Photographs are powerful things. There are those images that make me angry at my world. They make me want to do something, take a stand, vote. So I do. Then there are those that make me laugh so hard I almost....well... you know. Those will end up being posted on my Facebook page. Some photos can move you to tears. Maybe because of the beauty they possess or maybe because of a memory they hold. However you look at it, what we see affects us-good, bad or indifferent. I guess that's why I'm usually the one taking the pictures.  

Like most of us, I don't always like what I see when someone takes my picture. That's not me! Really? It must have been a bad day.  What ever the excuse may be none us want to look at ourselves though the sometimes harsh reality of a simple photograph. Why? What am I afraid of? Will I find some flaw that no one else has seen? What does that picture really represent anyway? Is it me? Is it my heart, my soul, my mind? No. It is nothing more that a mere shadow of a moment that no longer exists. That moment is gone. That is what the world sees when they glance over at me as they walk by. Hmmmm. Is there any wonder they go by without stopping? That reflection, that shadow is not who I am. It can not stand up and tell you a story, or laugh at your jokes, or comfort your tears. You need me for that. That "me" in that picture is not the "me" that writes this now.  

Pictures? Bring them on. I rejoice in them. Let the shadow fall where it will do the most good.

When my doctor challenged me to get serious and start keeping up with my journaling I new he was right. I needed to do something or I was going to find myself falling back into the same old mindless routine that I always had. I'm sure most of you are no different. The older we get the less hassle we want our life to be.

So I did, I sat down at my computer, and kept a record of every thought that crossed my mind for three weeks. I printed it off (all 70 some odd pages) and gave them to him on my last visit. He was pleased and I found that I was also pleased. Not just at the three pound weight loss, but also at the fact that I had accomplished that goal. Strangely enough, I found the experience cathartic.  Enough so, that when he suggested I start a blog, a thought that had never crossed my mind until then, I gave it some serious thought.  So now you know. You ready? ...................So, here it goes.

My original plan was to become diligent with my food  tracking and journaling, two things I find very difficult. Partly, I suppose, because of my life long issues with writing but I think it goes deeper than that.  I believe that deep down I am inherently unmotivated.  I have always seemed to be quite content to sit, drink and flag in hand, at the curb and watch as the rest of the world moved along the parade route of life. I love the feel of the bass drum as the marching band files by and I always wave at the homecoming queen atop her 1966 Mustang convertible (although I could easily do without the clowns). The floats and twirlers, the horses and veterans, they all wander past me without the need to stop and take notice. Occasionally, I’ll make eye contact, exchange a glance, a nod, a tip of the hat.  Most of the time, I feel as if I am simply an observer. But I’m strangely okay with that. Like I said, I don’t feel overly ambitious.

Now don’t misunderstand me. I am not trying to say that I am a lazy sack of crap,  it’s just that  I have known myself for a number of years now and I do tend to lean towards the easy road. That whole road less traveled thing is kinda scary (even more than clowns). I want to make that change and take a step away from the comfort of the safety here at the curb. It’s not that I think the parade is over for me or even that I see the end of it,  but I do know that I’ve missed a whole lot of really good stuff that I will never get a chance at again. I think I might still find a band to march with and maybe there’s a classic car for me out there. I need to do this,...
for me.