...Memory 3....Bubby

It's 1:30 in the morning and I am tired of economics. I am still on my 15 memory stint trying to figure out who I am, but I want to caveat this one with some thoughts on my favorite brother....well he's my only brother but I'm pretty sure he'd be my favorite if I had more. We are online right now throwing fake insults at each other that would make most people cry.....and I love him for it. Ironically we haven't always had a close relationship, in fact we use to hate each other. I don't know how we got from playing bank and chef as little kids, to throwing punches and serious insults as pre-teens, to despising each other's existing in high school, to fairly close during late adolescence, to be best friends today, but it has happened. His home in Idaho Falls is my second hom after my parents house in Montana. I love and respect him more than most people I know. What many don't understand is that behind the gruff outer shell is the most charitable person I know. He will be one of the best father's I know...when he finally decides he actually wants children.....well enough, to the memory.

Memory 3)
The sangria soda is amazing. I love being at Las Carmelitas....although it is getting late. I don't mind, Clay is the one who is going to get in trouble when we get home. We should have left hours ago, but no worries, I am playing Magic Cards and Dungeons and Dragons. I have a charge account at Las Carmelitas, the owner Rita is a great friend of my grandmother and we bankrolled her to start the restaurant, and I am thoroughly enjoying not doing homework.
I am in the side room of the restaurant so I see my brother's white Suzuki Swift pull up. Yep, its a casket on wheels, if we hit anything we die and will be buried in it, at least that is what dad says, but it has great gas mileage and we commute over 100 miles round trip every day to go to high school. Clay walks into the restaurant and I can feel his anger. Maybe he broke up with Anna Thomas, or maybe he's just pissed in general, I don't know but I know I don't like him like this. Rita recognizes something is up as well, but luckily she only has a few people left in the restaurant, it is past 9. She asks Clay what is up while I walk over to them, and I am sure she smelled what I did....alcohol. Well Clay is a senior, and I am no saint when I party with Jon or Grady, so I can't judge, but honestly walking into the restaurant of our Grandma's best friend drunk....its over the line. I start to feel some indignation, our family is really into preserving the family name and Clay kinda trashed it tonight, but I know better than to open my mouth when he is all mad like this. Rite suggests I spend the night with her and Carlos, her son my age, but Clay insists he is driving us home. So I follow obediently out to the car with my books and say goodbye.
We are soon on the interstate and taking the exit to high way 278 out to Jackson, and we are going fast. (I dont even remember why Clay was upset) We never go slower than 95 on the way home and break 100 most the way. Clay has the ability to make his Suzuki wrap the speedometer past the end mph and into the letters beneath. He's upset, not talking and we are kinda swerving. I know we are going die. We have almost died multiple times this year. Back in December we were going over 80 on the ice and did a full 720 in the road and went into the ditch, or when we hit the brakes in the snow and almost ran into the moose, or the multiple times Clay fell asleep at the wheel, but this time is different, we are driving home drunk....and we are going way to fast. That was the second longest car ride from Dillon to Jackson I have ever had, although technically I am sure it was one of the fastest (the longest is a memory for another day).
We finally pull up to the hills just outside of the turn off to our ranch and Clay hits the brakes and we turn down Bloody Dick road to our house. We go down the hill and park in front of the house, and Clay doesn't even tell me not to tell mom and dad, he just gets out of the car and pounds upstairs to the internet. Well, if he isn't going to threaten me I might as well tell mom and dad what happened. I go upstairs and start to put on the tears, I need this to be dramatic if I am going to get him in trouble. I am whimpering by the time I am at the top of the stairs and I call out for mom. I am good at acting, I am part of all the plays in Dillon and do alot of improv work with my friends on the drama team. I explain my story, the alcohol, the embarassment at Las Carmelitas and the drive from hell. She starts to glow red and calls to Walter, my father.....oh yes he's dead. My dead listens in quiet silence and I feel the anger smoldering...the same anger Clay had just a few minutes ago. We all head back to the bedroom where my mom leaves us and Dad barges in as Clay is just on his bed. Dad starts to yell, telling Clay he is worthless and taking pot shots.......WAIT this is not what I wanted, I am not down with him insulting Clay I just want Clay to lose the car so we have to ride the bus for awhile. Clay takes it all and starts to yell back about how awful Dad is ....this is just like this last summer. Back then we all had a fight and Dad had thrown his glasses as Clay came in for a fist fight and I had picked up a stick to hit my Dad if he had dared touch my brother. We are SO EMOTIONAL......wait they are stopping, Clay is just crying...what did Dad just say....
" I don't care if keep screwing up your life, but don't you dare drag my other son down with you. He is going places............." Oh that isn't good, Clay always competes with me. I know it, he doesn't admit it but I know how he hates when I beat him. I only beat him for the attention, but he always wants something of his own and Dad just implied he is going nowhere compared to me.

