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“To eat is a necessity, but to eat intelligently is an art.”
— François de La Rochefoucauld

I have spent many years being overweight and sluggish. I look in the mirror, wondering who the fat kid looking back at me is. Somehow, though, I feel that I am internally skinny and would like to let that person out for the world. I am making some headway in this area, but I still have a long way to go.

I’ll make this as brief as possible; there are plenty of books on the subject and my views are not going to make any difference.

As Americans, we need to change the way we think about food and health. As Michael Pollan points out in his book, The Omnivore’s Dilemma, it should be the most natural thing for us to know what to eat. Sadly, though, it is difficult for people to decide what they are going to eat, and often the wrong choices are made. Until very recently, I happily consumed sythetic foods & caged animals, not wanting to know much more about it — especially that what I was eating could potentially harm me. I was blissfully unaware of the problems I was causing for myself.

I hope I am starting to change that about myself. Although I don’t feel it is right for everyone, vegetarianism has changed my perception of almost everything. A common reason among vegetarians and vegans for not eating meat/using animal products is to reduce suffering. By cutting down on those things that cause great suffering, the world is a better place. I appreciate those individuals, but the issue is deeper for me. I simply don’t want to consume thinking beings. It is that shift in mindset that has forced me to read the label of everything I purchase, from tortilla chips to vitamins (many multivitamins contain fish), seeking out the hidden animal products in seemingly benign products. Who knew I would be giving up Jiffy Corn Muffin Mix (it contains lard) or canned black-eyed peas (most are canned with pork products).

It is this label reading that has forced me to deal with something else. Artifice in my food. Primarily, I don’t have the energy to read through long lists of ingredients. I’d rather put the item back than sort through everything. But I also find that I can reduce the amount of other items too. HFCS generally keeps a food item from coming home with me. As does anything claiming to be “enriched” or “whitened.”

I don’t think a little knowledge about what you are chosing to put in your body is a bad thing. And that isn’t to say I don’t still have the occasional orange soda (loaded with lots of yummy HFCS) or buy some fresh bread, even though I know it is made of white flour. Sometimes the moment dictates that you throw these convictions out. But I am able to make more informed decisions about what I eat on a regular basis.

I’m shrinking. Without exercise, I have been losing weight quickly. I have tons of energy and feel mentally more alert than I have in a long time. I can really only attribute this change in myself to the change in my eating habits. I am just generally eating a more healthy diet than I used to. Now, I will be adding exercise to the mix. I hope I only continue to get healthier. I need to.

Life is sometimes all about the small victories. I recently found myself not out of breath after walking up the stairs at work. It has only happened a few times, but it is something!

Suggested reading:
The Omnivore’s Dilemma : Michael Pollan
Plenty : Alisa Smith & JB Mackinnon
Becoming Vegetarian : Vesanto Melina & Brenda Davis
Fast Food Nation : Eric SchlosserContinue Reading

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“I am the least difficult of men. All I want is boundless love.”
–Frank O’Hara

Perhaps one thing I developed as a child of Oklahoma is an innate sense of faith. It is something I take for granted; something I assume we all have in common. When I am proven wrong about faith — when I discover the great numbers of beliefless people, I am dumbstruck and a little bit sad.

Faith is often the only thing I have to hold onto, the rest of life’s trivial issues slipping away and seeming increasingly less important. That isn’t to say that my “willingness” to have a belief system has made me apathetic about the world. In fact, I think quite the opposite has happened. Life is filled with meanings — deep meanings. Everything seems so charged and alive, knowing there are forces working around us that are greater than we are.

It also seems that the further I get from home, the more bitter those around me seem about any sort of organized thought (and religion in particular). That is likely just part of working with books. Bookstores attract thinkers. One of the wonderful things about thinkers is that they often arrive at conflicting conclusions concerning existence. I love being surrounded by such a difference of ideas.

Faith seems like a foreign notion here in Alaska. Those of us with belief systems, regardless of those beliefs origins, are certainly not the majority. It is all very unsettling.

But I believe very strongly that the blame for this goes entirely to the religious leaders of the world. In their efforts to speak for God, a contemptuous act, they have alienated too many. With such a variety of people, it is hard for many to feel they belong into the rigid molds cast by well meaning theological dictators. That is unfortunate.

