life, in a (sea) shell

Busy doesn't begin to describe the illusive "it!"

Career growth, career misdirection, career overhauling, buying a new house, keeping up with the day-to-day, nurturing a brand-new marriage, balancing family time, and squeezing in a little fun... where's time to focus on me? Now, I guess. I've always thought of writing as therapy, when I actually get to write. I love the feeling that comes with the following scenario: I relax; my remove my shoes; I breathe deeply; I place my fingers on the keyboard, or around a pencil; I close my eyes (always); and I begin to pour my emotions out through my medium. Does this mean I'm an artist? Well, probably not, rather someone who gets an indescribable pleasure and calmness from writing. Writing anything. Writing something.

A funny thing happened to me yesterday. I authored a quote long, long ago and have always kept it about on my different pages i.e. facebook or myspace. Imagine my perplexity when searching around on one of my friend's pages, when I came across the exact same quote that I absolutely knew I'd created. The first thought that darted to the center of my mind was WTF?!?, but after a little reflection, I decided that this was probably flattery in some way, shape, or form. Oh well. If my words (however bizarre they often may seem) can act as inspiration to someone or can set someone's soul vibrating, then so be it. They're just words.

I watched a video this morning that featured one of my former professors lecturing on the vastness of academia, particularly the study of language. Studying English, he said, is in essence the study of all prinicples, because all principles use language to describe the study; whereas, in the English language principle, we describe life through exploring English. Clearly this smacks of existentialism, but there are, I suppose, worse things than admiting that I'm on the search for the meaning of life. If you aren't, then what are you doing? Playing nintendo? HAH!