I don't say another word, I just get in my bed. Clay hasn't slept in the same room with me for at least a year, he likes to sleep in the computer room, but tonight he stays in our shared bedroom. The lights go out and I hear him cry for awhile...then stop. I am wide awake...what have I done. I don't even notice or hear him get out of bed....but I feel him reach down and pick me up. He is so much bigger than me. He is over 6-3 and 180 pounds (he just lost 40 pounds this year and is looking good for his last year in high school) and I am 5-5 and 105 lbs at most. He always has been bigger, and he has always picked me up, to take me across the river when we use to go fishing, or when he tried to literally put my head in the ceiling fan when we were younger, or when he use to throw me from one side of the room onto my bed. Tonight as he picks me up the anger is gone and I just feel his sadness. He sets me on my feet and just hugs me and cries a little bit. I am not use to seeing him vulnerable but I hug him back until he stops. I tell him Dad didn't mean it, I try to be the mediator (its a role I still play today in the family) and he just tells me to stop.

"Dad told me he loved you more tonight"
"No he didn't Clay, he's just upset.."
"Shut up, yes he did, and the problem is not that he favors you more, its not that he likes you better, I like you better than me too..."

And there it is, I don't have any more words, he just finishes hugging me and tells me to go to bed. He is still a little drunk......but his honesty is there and I feel awful. How could I ever have let him get to the point that he wasn't loved and that I was more important, even to himself....I don't like it and I vow to be a better brother that night.



PS: Funny how roles change in the future. In the future it would be Clay that watched me get high on drugs and drunk as I partied and would always make sure I was fed and slept well. He would be the one to turn me into my parents for partying and ruining my life. We have both played the role of a victim in our family, but it was always of our choosing, I don't understand how from such arguments and hatred we ever got close. However, I always remember the night above and the realization of how much I had hurt my brother through the constant downgrades and manipulation to make myself into the angel child and him into the monster. I was a jerk, and I have tried to be better now. I have made many many mistakes, but how I treated him as we grew up is one of the mistakes I regret and would take back. He is a great person today and someone who I look up to and admire. He's a great husband, brother, son, and friend who I love more than I love myself. I guess our roles have reversed yet again.

.......memories continued.......

Memory 2)

Shark Week on Discovery Channel was my favorite. Maybe it was because it was Clay's favorite. Clay had only recently begun learning his times tables, and to make sure I would know them as well, I had my father print me off a matrix of all the tables that I could study. This was how life went, Clay would learn something and I knew that I had to learn it as well so I could catch up. That is how I learned to read, in this very room where I was watching television at grandma's house. Clay was being taught and was practicing with my aunt, and so she bought me little picture books to read as well. I couldn't read, but I could memorize and so as she read them to me I memorized the words and would repeat them back....but now I was reading far beyond that, I was into the Chronicles of Narnia and a host of books my mom was never unwillingly to buy for me. But, tonight was not for reading, my parents were in Georgia on a vacation and Clay and I got to stay up next door at grandma's. The taste of tuna fish patty is still in my mouth, and I feel something like the Great White Shark we are watching. Maybe that is how he feels and why he eats humans, this fish tastes AWFUL. Finally grandma lets us know that have to go back to our house to go to sleep and so she is taking us back. Home is all of 25 yrds to the west of grandma's, but its a dangerous journey. It's dark, with a full moon and we have over 20 aspens trees between our house....its dangerous to go home because there are werewolves in the aspens. There is always two routes back to the house.....route one requires me to go straight out of grandma's out the gate to the dirt road and then I can avoid the trees....but its a little longer and I am in the open in case something gets me. My second option is risky....I can leave grandma's house and run through the aspens following the few stones that line the way down the ever so slightly curving hill and past the sand box through the gate and out right in front of my house.....much faster, but the werewolves are there. Grandma keeps telling us to hurry and she walks out into the night and grabs a small stick she walks with and starts to take path one..........well I'm going to be brave and take the risky path. I rush through the trees, past the small area on the hill where from earlier that day we have left out the lawn chairs. I almost stumble on one as I run alone, Clay decided to walk with Grandma. I can still smell the watermelon left over from the pieces on the ground that I had left. Today had been a day of learning. I had my hands slapped by grandma for taking my stick and hitting her trees...she hit my hands to explain to me what the trees felt when I hit them. Finally, I break the cover of the trees, and what was about 10 seconds feels like an eternity. No werewolves got me today, but my heart is beating fast and I still need to make it inside my house and up the steps to the second floor because the 1st floor with all the tools and washing machine is haunted as well. I hear grandma behind me with her slight accent telling me to slow down. Why didn't I speak like grandma? Her accent is because she is nicara.....oh something dad said, but she was different. She was like the dark people like Pedro and Juan who always came to the house and who I couldn't understand. They spoke spanish, and I knew that I wanted to speak it to, but no one EVER offered to teach it to me. Still it didn't make sense, grandma was light skinned and spoke both languages....maybe that nicara...whatever, thing she was meant she could do both. I just knew she wasn't like everyone else, and I appreciated that. I love sitting at her house and having her tell me about conquistadors and how they conquered where she was from. I love the stories of her in boarding school slipping in a tortoise shell or when they were on a boat to Costa Rica and between her boat and another they had caught a marlin fish. I didn't understand what it all meant, but it sounded fascinating, and my grandma was my hero. (She still is today as well, in fact yesterday we had an argument on the phone about who loved each other more) Ahh, FINALLY, Clay and grandma catch up. Oh yes, I am being scolded for not walking with them, and as usual Clay, her favorite, is smiling, whatever...I would already be upstairs but I HAD TO WAIT for them so I could walk up the stairs without getting attacked, I already avoided disaster once tonight with the werewolves, I had better play it safe now.