Christianity has already lost one fight. The hypocritical and belittling treatment of gays and lesbians over the decades has pushed us away. Feeling ostracized by an organization we weren’t sure we wanted to belong to, the community seems to have moved on. Faith isn’t important to the outcasts of religious society. And it seems that this isn’t a lesson the Christian community has learned. The persecution continues. And so it does with many groups who don’t fit the ideals of these individual schools of thought… these approved ways of being by the religious communities.

A well-organized effort to cater to and serve those who think for themselves or who don’t fit the exact mold of the perfect Christian could have had a positive effect on the spreading of Christian “values.” Exclusivity, a lesson not found in text, has become the hallmark of a people who cannot see the forest for the trees. They are too busy concerning themselves with superiority that they have not noticed that the power has already been surrendered to the angry and faithless. This is probably true of any religion. I can’t say anything on behalf of those I am not associated with.

It isn’t about these specific religious thoughts, but about faith. Simply having faith is the important part. For myself, I will continue to feel my way through blindly. My own faith is hardly shaken. I am saddened that there are so many without a place to turn when life gets to be difficult. They end up turning on themselves. I don’t feel that it is too late for the major religions of this planet. The most important thing is to eliminate hate. Without hate, the anti-faith movement has less footing. Without hate, support can be found in surprising places. Without hate, there will only be love. Love is something all types of people can support. With more people joining the efforts, support systems are built and mankind can only benefit from such a system.

30 March 2007

{edit}

When I wrote these thoughts out, I had intended them to reflect a general impression I have gotten from fundamentalist Christian “leaders” in America. I realize that there are still understanding individuals whose values are based on love. I didn’t mean to generalize to the point of excluding those Christians from my argument. And I didn’t mean to say that there is no longer any hope. I think the battle has long been lost, but certainly not the war. In my opinion, it is up to the open-minded members of the Christian faith to bring the message to those who have otherwise been ignored. Those who preach hate have made that task very difficult, as there is now a resistance to faith of any kind.

My family attended a Church of Christ. Not strictly a denomination, Churches of Christ are gatherings of Christian worship where beliefs seem to be individualized. I felt encouraged to come to my own conclusions about the issues of the world and I didn’t have to share those beliefs with the person sitting next to me. This made church very personal for everyone. And that sense that it is your walk with God that makes the Churches of Christ so great. If anyone felt offended by my rant, I apologize, but this sense of increasing alienation is very real. And you should be offended. You should be offended that there are Christians spreading hate. You should be offended by apathy. You should be offended that the values of good people are being routinely dismantled.

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These are two stories I wrote forever ago. The purpose of both is to introduce several characters I intend to use in various stories. These characters are a family in my head still and I will one day start recounting their lives. I hope you enjoy this, their Genesis.

American Dream [or Yesterday Hurts] (Revised Version)

I still can’t believe I am here. I just can’t stand this. I guess I can’t say I’m lucky, but I can’t say I don’t deserve it either. Rejection that is. It still hurts, and I think the worst part is that I can’t do anything about it. I started with good intentions; I am not a bad woman. I had the chance to have a family like I dreamed of doing, and I loved every moment of it. I married a seemingly wonderful man and had two beautiful boys, Chad and Ivan. I love them so much.

One day though, my husband left me. He ran off with a woman with perfect teeth and big breasts. I hated her then. Maybe I still do. But why shouldn’t I? I was a good wife and was still a damn good mother, but sometimes, you know, that thing inside you, that desperation, just needs something to make life easier, so I drank. I wasn’t a heavy drinker at first, not really. I just had a little in the evening. It made it better, the pain that is. I knew it was getting worse, but I tried not to think about it.

My drinking started getting worse. My children were suffering from my neglect, I realize that now, but I still had to have something. It seemed to be what I needed. I soon turned to abuse. Oh, I would never become physical with them, but sometimes it seems that words hurt worse. They do. I know that now.

Ivan was my baby, and he was only eleven at that time. The divorce and the pain of knowing what his father had done had gotten to him and I guess he was pretty depressed. I didn’t see it then, I do now. I feel so bad for not noticing he was hurting. As his mother I should have been there for him. But I was too busy being comforted by my bottle of whatever it was I was drinking. My other son, Chad was twelve. He ignored the situation. He would go spend time at his friend’s house and wander around the neighborhood.

