My Journalistic Journey!

Beneath golden strands of hair exists endless wonderment, concerning the purpose of life. Why are we here? What is my reason? What is your reason? I would be lying if I didn’t admit that, sometimes, it seems like a cruel joke. Through all the adversities, challenges, and loss we face it can be easy to lose ourselves in travel towards whomever and whatever we are meant to become. I will be the first to admit, that I have been lost for quite sometime; never truly found. Life has brought me to where I sit, at this moment, engulfed by warm white sand. I feel wholly mesmerized by the fresh water waves, listening to them rush ashore. It is just me and I am at peace. I think back, in recollection of my deepest memories. I was 7 years old, when I started carrying around a notebook and pencil. I would record daily events, as they occurred. Through the eyes of a 7 year-old child, all new information is pertinent and must be well documented. Around the age of 9, I discovered the type writer and a unique love for story-telling. Hours a day would be spent on its keyboard, just writing out the words of my imagination. Around this time, I developed a passion for play-writing. My barbie dolls would soon become actors in several plays I had written. My little brother was no exception to this newfound love. He too would be made to participate in my numerous plays and “movies”. The years flew on by, as years do. A few back, preceding his untimely death, we found an old VHS tape of a play we had performed together. Johnny was dressed up as a green dinosaur, roaming the land for food. I was dressed in a gown, picking flowers, quite fearful of the dinosaur approaching me from afar. The girl and dinosaur soon turned into the best of friends, learning from and protecting one-another. Today, this is only a memory and my best-friend is gone. With him, my passion for life, but death is not meant to conquer us. It reminds us to live. Whatever you are living for, live for it. To the best of your abilities, live. Passion is our life’s purpose. To stray away from that truth is to stray away from a beautiful and perfect trail, already in existence, tailored just for us. The more we choose to clear out weeds and cut down trees for the construction of new paths, the further we stray from our true purposes. Remember who you are and pursue all you are meant to be. In practicing the art of journalism, this is what I attempt to accomplish. I cannot know that all my dreams will unfold into a reality, as beautiful as the waves splashing unto my toes. All I can do is ride them out, the best way I know how. So, I write…