I have come to realize that many activities that I find to be calming to the soul are considered boring by most. By this, I mean the introverted, internal sorts of pleasure-seeking: reading, writing, attempting to grasp (i.e.: usually not understanding) seemingly-immaculate ideas and theories in texts, sitting outdoors, taking photographs, decorating EmeraldCut boxes--and the list goes on and on. Truthfully, these are parts of my daily routine, which I dearly imbue with intrinsic value, and therefore document in this blog. No wonder why I have a nearly non-existent readership, huh?
Without much convincing, I remind myself that I am staying wholeheartedly true to myself, which is in my opinion, the ultimate goal of a full, lived life. And that is reason enough for me to go on with my Existentialist ways: for the "less exciting" events in life are sometimes the most rewarding ones in the long run.
So...no tales of white water rafting, snowboarding, scathing details on what I wore/did/ate today, or hiking in the dark, etc., will ever be posted on this blog. I'd rather be outdoors (or in) sipping a hot coffee or tea from a gargantuan-sized ceramic mug, staring at the ancient trees, and listening to the wind glide in an invisible, times-of-old dance with the sunlight softly filtering through foliage and cloud. The rocks, the greenery, the feel of sunlight upon the face: this, to me, is a rich, full life.