Tonight I was reminded of the things that I love. Relaxing. I mean truly relaxing. Sitting alone at a quiet table, closing your eyes in public. Those precious moments when you sink into the cushion of a chair or a couch and it becomes a part of you. The kind of relaxation that has no boundaries, no goals, no prerequisites. Moments where you aren’t anything specific. Moment’s where you just are. I love the smell of coffee. When the cup's liquid remains strike your nostrils. I love the taste of a freshly brewed cup. The perfect blend. The perfect mixture of milk, sugar and grounds in a foam cup. And those little straws that they give you, allowing you to select the rate at which you burn your tongue. I love writing just to write. Writing without fear of deadlines or punctuation, spelling or grammar. Writing without sources, formatting, citations, and bibliographies. The kind of writing that moves you. Those nights emotions flow out onto the page. When it’s torn and the pen marks are firm and rough. My leather bound notebook full of days gone by. I love writing on napkins. What is it about a coffee shops and deli’s that release those kinds of emotions? Those emotions I wish I always had. I love when the ink flows and words appear almost instantaneously. I love the kind of music that can put you to sleep. Not in a bad way, but in the best way. When music is about emotion and not precision. I love when music enhances relaxation. I love when music is about a singer and a guitar. Those are always the songs I can pour my heart into. I love playing guitar or at least pretending to. Pretending like I know how to hold it, gripping the pick, and strumming meaningless cords. Pretending like I’ve put the work in and that I’m good. No! Pretending like I’m great at something. I love sketch pads, color pencils, graphite. Those days when the side on your hand is caked in it; black from the lead. I love when it doesn't wash off. When it sort of tattoos you and becomes a part of you. I love tattoos or at least the idea of tattoos. Making something visual a part of you. I wonder what moments in my life serve as sort of “representational tattoos”. What moments made me who I am. I miss art. That kind of visual expression that requires so much attention to detail. The way the heart and the hand are connected. I love traveling. My green backpack, spontaneity, uncertainty. Maybe that’s a funny thing to love, but I think mostly I do love uncertainty. I think when something is permanent it’s boring. Maybe that’s why I can’t stay in one place for too long. I love getting lost, driving without a destination. I’ve sort of gotten good at being lost. Sort of content in it. I think the dream vacation would be getting lost. A vacation with no intended destination. That sounds lovely. And my newest love. People. I wonder whether I should be sad that it took twenty years for people to be a passion. I guess I loved people before, but not the way people deserve to be loved, and definitely not all people. Not the crack-heads, or the drunks, or the whores, or the homeless people. Even now I wonder where I‘m at on this journey. This journey of self-discovery. This journey to discover the true meaning of love. Maybe I love the idea of loving more than I actually love anything specific. I hope not. I hope it never comes to that, but maybe. I think every fear I have centers around that thought. That I won’t ever follow through. That’s my fear in the editing room. I think that’s my fear in life. | 
