Observations of an Overthinker

I wish

I wish.

I wish everyone was honest.
I wish everyone was loyal.
I wish everyone was caring.
I wish everyone was fair.
I wish everyone was empathetic.
I wish everyone was straightforward.
I wish everyone was dependable.
I wish everyone was independent.
I wish everyone was determined.
I wish everyone was cooperative.
I wish everyone was mature.
I wish everyone was well-mannered
I wish everyone was compassionate.
I wish everyone was tolerant.
I wish everyone was imaginative.
I wish everyone was intuitive.
I wish everyone was creative.
I wish everyone was passionate.
I wish everyone was complimentary.
I wish everyone was humorous
I wish everyone was ambitious.
I wish everyone was courageous.
I wish everyone was disciplined.
I wish everyone was a life-long learner.
I wish everyone was a good listener.
I wish everyone was self-aware.

Come to think of it, I don’t wish everyone were all of those things. I do, however, wish everyone would wish a bit more.

I wish.

© Tanzer Words

The Road to Enlightenment is Paved with Humility

The road to enlightenment is paved with humility.

I’m in a constant state of awareness yet I surrender to the life force that propels my sentiency. I acknowledge that is has absolute control and I’m merely the co-pilot to its stimulus. I exist in an endless tango with spirituality and temptation, a limitless channel of energy radiating purpose as I imagine myself trying to navigate the innocence of it all. I call it the dance with divinity: an infinite number of possibilities, available at all times with an infinite number of outcomes and all suspended in space.

Imagine millions of batons sitting right in front of your face. Whichever one you grab will take you down a different road and there’s no turning back. It’s simply not an option. What’s even more remarkable is that there’s technically no time to decide. None. By the time you think you’ve made a choice, one has long since been decided. It actually doesn’t even matter what you think you’re choosing because it’s predetermined. If that weren’t enough intellectual debilitation, nothing is actually occurring at all. The little bit of perceived awareness we believe we’re juggling is merely an apparition of familiarity, a loop of film that becomes updated along the ride. At the core of it all we’re just the suspension of protoplasm on a molecular level, existence until we’re not. Naively, we try to walk, talk, dance, and sing until we can’t anymore and that’s about the extent of our efforts. So why do any of it at all, right? Survival. It’s the biological basis of all human behavior.

As minutes turn to hours, hours to days, days to weeks, weeks to months and months to years we tend to lose sight of that which we are at the core. We become an image of our circumstances; hardened by our travels, adapted and reformulated by our new set of responsibilities. An effect of constant and ever-changing adaptation in the human state; an evolution of social pressures molded into the current form of mortal reflection. And strangely we tend to think we’re becoming better with time, more aware, more advised and refined in our understanding of that which surrounds us but we’re not. We are a series of self-induced scars that are only hurting us rather than helping, making it more difficult to stretch, bend and fly, furthering our path to freedom.

If you strip every single thing away from our current anatomical state: our clothes, car, home, belongings, wealth and arts and crafts, what are you left with? Who are you without your possessions? What do you stand for without your chosen materialistic identities? What do you recognize as your actual self? Do you serve any greater purpose other than prolonging your current trajectory?

The road to enlightenment is paved with humility…

© Tanzer Words

Medellín, Bogotá y Cartagena

As I wind down my three-week, three-city tour of Colombia, I am reminded of a few things. First, a preface about the country I fell in love with:

When I set my mind to visit Colombia, most everyone I knew wanted to stop me, or at least heavily caution me. It was as if the ghost of Pablo Escobar was still operating people’s projections in a cinema looped on 1980’s Medellín. Granted, Colombia has seen some serious shit, no one’s denying that. But what I find even more fascinating is humanity’s ability to hold onto things as if it were yesterday. In the US, we’re perpetually clenched in fear, afraid of the unknown, and it’s being driven through our brains like a captive bolt pistol in a slaughterhouse. We live in an unrelenting cycle of “everyone’s out to get us” because “we’re the best.” Well, allow me to shed a little light on that. Yes, the USA is remarkable, but not because we say we are, and unquestionably not because we think we’re better. We are incredible because of our profound gift of aid, infinite opportunity, and our welcoming spirit (of yesteryear). The policy of generosity exuded by the US when she’s acting on her best behavior far surpasses any country I’ve ever been to. The problem is, we’re in the middle of another growth spurt, and the best way to sell a used car is to make it seem better than all the other ones on the lot. It’s just that simple. I’m neither mad at her, nor sad for her, and most importantly, I’m not influenced by her scorn. As with all things, this too shall pass. With the grace of future generations innocently steeped in imagination, ingenuity, and of course an abundance of love, she’ll be back to her old, welcoming ways, this you can be sure of.

