Life is quirky at times, at least mine is. I have so many irons in the fire, I'll end up with third degree burns before I know it. But I'm not one to put out a fire just yet. In fact, I'll play with that bad boy.
I like a challenge, a test of my own free will, if I'm so inclined to do so. Example, what am I willing to do in order to achieve my goals. I push myself to the very breaking point.
I work hard, play harder. I set myself a proper pace in which to work from, then I do everything in my power to finish what I've started. But I won't just start and finish. I beat myself into submission, and make myself repetitively go over something until it's perfect.
Take my first book for instance. I have been working on this for almost five years. I have torn it upside down, have had others edit it, and they gave it a makeover so to speak. But was it for the better? And now I truly feel that I've lost my voice within the first few chapters.
I went to the park, and walked my usual two miles I try to do every morning. I had my earbuds in rocking out to some metal, when I saw an older man walking towards me.
He was clad in only a t-shirt and shorts, tennis shoes, and a ball cap, that was monogrammed with the letters U. S. M. C. across the front. He was proudly carrying the American Flag. The man also had earbuds in his ears, and I imagined him listening to something patriotic at that time. I extended my hand, to shake his, and after his firm grip let go, he gave me a knowing smile, and then continued on his proud walk.
I felt he was carrying the flag to honor his fallen brothers, recently killed in Chattanooga in cold blood. His defenseless brothers dies needlessly at the hands of yet another terrorist act. After he passed me I had hoped he understood by my handshake, and kind smile that I supported him, and his duty to remind us all that our freedom is challenged every day.