Up the stairs we go....I love sliding down these stairs on my bum, it is much more efficient than walking...so why can't I slide UP the stairs? Okay, lights on and back to our room....is grandma going to tuck us in? Yes, she puts her stick against the wall and walks with us. She really doesn't need the stick (She is actually only 63 years old) but she always has it. Back in our rooms grandma tells us to get in bed. Her idea of tucking in isn't like mom...grandma isn't affectionate and huggy like our mom, instead she expects us to be responsible. We get in our beds and I do like always and wiggle myself and my blankets from the top of the bed to the very bottom so I can feel my feet on the bottom edge. Grandma scolds me for "being silly" and I just smile and pull the covers over my eyes. Grandma turns out the light, and in a wicker chair she puts in the middle of the room she sits.... I know this, she always does this, it is when she waits to think we are asleep and safe and then she will leave. I can see the moonlight peaking through the gap where our drapes come together. As the moon peaks through it catches her barely turned gray hair to a brilliant silver. I look at my grandma in the dark and feel so much love for her. I don't mind all the harsh words, or the occasional slap of my hands. I know she loves me back, she never says it, but I know it. She just gave me a patch of her OWN FLOWER BED. Clay had one a long time ago, but she finally gave me one early this summer where I got to plant poppies, and petunias, and violas, and these kinda cactus things she calls hen and chicks. I have to water it everyday, and that is how we spend our time together, in her yard digging up dandylions or planting flowers. She is so active, but now while we are suppose to sleep she is so still, I can trust her and know she will always be there. Ahh...but tonight she is going to go home when she thinks we are asleep, so if I stay up all night she won't leave. If I do that she will be mad...better to just quietly watch her and think. I don't have any other grandmothers, my other died and I don't remember her and my mother's father died a few years ago....grandma is special, she is my only one. So I watch her and at every move she does make I wince...I don't ever want her to leave. Finally I hear her make more movement than usual, and she gets up and walks out of the room, thinking we are asleep. If the lights were on she would see the tears staining my cheeks and know that in my heart I was screaming for her to stay.

The night is not over (and neither is this post...sorry but its my memory) Clay had stayed up as well that night. As soon as we hear grandma walk down the steps and out the front door, Clay is out of his bed and comes over to mine. GET UP! We are going to watch television......well that isn't such a bad idea, I love cartoons and I am not tired. Clay reminds me that if we get caught we are dead.........okay I can deal with dying for a little more Bugs Bunny. So we sneak into the living room, we are home alone and safe. Clay tells me to pull the drapes to the window that opens to grandma's house, we are not getting caught. We turn on the television, move the satellite dish and in a few moments we have Bugs Bunny. It's amazing, we are laughing and congratulating each other on a wonderful dupe of the adults. Its only midnight, and why should they be mad, as long as Dad doesn't find out we are safe. I have to use the restroom so I get up and head to the bathroom. I go through our empty parents room and turn on the bathroom light and sit on the toilet. Then I come back and we keep watching television. We are bolder now and turn up the volume, we are not getting caught, the drapes are pulled and they can't see the television on.