I didn’t try. I only made things worse. I love Ivan; I really do. But he is different. I knew back when he was five and six that he might be gay. I started calling him “fag” and “fruit” and any other name I could think of. The names made me feel better at first, but would always make me feel worse in the end. He would cry and sit up in his room. I heard him. I didn’t care. I mean, I did care, but I didn’t do anything. I guess I’ve been a lousy mother. I know Ivan didn’t even know why I called him those names, not that there is an excuse. He understands now. He came out to his aunt about a year ago. They have been so supportive of him, and I think he might even have a boyfriend. I guess I am proud. Not that he is gay, but that he is happy. At least he is. He never told me he was gay. Chad told me. I felt terrible when I heard that and wondered if it was my fault. No wonder he hates me.

Anyway, my drinking somehow led to drugs. I didn’t really expect it to, but it did. In the back of my mind I told myself that it couldn’t happen. It seems that Chad knew it would. Ivan didn’t want to be around me enough to figure it out, so I don’t think he knew I went that far. He probably knows, but I hope not. I love those boys and never wanted to hurt them, but I knew when I started that they would be taken away when anyone found out. I regret my drug use now, but it is too late for that, I guess.

I sent my children to stay with their aunt, my ex-husband’s sister. She is a good woman, and treats my kids wonderfully. She is Ivan’s biggest support. I love her so much for treating my baby so well. I think sending them there was the best thing for my kids. A few days later I called to the rehab center. I was so nervous and embarrassed, but I knew I had to do that for my boys. Chad was fifteen then, and Ivan was fourteen. He hadn’t said two words to me in three months. I deserved it, I guess. I was in rehab for six months. I couldn’t believe I had to miss both of my kids’ birthdays. Chad turned sixteen on the first of March. Ivan turned fifteen on St. Patrick’s Day. He has always been proud of his birthday. It makes him feel special to have a holiday birthday.

I had given custody of the kids to their aunt . She would have given them back, but because of my rehab I had to go to court to prove myself. It was ruled that the boys would make the decision to come home with me or not. I think I wouldn’t have gotten them at all if they had been younger. Anyway, Ivan has never been a leader. I really expected him to do whatever Chad did. I knew Chad would come with me. We have always been close. The boys were given another week at their aunts to make a decision. In that time, I rented myself an apartment and applied for some jobs. They were small jobs, but I figured they would have to do.

A week later I showed up to pick up the kids. Chad was ready. His bags were stuffed haphazardly, like he couldn’t have had any less time to pack, though he had a week. No one said a word as Chad gave me a hug and ran out to put his stuff in the car. Eighteen and still a mama’s boy. Ivan was leaning on the wall, like he was hiding. He looked like he was mad, but he was about to cry. He didn’t even look at me. I think he wanted to, but he didn’t. A got one of those lumps in my throat. I wanted to cry. I didn’t though. I just went home with Chad. On our way home, I cried. Chad starting saying that Ivan was a jerk and couldn’t believe he didn’t come. That day Chad called Ivan a “fag” and it killed me. I started crying. Chad said he didn’t mean it, and almost started to cry, I think. Ivan and Chad loved each other. They had to. Without each other they had no one. Well, they had their aunt, but they still needed each other.

Being rejected by one of my children really hurts. I mean, I knew it wouldn’t be a good feeling. But Chad was at home, and I still felt as bad as I did before. I guess I was ashamed of myself for everything I had ever done. But I still loved my baby, even if he did hate me.

I started my new job, waiting tables. It wasn’t much, but it helped and the apartment was small enough to make up for the difference. It felt empty without Ivan, Chad told me Ivan had never felt like he belonged in the family. I wish he knew how much I loved him.

About a month passed and I decided to go talk to Ivan. I wanted to let him know how much I loved him. I went to see him at his aunt’s. I called for him and he didn’t come. His cousin told me he had locked himself in the cedar closet. I went to the closet and tried to open it. It was locked. I knew it was a stupid idea to put a lock on a closet door. said that the first time I saw it there. He wouldn’t talk to me. I could hear familiar music. I had bought a tape for his tenth birthday. It was all he had wanted. He had wanted it for so long. He still had it. I started to walk leave when Ivan knocked on the door three short knocks. I knocked back twice. Those knocks were kinda our little thing at our old house. His room was next to the master bedroom. I would knock three times and he would always knock back twice. It was kinda like saying “I love you” I guess. As soon as I had finished, Ivan slipped one of his paintings he had done under the door. The background was black and gray, with a red heart. In the heart two people, one with long hair the other with short hair. I turned it over and on the back was a note: “I love you mom. Ivan” I didn’t thank. I just left. I didn’t know what to think. I had the painting framed. It is hanging in my living room now. Ivan has still never seen it, and he has still not spoken to me. I decided soon after to look for some support. Divorce is hard, but I took mine too far. It destroyed my family and we will never be the same, not that we were ever really happy. I am so happy to have found this group. I hope you can help me relieve some of the hurt. Thank you.

