated by written language that he loves to write.

But there’s a problem. I just don’t write. Life is busy. My life is busy. Your life is busy. Time has shifted from a resource to a restraint. The daily struggle is choosing which filter to slap on a snap, or which fast food joint to grace with my presence. I want to move away from that rinse-and-repeat lifestyle, living the same day over and over again, investing time without any return. So I’ve decided to write.

I probably won’t write much. In fact, it is entirely within the realm of possibility that I will write fewer posts in a year than I have fingers. Which is ten, if you were wondering.

But that’s not the point. The point is that I want my life to be shaped by the decisions I’ve made, and not by the ones I didn’t. If I never force myself to change, I will never know any better.

My hope is that this adventure will give me a sense of purpose, a drive to keep on keeping on. Yet somehow, it also feels peaceful. Like an oasis. A safe haven.

A curious calm.

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