Was that a creek? No, our house moves all the time nothing to worry about. So it was as we were watching television the door to the second floor of our house flies open and in comes grandma.....she's pissed. GET BACK IN BED.....and so like quail we scatter. The television somehow gets shut off and we run back to our room. While we run I see that the bathroom light is still on....I'm an idiot, she must have seen the bathroom light through my parents window. So back in bed, we go, with grandma telling us how disobedient we are and how our father is going to spank us when he gets home. I settle back to the end of my bed, and safely nestled in listen as grandma continues to rave as she sits in the chair. While she sits and waits for us to sleep again I don't cry this time but smile.....I love her and I got to see her again and I know that she will be with me forever. I have a whole summer of planting flowers and eating watermelon with her, taking the nasty cod liver oil pills she makes me swallow and then eating kiwis together. My only concern and sleep enters my mind is what my father is going to do to me when he finds out what Clay and I did.

-Post script- When dad found out what Clay and I had done he surprisingly laughed. We come from a strict family, but I think my dad always enjoyed when we got the best of grandma and so we were not punished.

-Post-Post-Script- My grandma finally says I love you as you can tell from the parenthesis of present day thoughts. I almost did lose her when I was i college. We were not close then, she having been disappointed in my choices, but I still loved her. My mother called to tell me that grandma had been diagnose with skin cancer and the first procedure in Butte was botched and she wasn't looking likely to survive. I spent hours searching the internet to find something about cancer and learned about the treatment in of all places Billings. I remember calling Frances and crying with my aunt who hadn't talked to me in 2 years, the number of years I had been drinking and partying. She told me grandma would be fine and so when I called grandma afterwards, she acted as usual in her gruff manner till she broke down. We started saying I love you a lot after that day. Today, she is fine, with a scar across her cheek, more a hindrance to her vanity that to anything, but a lesson was learned to express our feelings. My grandma tells me she loves me every time we talk now, and I make sure I live my life in a manner so she knows I love her back. She is the third most important person in my life, after my parents, and she is my hero.

Memories define a life....

Who are you? Are we a sum collection of the decision we have made, or maybe we are what others perceive us to be. Perhaps the definition of our existence exists only in our own minds and in reality we are amorphous creatures of morality. I really don't know how to define who I am. I can use the ideas of others, the parameters for which they limit an existence. I am a son of God, that works, I am a lover of life and people,....again that works. Perhaps it is best to describe what we are not? I am not going to attempt to solve my own conundrum, but rather it was this thought that has plagued me throughout the day. My final solution was that my memories, the way I perceive significant events in my life could best be used as a measure of who I am. Of course my perception of myself derives from memories such as these most poignant ones, but my point of view of them may be different than someone else's. I am whatever you think I am, but please judge it by the most important memories I could think of myself today. I have limited it to fifteen memories that have some of the strongest emotional attachments to them, and surprisingly some are rather mundane.

Memory 1)

The cold water feels runs over the top of my calloused feet. Those callouses bear the testimony to hours spent running on the rocks in front of my house, and the stubbled grassy fields of my ranch, or perhaps from the numerous hours spent walking the shoreline of Governor creek as my brother would fish. Life is amazing at 5, no worries just the constant need to explore and learn. I remember that later Clay is going to be taking me to go "hunt" mice with our dogs way out past the horse pasture. I am so excited, in fact I am so excited I start to walk towards the horse pasture just in anticipation. To get to the fields and beyond is a small stream. That streams seems so big, I have lost my latest pair of rubber water boots in it just a few days ago. I don't want to lose more boots, my family wasn't happy. I carefully take my boots and place them by the swing set and walk towards the only bridge across the small stream. This bridge is part of an old milk crate and it has just recently replaced the old two by four Clay put down to cross the river. The old two by four was rotting away, but always supported my weight and I am saddened that it is no longer there. I go and stand in the tall grass by the makeshift bridge and look out at the horses. I move closer to the water, the water really does feel amazing on my calloused feet. As I stand by the edge of the water I hear a small rustle in the grass. The stream is barely rippling across my feet as out of the grass a small garter snake, with red along the side of its belly slithers into the stream. Along with the stream it slithers across my feet. I am in shock, and immediately I fear this small creature that startled me and ruins the feeling of the water across my feet. I don't cry out...not until it is long past in the water and I am still shivering in fright. I start to cry and my tears join the water of the small stream as it carries those feelings along with the tears into faraway lands and eventually the Gulf of Mexico.