Brian Fuchs 5.23.1998Continue Reading

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“it is difficult to think of you without me in the sentence”

Why does it seem that the people with the biggest hearts are the ones who have those hearts trampled the most often? This isn’t about me. It could be; I have often had people in my life who take advantage of my good nature — or rather, who I have allowed to take advantage of me. I’m not saying these people have been necessarily malicious or unkind, but that I have encouraged them to get what they need from our time together and then leave.

This is about my friend David Eugene. If you know nothing else, know that he is a guy who will pull through when you need him, but he may not be around all the time. He is generous to a fault, often taking on so many projects that there is no way to finish them all in time. David Eugene sacrifices his time and his happiness to make sure everyone else’s needs are met. It is almost a sickness how much he takes on in his life.

There is something about David Eugene that attracts others to him, a certain je ne c’est quoi that keeps people interested in everything he does. This has resulted in a number of obsessed people fauning all over David Eugene, making inappropriate gestures and comments. I will admit that I have even been infatuated with him. He has such a strong natural charisma. I wanted to be around him so bad that it kept me up some nights.

Such intense fascinations seem to have left David Eugene alone… having no lasting friendships and only the memory of long-term relationships. But it seems that he does everything right. He does not seem directly responsible for this problem. Rather, the endless people throwing themselves at him seems to be a symptom of an intangible that only he has. Every few weeks, David Eugene meets someone new. Often, he is very interested in them and they seem equally interested in him. This initial getting to know one another period is both intense and wonderful. David Eugene starts to see a wedding, a home, dogs, and the life he has always wanted. The guy of the moment seems to share this vision — saying everything they know David Eugene wants to hear.

It doesn’t last. Soon, this new guy moves on, scared away by the seriousness of this plan. David Eugene is left alone — again. How can it be fair that such an amazing person could be used and discarded? Why do people treat the most generous of us like trash? And more importantly, how can this cycle be broken?

I feel awful for him, but I don’t know how I can help David Eugene. Perhaps, it isn’t something I can fix. Perhaps, it isn’t something I should try to fix. It hurts me to know that he is in pain and I cannot help him. I hope he knows that he has at least one friend who is still here for the long-term, who doesn’t expect any more from him than he can give. I hope David Eugene finds happiness.

Here are some things I have written about longing, obsession, friendship:

Preston’s Hold

for Johnny

The fear. Consuming fear and self-denial.
A dream of love – a school-boy fantasy –
crushed by the vise of injustice for self, by
society. I can’t give myself to you if you hide.

Can two people know each other in darkness?
Can a heart survive the cruel coldness
of lonliness? Kiss me (I know it won’t happen)
Dream of me – of us. Kill the fear of damnation.

It is over and you are gone. I always held on
too loosely, never tried hard enough. I needed
your hands, your touch, your morning voice –
soft and honest. I needed plans, and you…

Kiss me again, this time tenderly, and tell me
it is all okay – love me from wherever you are.
More importantly, be my friend – remind me
of who I wanted and who I wanted to be.

Need is dangerous – I still feel you.

Brian Fuchs 6.5.1999

twenty-four

Will this winter chill lift from my heart and allow me to find love? In the ice covered and mad city I can’t see anyone worth knowing, worth loving. I need my knight. This curse is too much.

Brian Fuchs 1.5.2001

Jerry pt 1

My heart still hurts and I still love you, my friend.
I don’t understand why you ran away. I never will.
Your boyfriend’s hold was too much;
his approval was too important to you.
So, you left.

You left me.

My arms will still be open, my home yours,
if you ever need it — need me.
My life has a space reserved for you,
beautiful friend.

Brian Fuchs 7.1.2005

27 March 2007Continue Reading

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Basically, I’m a slob.

I have reached that point that I reach every few months — when I would rather just burn my place down and rebuild from the ashes than deal with cleaning. You’d think that I could keep up with it and not arrive at this point, but life just keeps happening. Once again, empty containers of whatevers are strewn about the living room, my boxes and out of place furniture have formed small tracks which I can use to get from room to room like some sort of small rodent, making paths in the brush.