When I flew into Medellín, I didn’t really have an idea of what to expect. I mean I knew what everyone else knows: the aforementioned drug lord and his reign of terror, and the 1990’s label that Medellín was widely considered to be “the murder capital of the world.” But what did I actually know about the place, and its people? Nothing, really, and that’s just the way I like it. I choose to go places where I can immerse myself free of expectation. I like to refer to it as a “Baptism of Culture.” Well, Medellín was just that. From the moment I stepped foot onto Colombian soil I felt my disposition change, I was immediately welcomed in.

 

Medellín is a bustling city at the outset of its metamorphosis with an authentic commitment to 21-century means. With a dignified public transit system, The Metro, reaching far into the neediest and most vulnerable comunas (common areas), hillside escalators veining communities with its Metro, Internet “mesh networks” connecting non-service areas by a series of routers and antennas mounted on rooftops, the design of 5 library multi-parks, new museums, cultural centers, and schools to enrich the impoverished, Medellín is leading the world in initiatives, and its primary focus is building social wealth through investments in early childhood. The urbanization and globalization of Medellín are so unbelievable, it’s no wonder The Wall Street Journal named this city the most innovative in the world in 2013, and why it was chosen to host the World Urban Forum 7 in 2014.

The two echoing pillars of Medellín today are democratic architecture and education with dignity. It’s their strongly held belief that they must find the will to find happiness in tragedy. Truer words have never been spoken. Medellín even offers free walking tours of the city as a rebranding of sorts. This was eloquently articulated by the outgoing Carlos, one of the many bright, young tour guides on the scene today: “The new Medellín is not only yours, mine; it’s ours. And together, we are working very hard to show the international community that we are not only safe, we are also desirable.”

There is a famous children’s book indoctrinated by Colombians, written by David McKee called, “Ahora no, Bernardo” which translates to, “Not now, Bernard.” The story is about a boy named Bernard who is constantly ignored by his parents. Even when he tries to tell them about a monster outside in the garden, they still don’t pay attention. Bernard is subsequently eaten by the monster, who then takes Bernard’s place in the house and still, somehow, goes unnoticed. The moral of the story, again, as told by Carlos, and as seen through the Colombian Biblioteca’s public schooling programs is, “Our children are our future and if we don’t take care of them, teach and listen to them, we will be creating a whole new generation of monsters.” So simple. So pure. So true! Bravo, Carlos. Bravo, Medellín. Bravo!

 

Bogotá was a very curious read to me. It felt exactly like what one might expect a capital city to feel like: sprawling, historic, and systematic. This high-altitude hub, located on the Bogotá savanna (the uplands in the center of Colombia in the Eastern Ranges of the Colombian Andes), is the largest city in Colombia and features colonial-era landmarks, some of the country’s most popular museums (Museo Botero, exhibiting a personal favorite of mine, Fernando Botero’s art, and the Museo del Oro, displaying pre-Columbian gold pieces), and is the home to senior agencies of the executive (Office of the President), the legislative (Congress of Colombia), and the judicial branch (Supreme Court of Justice, and the Constitutional Court). Taking a 5-hour private tour through the city included the following: touring their financial, legal, and executive district, seeing the President’s house (Casa de Nariño), exploring the aforementioned museums, the graffiti district (which is an extensive and picturesque walk), trolleying up a hillside to Monserrate, and finally, the Assumption of Mary observed holiday-turned-street fair where the entire downtown was closed in an “Escape from New York-esque” doomsday parade where anyone and everyone could sell just about anything you could think of, and that they did. I feel like I learned quite a bit, most notably, what it’s like to patronize the largest, most chaotic, and unsettling garage sale I have ever attended.

Highlights include La Candelaria, Zona T, and Monserrate. La Candelaria is a historic neighborhood in the downtown district. The architecture of old houses, churches and buildings had a Baroque and Art Deco feel to it. Super cool! Zona Rosa de Bogotá (or “Zona T” named after its T intersection) is a neighborhood with many pubs, restaurants, malls, shops and nightclubs. This neighborhood is also known as one of the most exclusive quarters in Latin America and it felt like it. And finally, Monserrate (a 17th-century church with a shrine devoted to “El Señor Caído” or, as it was translated to me, “Fallen Lord”) is a majestic and holy lookout 10,341 ft. above sea level. It’s a stunning, and romantic observation post with an 180-degree view of the city’s skyline. All in all, a pretty amazing reveal into the republic’s capital.

