2/18/2026

Up until now, I have liked the idea of buying books, but I couldn’t bring myself to sit still and read them.

I also have liked the idea of a new journal or sketch book, but I failed to fill their pages.

They triggered and fueled my internal satisfaction center until the new were put with the others in wait of my action.

So many. So many. Years of books, journals, sketchbooks.

Unread…or the beginnings read but the book never finished.

Unmarked...or some pages dated and filled with words but not many.

Throughout my life, I’ve experienced pockets of light during which I produced written or made treasures.

As is with life though, what needed to be done to exist and survive was a higher priority than taking time to self-care through words or my hands.

Now, after almost if not more than 40 years working myself up a ladder of opportunities amid all kinds of personal chaos, I am transitioning as I release a large slice of my life’s identity.

It’s not been that long…113 days as of today.

From my ego base, it’s a heart tug to let that go of who my job gave me the opportunity to be but then again, it’s 40 hours in my week that are now mine.

From the fiscal perspective, it’s a change accompanied by a reality that logically requires me to reimagine need versus want.

I don’t drink, smoke, or gamble.

Saying that, I believe that it is reasonable for me to indulge in new books, journals, and sketchbooks on occasion.

Occasion being the relative term and so much to unpack.