Worst is the dishes. Without a dishwasher or motivation, the pile of dishes has become nearly unmanageable. I fear that I will find life forms within the structure that will need to be dealt with.

I don’t know how I let my house go like this. I hate that about me and hate that my cats have to live with it. I can’t have people over and have to greet friends at the door, denying them entrance. I want that to change. I have been making great strides in my life, but the next thing I want to alter about myself is my ability to keep up with my home. Only then will I be able to feel comfortable having a relationship with someone. I couldn’t bear to invite someone over as it is. And my idea of a great time spent with someone is watching movies at home…

*insert continuation of this rant here*

So, if anyone has suggestions — helpful suggestions — on how to improve this part of myself, comment with them. That said, I am going to clean a little.

25 March 2007Continue Reading

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It was March 10, 2002 — a Sunday morning. I was at work, shelving a cart in the corner of the store where the history, biography, & social sciences sections were kept. I had paused for a moment to read the inside flap on the book.  I had taken entirely too much time looking decided to place it on hold for myself so I could look at it later. I took it to the front and placed it on the employee hold shelf. Bettina announced that I had a phone call. I knew it would be my parents and it irritated me that they could never figure out to not call me before we open.

When I answered the phone, it was my dad. There were no pleasantries; he simply said I needed to leave work and drive to Stillwater immediately. Not really catching on to the tone, I informed him that I couldn’t leave work, but wanted to know what was going on. “Mimi has been taken to the hospital and is probably not going to make it.” That still breaks my heart. My brain went numb and my eyes blurry. I said I would leave and be there as soon as possible. As soon as I hung up, I went back to the office, told Bettina I needed to go, and fell apart. She comforted me, telling me not to worry about work and instructing me to do what I needed to do. I left work, went home to let Justin (who was my roommate at the time) know where I’d be, and rushed to Stillwater. On the way, my cousin Becky called to make sure I knew what was going on.

I arrived in Stillwater about an hour and a half after the initial phone call. As I walked in, I was met by my mom, who was bawling. The entire tone of the house was energetic and sad — each family member’s arrival starting the tears over again.

“Mimi” is my mom’s mom, Bonita Christine “Chris” Tucker. She was the matriarch of our family; the force that connected us all and kept us together. She orchestrated every event that brought us together, reminded us to connect with one another, and nagged us all mercilessly. Mimi was an extremely confident woman who knew who she was. She was totally devoted to her husband, her God, & the other members of her church. She was generous with her money and her time, but was never afraid to tell you her opinion on what you were doing. Evidently, there wasn’t enough money to be made as a writer to justify her supporting it. I cherished talking to her. I would sit with her and talk about people for hours… she knew absolutely everything going on in Stillwater. But it never seemed like gossip. Mimi was a very good-hearted person.

By the time I arrived in Stillwater, she had passed away. After the watery greetings from my mom and aunt, I settled in with my brothers and cousin — those I always hang out with when everyone is together. Star, my grandparents’ cat, was the hero of this story. Even though he was unable to save her, he did what he could. Apparently, he went to my grandpa (Papa), woke him up, and led him to where Mimi had fallen. We suspect either a massive heart attack, stroke, or aneurysm, as her arms were still by her side and she hadn’t tried to stop her fall.

Bonita
on viewing my Mimi’s body

She looks perfect,
her familiar red dress matched
beautifully with the soft pink lining,
the red heart draped around her neck.
As if she’d just come in
from church for a nap —
a lazy Sunday afternoon,
shy lay resting — calm, peaceful.
Tears stream down my grandpa’s
too often stoic face.
His wife — the woman he
devoted his entire life to —
his best friend.
“She really is a beautiful lady.”

Brian Fuchs 3.12.2002

That week was surreal. I still don’t remember much of it. Of course, it culminated in a beautiful funeral. I had gone back home to Tulsa to get some clothes and for the funeral I chose the shirt she had just given me for Christmas. The shirt was a gold knit with a collar. I wore khaki pants. I wouldn’t have felt right in dark colors and I really wanted to celebrate life. The funeral was made that much more difficult when I discovered that my cousins’ nanny was sitting with them and I couldn’t sit with my immediate family because of it. Furthermore, I ended up next to my mom’s friend, who had apparently not figured out that I was an adult and kept talking to me as if I were a child.