 

Cartagena, the “old city,” or “walled city” as it’s commonly referred to, is a colonial, historic and heavily fortified fortress town with narrow, cobbled streets, and a settler’s structure. This open-air sanctuary has a constant stream of music, dancing, and busking, a killer restaurant and mixology scene, and is overflowing in notable architecture. The street performers were truly on another level. First, there was the hip-hop element, my personal favorite. While the kids seemingly didn’t have many instrumentals to choose from; Dr. Dre’s “Still D.R.E.” and “The Next Episode,” 50 Cent’s, “In Da Club,” and one other I didn’t recognize, they were still spitting, fluent and fresh new rhymes daily. Then there was the sea of mimes. From traditional mimes (as we know them in the States), to old-world theatrical mimes, real actors awaiting any denomination to be dropped in the hat, sometimes for hours, before they sprung into show. Lastly, you have the characteristic Victorian violinist, local artisan’s selling their hand-crafted chachkas, food vendors in the streets, and all somehow harmonizing to a cacophony of laughter, and the metronomic clock of recurring Horse and buggy movement, the old world clatter as it does. Plaza Santo Domingo acts as the heart of the city hosting outside restaurants, performances, and it’s helmed by Botero’s statue, “La Gordita.” The never soon enough breeze, food and drink, and a ceremonial backdrop of the surrounding buildings make Cartagena a magnificent fairy tale!

 

From taking a free city tour into underprivileged neighborhoods and getting to see Medellín’s next generation willfully learning in a public forum, liberally expressing their questions and watching their creative minds allowed to flourish in front of a world stage of visitors (without question, my favorite part of the entire trip), to walking on set of the world’s largest anarchic flea market, to the sound of thousands of people celebrating symphonically in the streets, I am reminded of a few things: 

•    Wearing shorts in Medellín makes you look like a tourist. Wearing pants in Cartagena makes you look like a tourist. Bogota doesn’t give a shit what you wear.

•    Every city has a busking Iron Man. I don’t just mean Colombia; I mean everywhere, which prompted me to think, there’s got to be a business model here…The International Busking Iron Man’s Union?

•    Don’t slam the doors in Taxies. This is not an exaggeration; every cab driver in the country doesn’t like it. They really don’t. Like, it’s a thing…and no, I don’t know why either.

•    In Colombia, there is an 11th commandment: “A papaya dada, papaya partida.” It’s a colloquial expression, which basically means, “What has been given, can be taken.” It translates into watch yo shit, and don’t give people an opportunity to take said shit. I feel like everyone, everywhere knows this without the use of prop-fruit in an idiomatic example.

•    It’s my my experience thus far, that no matter where you dine or drink in Colombia, you can take an unfinished bottle of purchased alcohol with you when you leave. Like, “I’ll have 5 shots of Don Julio Reposado, please.” “You should just buy the bottle, it’s cheaper.” “But I only want the one round of shots for me and my friends- I can’t drink that much tonight?!” “No worries, take the bottle with you.” It’s legal. Everywhere!

•    Buying a size 11.5 shoe in Colombia is like trying to publicly talk about Pablo Escobar and I didn’t even try to publicly talk about Pablo Escobar.

•    Some of the local street vendors selling fruit have microphones to apparently tell you their fruit is better than the guy‘s fruit *right* next to them. Loudly, and on a continuous loop. How does the guy without a mic stay calm? Or, sell any fruit? And why doesn’t he just move down the street?

•    Directional or guidance tactile paving is used on every single sidewalk I walked on, in all three cities. It begs the question: Is it really that hard to take care of our blind? Colombia doesn’t think so.

•    No matter where you are in the entire world, everyone loves the song “Yeah,” by Usher, unless it comes on at your place of employment. Then, apparently, you have the right to hate it. Otherwise, it would seem like it’s your civic duty to act a foo when it hits.

Recurring excerpts from previous works:

•    Electric razors for men are harder to find in Colombia than gold and I didn’t even look for gold. Forgetting your charger renders your electric razor useless after an unfortunate switch-on during flight. 