......memory 2 tomorrow

Mr. Domestic....in my dreams

Today was a long day. Finals are coming up and I am finishing off all my projects and papers before the end of the semester. I am at the point in all of my grades that I cannot coast, but have to do just a little better than I have been doing so I can get the grades I want. I have all A's, but all of them can easily become A-'s and I have two A-'s that could easily become A's if I just work a little harder. I want the 4.0, and therefore a cumulative GPA of 3.95 to apply to graduate school with, but why. I think the question of why was what hit me most as I was trying to figure out why I was drowning in a sea of stress and those who don't care about grades were smiling and enjoying the sun and good company.

I was picking up my "heart attack in a bag" of McDonalds for a quick supper with Esteban and driving down a neighborhood. The tree lined boulevard was quaint and extremely domestic. I felt my heart pang and remembered a dream I had a long time ago. In the dream I was older, probably early thirties and lying on a couch in the sun next to a window, and I remember laughter and two little kids running up and jumping on my stomach and calling me "daddy." I remember smiling and hugging them....and that was my dream. The simplest of dreams and yet the most poignant, and driving along the Rexburg neighborhood brought it to my mind and all the pangs of desire associated with it. I dreamed of being done with school. I dreamed of this not being my second to last semester of undergraduate, but my last year of graduate school. I was not going to be walking for a degree in Economics and Psychology, but rather a Masters of Public Administration and a Juris Doctorate. Life would seem so much easier if I was driving home to a family and living life the way it was meant to be lived, and not struggling through school. That is when the epiphany hit....this is life, and school is not a period of time I have to struggle in purgatory, but rather it is an important part of my life and if I am not living it, then it is my own fault. I am wasting my life not because I am in school, but because I am not enjoying every minute of being alive. The smiles of those who frolic while the sun is out are no different than the smiles I COULD be having while I sit in the Econ lab and perform regressional analysis. We choose to live or to die, and if I don't learn to live today, I will be an attorney someday and be dreaming of when I can retire and not have to worry about working. I have loved school, and I continue to love education and teaching and I need to wake up to the opportunities and joys of my life. That being said, there is nothing wrong with a little dreaming to keep the soul moving forward towards an end goal. I will finish off my post today with my thoughts of perfect domestic bliss.

MY PERFECT FUTURE

* Happily married with 2-3 children (and I want to take in foster children when my children are in college so I can help other kids get the chance and a good life.)

* Live outside of the city and suburbs on a few acres of land with horses and 1/2 acre orchard and maybe 5-10 acres of open fields. I want a big house, not over 4500 sq ft.

*House - needs 4-5 bedrooms, 3 baths, with dormer windows, and two stories with a basement. More than anything it needs a library room, filled with books upon books upon books.

*I want to be the type of father that never misses a game or recital no matter what. I will make sure no matter how busy I am that I always put my children and wife before anything.

* I will want, but never force, our family to be big into activities together. I want to ride horses as a family in the fall, ski in the winter, fish in the spring and camp, and jet ski and boat in the summer. I just want that all around fun family that can give lasting memories with their children through shared activities. I also will be big on reading and learning. I am a life long learner and I am SO eager to teach my children about what I know and let them form their own opinions.

* Active in the church, this is the most important.

I could literally go on for hours about my perfect dream, but then it would be ruined when the dream becomes something different that I will learn to love even more than I ever could have the dream. I once dreamed of going to Yale and being a psychologist, and now I am living a different dream and am more happy than I could ever dream. God helps us love where we are at, and so the dream is great as long as I can live with the one that God gives me. That being said I will follow the blog of my good friend Justin and talk about what I need or look for in my future partner.

1)Intelligent, she doesn't have to be a geek like me, but I need someone that has opinions and ideas. They don't always have to be the same as mine, in fact I love when they are different so we can discuss and really help each other see all the perspectives.

2)Passionate, I am a passionate person, and although I come across cold when you first meet me, I have a deep passion for life and for politics and church. I want a partner who is passionate about something in their life, and whose passion drives them towards whatever goals they have in their life.