When the funeral was over, my two best friends came up to me and asked if I was okay. I had really been fine all week, only crying on Sunday morning. I shook my head no and buried myself in their arms and cried. I felt like the world had just ended. A few days later, I left on a trip with them, where I was able to sort through things slowly throughout the next week. Which isn’t to say I felt any better about it all.

untitled (‘100 days’)

It’s been one hundred days
and if feels like it all happened
just this morning.
I’m starting to realize she’s gone —
finally missing her and ultimately
knowing I can never see her again.

I hate that morning —
when Mimi died.
Loneliness overtook me and
pain was invited in.
All I needed was a hug
from Bettina, JD, Travis, Becky,
Mom — but they weren’t there.
I’m cold inside and sad.
I miss her.

Brian Fuchs 6.18.2002

It took a long time to accept that Mimi was gone. I imagine I will have that hole in my heart for the rest of my life. I haven’t even been able to return to her house for any length of time and feel comfortable. That always makes me feel guilty because I do want to visit Papa, who is remarried, but there is too much history in that place. But it is also important to remember that I got to know Mimi. I had the amazing opportunity to be a member of a family with her at the head.

That is when I first realized my life had become about death. It had only been 447 days since my grandma Fuchs (“G”) had passed away. Since then, I have lost 2 friends and 2 great-grandmothers. I am ready to have my life defined by something else; be defined by love or friendship or family. I have felt rather selfish about these deaths over these past 6 years. They are important to me, but moving on is much more important.

21 March 2007Continue Reading

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This is little more than a series of ramblings that are only remotely connected to one another.

The mind is fascinating to me — what I really mean to say is unsettling. Creativity, knowledge, wisdom, intellegence, instict, intuition, memory. Such an array of abstracts that make each of us who we are. I was watching TV earlier and a notion was mentioned that has supplanted the inane items I was thinking about at the time. “We focus so much on the tangible, we have forgotten about the intangible.”

This applies to my life as much as anyone else’s. I don’t know why I needed a show to remind me of it. Perhaps I didn’t; it is entirely possible that I needed to be reminded of that today and the events were all set in place to make certain I received the message.

My life is in contant flux — morphing from one thing to another. I spend only a few months as each version of myself before moving on to the next… sometimes the change is so constant and uneventful that I am never the same person from one day to the next. I think that could apply to anyone, as these are fairly universal concepts. Two things really interested me on this subject. The first is why a person remembers events in the way they do. The second, friendships and their evolution (which I intend to cover later).

As I recounted in my previous post, I can remember certain moments throughout my life. I can remember making a girl cry in 3rd grade. I don’t know what I did though. I remember watching one kid kick over another kids cardboard brick construction when I was in kindergarten — I also remember waiting in line to go to the restroom and being kissed by a girl in my class. But the rest is a blur. I remember having the cast put on my legs, but don’t remember not being able to walk.

I don’t know what my purpose is for writing this. I guess I just started thinking about things a lot lately. This current version of myself is a creation of introspection rather than external events, so perhaps that is why I am thinking so much. I know a lot has to do with my high school reunion coming up. If I make it (and I intend to), I don’t really have much memory of the majority of the people who are likely to remember me. That sounds conceited, but that isn’t quite the case. I’m just nice most of the time. People like that.

I am worried that I don’t remember enough, but one can hardly live in the moment and dwell on the past simultaneously. ADHD is a fun tool for pulling random thoughts out of your head, but a terrible tool for making valid points about those thoughts.

I fear that I will not find someone who has the patience for me and my many thoughts and who is intellectually interesting enough for me to relate to. I don’t think being particular is wrong, but it has left me alone for the past 27 years. Or perhaps I am overthinking… as usual.

I don’t get to relive yesterday. Maybe all of this is really about that. The less I remember, the more of my life is actually gone. I don’t want to wake up at 70, realizing I have been alone all my life and wondering when I could have changed who I am. That time must be now, but I don’t know if I have to correct tools.

Of the intagibles of the mind go, wisdom is the most important to me. It is vastly more important than memory, which is simply recollection of moments. Perhaps I need to stop obsessing over the lost moments and focus more on the experience of being me today and what I can learn from myself and from the people/places/things I encounter today. What lessons are worth carrying with me and inserting into my understanding of the universe? And I know I need shift my focus away from the tangible. What I can buy today is not important.

19 March 2007