•    A kind smile and gentle disposition are all you need to communicate across the globe. Well, that, and the Google translate app. 

 

In closing, be kind, it’s the only form of currency accepted worldwide.

© Tanzer Words

Paola

I walked into a bar in Cartagena and there she was. Her warm, brown eyes; sultry and deep set, with the stare of a woman three times her age I remember thinking – for what seemed like an entire minute – no matter where I looked, she was still staring at me. She was like a perceptual processing illusion, only real. I tried to look away but couldn’t resist her gaze. My fascination with her beauty rendered me powerless, and my curiosity was already impolite. When she finally came over and asked me how I was doing I said excitedly, “The best I’ve ever been.” When she asked why, I said, “Because of you.” She eyed me intently, trembled a little, and then let out the biggest smile I’d ever seen. It was then I said, “What is your name?” Before she could even answer I said, “Please, please tell me your name?” She smirked again, this time, brighter and with a twinkle in her eye and said, “Paola.” I said, “Of course it is, what else would it have been?” It was at that moment I went adrift. I’m pretty sure we were still locking eyes, and I know I was breathing but I lost track of time. When I came back to I said, “How long was I gone?” She paused, looked me up then down and then laughed aloud. It was at this very moment I realized she thought I was cute. I felt the urge to say ‘the feelings mutual’ but quickly gathered I was having an internal dialogue. Thankfully, I hadn’t gone completely crazy; she hadn’t made me completely crazy… yet. While I had an overwhelming urge to keep my mouth shut I decided to fight through it. I looked her dead in the eyes and said, “I must see you again.” She responded most perfectly, “You haven’t left yet?” Keeping the playful yet impassioned joust afloat I responded, “After finding you, here, now, I have to leave just to see you again; to see if you’re actually real. Please tell me you’ll allow me to see you once more, this time at my wish?” “I don’t know, I don’t even know you,” she replied hesitantly. To which I retorted, “You can bring your mom, your brother, I don’t care if you bring the entire Colombian army I just want an opportunity to spend an afternoon with you. How’s lunch…tomorrow?” I didn’t say another word and just stared at her with the softest, most peaceful face I could muster. I wasn’t even acting; I was Jell-O in her gaze. She looked away for a moment of uncertainty, and shot right back into play, directly focused into my soul. Then she did it again. I couldn’t even tell if the second one was for dramatic effect or not. When she returned the second time she took a deep breath, exhaled and said, “…OK.” I said, “How about we meet at 1 PM in the plaza?” She said somewhat questioning herself, “OK.” I stood up, bowed to her divinity and said, “Goodbye.” Just as I was about to leave, she said, “That’s it, you’re leaving?” To which I replied, “Truthfully, do you really think I should stay after all that?” Staring me directly in the eyes and without even uttering a word her mouth crept out a smile in slow motion. By the time it reached full smile – I can only assume – I was already halfway out the door.

If there’s anything I know for sure, it’s to never overextend your welcome. That, and the Cartagenaian beauty named Paola will forever be the first thing I see whenever I open up a door…for the rest of my life.

© Tanzer Words

Dance with divinity

It’s all just a surreal dance with divinity and we’re barely able to hold onto the wheel in hopes of steering ourselves towards a direction we perceive as final. And then, in a blink of an eye, our perception is influenced and we start all over.

© Tanzer Words

Thailand, Cambodia and Vietnam

As I wind down my three-week, three-country tour of Southeast Asia I am reminded of a few things. First, here’s a birds-eye view of the road less traveled.

Thailand is a beautifully rich country filled with content and confident people. They seem quite satisfied with what they’ve achieved and equally ok with what they haven’t. It’s a remarkable thing to witness a people so enriched by their day-to-day that they exude a sense of pure oneness and feel everything is as it should be. These are always traits of a stress-free and calm existence and I really resonate with that. A lot.

Cambodia really struck a chord with me. Cambodians are a weathered yet innocent people, kind, generous and accommodating and still wholly and respectfully guarded. You can see generations of stories in their eyes while the infancy of acceptance right on the surface. Never, and I mean never have I seen a more profoundly kept souls-secret in a people to date. The impact even in the short time I spent there will last a lifetime. Powerful place.