3)A desire to progress, I don't mind a partner who wants to go out and work, in fact I prefer it, not because I want them to make money to support us but because I want them feeling like they are progressing in this life. I want to come home and talk about what we learned and our ideas, and since I want to be SUPER active in raising the children we can BOTH talk about that. I don't want the usual relationship where I can talk about work and she talks about the home and family.

4) Has to get along with my mother (and preferably be approved by my Abuela) My mother is the quintessential woman to me. I want my wife and my mother to have a great relationship so that they can talk feel comfortable talking once a week and being friends.

5) A strong testimony, I love the gospel with all my heart, but I know I can get lazy. I want a partner who is even stronger in my faith than I am. I want her pushing me and always bringing me back to God.

6) Desire to stay healthy, I need my partner to push me to be healthy with her. I love running, WHEN I get in the habit of doing it. I dream of going on morning runs with my wife and evening bike rides. I want to be a health family, not a health NUT famly, just a healthy one.

7) She needs to have the ability to smile and laugh ALOT,...... I am stressed out enough for an entire city, and I need someone who balances all my stressing and sour looks with alot of smiles and laughs. I want my spouse to be the life of the home.

8) Patient, with life, with children, with me....the attribute of great mothers

9) Charitable/Kind....my mother is the most charitable/forgiving person I know, and I need my partner to have that same love for humanity.

10)Frugal...one of my biggest fears is someone who will spend all I make and put us in debt. I appreciate frugality even when someone is extremely wealthy and look for it in anyone I date.

Now I have a dream and a list posted.......well I better go work so I can be worthy of the dream and have the attributes needed to have someone of the caliber I want to marry, want to marry me in return. In the end all lies in our hands and we have ability to work towards a dream or wait for it to never come.....so here's to my future of being Mr. Domestic.

The desire

Today I slept in for a change, it felt amazing. I got up at 8:15 and got ready to go and tutor in the math lab. In the math lab it was EXTREMELY quiet and no one seemed to need any help. I gravitated towards another tutor and we started doing calculus on the board. I know.....I'm a geek, because who would ever just sit at a board and do fake calculus problems. Anyway, I was fascinated as he taught me about second degree integrals and the use of spheres to measure distances. It was a great opportunity to learn and as I left to go to my class I promised myself that I would take Calculus 2/3 someday, even if it was when I was in a career and the courses were just for fun. I was inspired to learn, and that inspiration is a defining aspect of my life.

I remember being little HATING when summer came, because I would not want to have to stay at home and just learn to entertain myself and work, when I could be at school and learning new things. I LOVED TO LEARN, and so I would read hundreds of pages of books over the summer, and I would study all the online encyclopedias like Encarta with a fervor to learn more about our world. This passion for learning was mitigated rarely as I grew up, and those times of mitigation came about whenever I started to divulge myself into a relationship or competition. However, the pursuit of knowledge always brought me back.

I am not in college and I love learning still. My ability to comprehend is not where it use to, and now I have to study and repeat exercises to understand concepts, but as those concepts are integrated into my being I find such satisfaction in life. If I could forever travel the world and learn languages, history, math, culture,, and religion, I think I would be an extremely happy man. However, the need to be efficient and give back to society is too strong for me to fall into the trap of pursing knowledge at all costs.

This leads to the problem I have contemplated all day.....there is too much to do and learn and never the time or ability to experience it all. This precious gift of life becomes all that more precious when we realize that our choices are restricting our future chances to experience something. Now with a finite number of possibilities we have given value to every action that we take With so much to do and learn, how do we decide what we sacrifice and what we don't?

I firmly believe that for every door we close in the maze of our life, we open another three and we have the ability to continual progress to a new path. The answer to which path is best, is that the path you are traveling is the best, if you allow it to be. It is not so much about what you do, as it is about LOVING, or learning to love what you do and where you are. EACH day needs to literally be the best day of my life, and I need to remove those obstacles I feel bind me down and push onward with the pursuit of joy. Man is that he might have joy, and I attest to that. Joy comes in many manners, but it never comes from selfishness. So as we decide which path is best, we need only be selfless and learn to love the path we choose. When we love what we do, life becomes easier and the knowledge we start to gain is useful no only to us, but to those around us that we can share not only in thought but in our very deeds.

The maze of life continually stretches before me, and honestly I am excited to see where I go next. Doubtless I will be stressed and complain, but I know I will enjoy the challenges that arise, and will have to learn to overcome new trials in my life even as I experience new things. This short memo is in dedication to the best day of my life which was today, and which I hope will be tomorrow as well.