About Me — George B. Kelly

A dreamer dying to live

Image of the Author

May 2015 at age 25, I stood on the beach of Ganapoli, which felt like the confluence, or should I say a divergence point of my life. What lies behind me was my history — who I’ve been and all I’ve known. What lies before me, would be all I’ve come to know and all I’ve come to be in the past half-decade.

Everyone got a story, that much is true. But what really is our story? What is the premise upon which a story exists? A life lived? Or the result of an adventure?

If man is made for a purpose (as they claim) but finds himself absent of that purpose, a story thus is inevitable as he searches for that ideal. For without a sense of purpose, existence becomes nothing, it becomes meaningless — like death. Surely that must be what makes a story meaningful. Therefore our story in life is our continuous struggle to conquer death whilst we live. Unless our purpose in life is found, then the meaning of living evades us.

Maybe that is the reason I found myself standing on the beach of Libya — on the Mediterranean that cold night, along with over a hundred other people, on an inflated raft, making the sail for Europe. This night, stands as a focal point in my life, as a new chapter is about to unfold. To understand this very moment — how I got here, let me give you a crash course of what lay…