Vietnam is one of the most curious places I’ve ever been with a complex social makeup right on the surface. This is 21st-century metropolis directly on top of sidewalk economy and both seemingly living in harmony. Their rush hour rivals anywhere I’ve been on the globe and by 7pm, the day crew takes refuge leaving room for the night shift. I’m speaking to full-contact traffic in every direction in a surreal dance of bees at the nest and then as if choreographed the night owls come out to play. Complete chaotic synergy, it’s amazing. Even more noteworthy are the people I came across. Both close interactions and acquaintances were very outgoing. These lovely, funny and sociable folks would outright make fun of our style, brotherly bond and poke fun at our accents all the while keeping it light and never crossing the line of disrespect. I’ve never seen such truly charming and witty people at the onset of meeting. It was such a delightful and unexpected surprise.

From riding a scooter the entire length of an island to celebrate a full moon on Koh Phangan- an event that exists everywhere on the globe and usually without hubbub, to climbing the largest religious complex in the world seated in a lush and majestic 500-acre panorama in Angkor Wat, to drinking banana wine in the marshlands of Mekong, I am reminded of a few things:

  •      Walking around the streets of Bangkok I finally know what it feels like to be a woman. I couldn’t walk more than 50 steps without getting cawed at like a construction site damsel in distress. It’s good to know Stella still has her groove even if it’s for money.
  •      More people equal more stress; less people equal less stress. Never forget that when you’re trying to recalibrate.
  •      The car horn in Asia is used a lot. More than I prefer.
  •      I’m pretty sure now that when I see Asian travelers in the States wearing masks they’re not sick, they’re just protecting themselves against air pollution.
  •      Religion is an idea which means vastly different things to different people. Practicing it is a state of mind. Projecting it is a state of weakness. No one anywhere cares what you like or don’t like about his or her deity until you try to explain why you think they’re wrong. Unless asked, don’t answer and even then think long and hard about how much you really care about someone else’s privately held personal beliefs. Then, and only then decide whether or not it’s worth your breath to engage. Chances are you’ll find people are way more beautiful in mystery.
  •      Electric razors for men are harder to find in Southeast Asia than gold and I didn’t even look for gold.
  •      Staring at the ocean can cure most things gone awry in your life. Most.
  •      A kind smile and gentle disposition is all you need to communicate across the globe. Well that, and the Google translate app.

In closing, be kind, it’s the only form of currency accepted worldwide.

 

© Tanzer Words

Boulder, Colorado

As I wind down my one-week stay in Boulder, Colorado sitting in the Denver Airport, I thought I’d pen a bit about my new favorite small city.

Boulder is as enlightened as it is exquisite and as charming as it is vibrating, a real breathe of fresh air. Imagine a city of 90,000+ split between Silicon Valley-types and collegiate fresh-brains converging in a progressive yet laid-back think-tank. Health, well-being, quality of life, education and art is rampant here and everyone I ran across was open, well-read and just downright cool. These folks were easily some of America’s biggest and brightest freely engaging in metaphysical, political, social and religious discussions without self-importance. I’ve never seen such warm, high-intellects ready for stimulus in my life and it felt great!

Flying in from Dallas, I spent a week with one of my very dearest friends Rich and his girlfriend Elena and boy did they know where to go. We ate at exclusively farm-to-table restaurants, sipped exotic teas and coffees flown in from Bali, had charcuterie plates of locally sourced meats and cheeses, drank an entire day of organic juices and milks, awoke to the smell of his local bakers daily offerings, snowboarded on two world-class mountains, took painting classes, went to escape rooms and even booked a last minute photo-shoot with a local model and fashion designer. I mean Rich even gets their personal supply of milk and yogurt from a dude’s garage that he knows the code to! If that weren’t enough, we were even fortunate enough to have a chef actually bring our food from his farm to our table and shared the backstory about it. Super. Cool! Author’s Note: To be completely honest, I thought I was quite progressive until this trip but I hadn’t been exposed to this degree of socially-conscience engagement before and boy was it a treat. It brought the natural, pure and positive reflexes right out of me, as it should anyone. Most generally live in such a sense of expectancy and denial about resources so let it suffice to say I’m an awoken man from this way of life and responsible consumption that I will be making a concerted effort to evolve even more. Humbly, onward…

So, as I wind down my one-week stay in Boulder, Colorado I am reminded of a few things…we need not make mountains out of molehills, cry over spilled milk or recite any other silly idioms that’s been engrained in our heads by the village elders. Nope, Boulder, Colorado is a new story, a peacefully advanced small town that doesn’t need any outsider’s bullshit. If you decide to go there, which I can’t suggest enough, go there on you best behavior because they deserve it, and they’ve earned it. See here’s the thing I gathered about Boulder in one week- Boulder is like a fresh-start utopian hideaway, a reboot for quick-consumerism and corporate takeover. Yes they have a Starbucks and McDonalds but they also have three times as many spirit-cleansing outposts ready for the daily baptism. There’s so much forward-thinking conduct right on the surface it’s downright contagious. So the next time you’re planning a getaway, might I suggest Boulder, Colorado? It may just remind you that the best vacation you can offer yourself is the one you give your conscious mind, not the vacation you’re presenting as escapism.

© Tanzer Words

Respect

I feel like most everyone in this day and age is aware that things are complicated; that we live in a country collectively exhaling the largest breath of frustration in modern memory. What I believe many don’t consider is that very breath has been blown into a theoretical balloon stretching beyond measure. Imagine two people set out to a duel, they stand back to back, both with guns in hand, but are unaware a rubber band is affixed to their belts. Both people believe once they reach a certain point they can turn around and shoot the other thus minimizing obstruction. What they don’t know is, they’ll never make it 20 paces before they get smacked back together. That’s America right now.

No matter how hard we want to view opposition in scorn, how bad we wish to change things, how much we may believe we are right, the truth is, so is someone else – at least in their mind – and they most likely don’t agree with you. You want to know why? Because they don’t have to. That’s what America stands for. Not one person in this country has to agree with you and they can still be right. The sooner we absorb the notion of mutual respect in disagreement, the sooner we’ll be better off. I hear a lot of people talk about wanting the America of yesteryear back. Humbly, it’s an impractical notion that anyone can go backwards to achieve anything forward. What we can work towards, and what I firmly believe overdue, is a reset in respect. For all.

In a world where everyone has a voice but many don’t have the desire to listen, will you continue to be deaf to be heard? I know I won’t.

 

© Tanzer Words

The Internet

Things the Internet has helped: Mostly, everything.
Things the Internet has all but ruined: Privacy, copyright, civil discourse and reliability of information.

The question we need to ask ourselves: is “everything else” worth our privacy, creative worth, courtesy in disagreement, and our ability to seek truth in justice?

So as I write this with a smile on my face, even I’m not sure what my sources are. I mean, I think I wrote it, but even I can’t confirm my existence.

© Tanzer Words

Halfway There

I’m really not sure whether or not I’m 45; I just have to trust my mother on this. She’s been a perfect mother so far so I guess I believe her. Plus she got me a birth certificate, seems legit enough.

I’ve never been more content. I have a renewed sense of appreciation for life and I welcome any emotion, exercise, event or experience with open arms and a smile on my face.

If I am 45, science states I only have somewhere in the neighborhood of 45 years left to go- if I’m lucky. Candidly, that means I’ve reached the middle of my ride, the center of my sentient pendulum. I’ve made a vow to awaken the senses every chance I get, to allow things to exist as they are, not how I want them to be, to navigate my personal, artistic and spiritual expressions carefully enough to curate the positivity for which I seek, to be a mirror for what I encounter, take the road less traveled and to turn my nighttime imagination into my daytime realizations.

While in this uncertain human experience, we should never lose the charm of living life’s every moment. Along the way we tend to overestimate the value of stature and underestimate the importance of value; working tirelessly, churning and burning the very life force from our short-lived ride to have things we’ll ultimately never be able to use. Since we’re faced with an infinite number of possibilities along the ride, we tend to act like they don’t matter, but they do. We’re all the product of our decisions, a human accumulation of questions and answers acted out. Take time to remember what makes you unique. Revel in the good, the bad and use them as measure for your new blueprint. The now is so underestimated. There’s nothing more valuable than staying in the moment, being ever-present and allowing the impermanency of life to wash over you in real time. There’s truly nothing finer than being alive and feeling your life force in action. And then there’s the future. This is so breathtakingly interesting to me. Nothing is certain and yet we can somewhat frame the change we wish to experience. We are the designers of our destiny. Do not for one second forget that the course of action; our future-self destination, is a choice and one that should be held sacred. Map out a you you’d like to become and steer yourself towards the light you envision. Dream a dream, make a wish and blow out the candle. Then, take action.

Halfway there. 45 down, and 45 to go. Here’s *cheers* to the next 45! Unless they crack the genetic code and solve cell-regeneration, I hope I don’t make it out alive. Hell, even if they do, 90 years should be enough, right?

© Tanzer Words