Boundless Content

The problem with streaming
are it's two greatest assets-
convenience and limitlessness-
the intent is not to entertain,
excite, or enthrall
but to maintain
that thin layer of feeling
that resides just above boredom
in perpetuity.

The question is never why
but why not
as episodes automatically play
one after another after another
inevitable, like gravity
subsuming hours
in unintended lethargy.

But we are, as yet,
still in control of the box
and the outside is still just outside.
Ambition and inspiration not dead
but perhaps more elusive.

Spitballin' At Quenchers Saloon

After 39 years beloved local watering hole and venue Quenchers Saloon will soon close it's doors. After 8 years of Mondays experimental variety show Spitballin' ended last night. As a frequent contributor I had the privilege of performing in the final show. Along with some poems I read this piece.

When I was six years old my grandfather, who I adored, passed away of esophageal cancer.
The experience was difficult to understand at such a young age, the concept of death hard to
grasp. Having to grapple with that when I was barely aware, only pseudo conscious shaped a
lot of the boy and man I became and am still becoming. We all come to a point where we realize
what death is and come to terms with it to varying degrees but I had to do that earlier, younger
than perhaps is typical. And as a result I realized, with some heartbreak and over time, that all
things end. It’s not only natural it’s correct. Couples break up, friendships fade away, jobs are
lost and left, people die. Everything is finite, so what can we do, we can take joy and satisfaction
in the time we have. We can find grace in the ephemeral. We can enjoy and celebrate and this evening we have together. The ending of something beautiful and rich, not to be forgotten and not to be lamented. This is the way things are. All things must end.

I’ve always had a passion for writing, an impulse to put words on paper but I never had much
direction or an outlet. I took a creative writing class in high school and another one in college but
the interest those classes cultivated never went much beyond that, interest. Some years later
after two successive girlfriends who were amateur poets reignited the interest in me I began to
write more. I started a blog, I set a goal for myself to write a poem a week. But after awhile it felt
a bit hollow, sending stuff out into the void, I wanted to share my stuff in a more direct way.
Summer of 2014 I knew about Spitballin’ but I had never been to the show, never performed at
it, I was afraid I wouldn’t be welcome, assumed it was insular or exclusive, so I never came or asked to be apart of the show. Out of the blue Mike Brunlieb, our benevolent curator, asked me to do a reading, anything I wanted. I was surprised and delighted. Me and a college friend Chloe read a scene from Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? and it was really fun and gratifying and different. The other acts were much more experimental and eclectic than I thought they’d be, the audience much more receptive and open and encouraging than my fearful judgement had assumed. After that I asked Mike if I could read some poems and he graciously let me. It went well and I’ve been reading poetry and prose here at Spitballin’ ever since.

What Spitballin’ gave me was opportunity. It’s a space where I could come share my poetry and
prose with a degree of acceptance. Seeing others experiment and bravely do weird things made
me comfortable to try. After it didn’t go over poorly I was inspired to write more, to share more.
What Mike, Thomas, and Scott gave me was permission. Permission to share who I am and
what I was working on in an environment totally unique in this city as it was not only devoid of
judgement but also of expectation. Anyone can do anything at Spitballin’ it may not go well, a
couple people might dip into the bar to grab a drink, they may have to compete with whatever
game is on TV, but whatever performance piece, sketch, reading, song, stand up set,
what-have-you had a place at Quenchers Saloon.

This place, this show, over time, made me a poet. I wrote poetry before but there was a self
consciousness about it, a fear, a duplicity, because I thought people would think it was lame or
stupid. But being allowed to come here and read my work, seeing people react on the spectrum
from indifference to enthusiasm but never contempt, put to rest all that stuff, helped clarify and
solidify my desire to write, gave me confidence in my identity. I’m a poet and there’s no shame
in that.

In Norse mythology there is an event, the end of the world, called Ragnarok and it is inevitable.
Reading the stories it is unclear if it has already happened, if it will happen, or if it is
continually happening. Regardless after it, after the end, the story continues. Something new and green is born. A major and repeated theme in Norse mythology is the cycle of life, death, and rebirth. The cycle of nature itself. This wonderful, fruitful, delicious, grotesque, torturous, transcendent show will come to an end shortly. But the people and the energy and spirit will live on. Dissipate and reform in other divisions and permutations and grow and evolve and move forward, move on. The cycle will continue. This is not something to grieve but to rejoice.

I want to say thank you to Mike, Thomas, and Scott who encouraged me. This place which
welcomed me. And this show which inspired me to be more the person I want to be.

Narnia

As a boy
I checked
cabinets,
cupboards,
closets,
and of course
wardrobes
for a portal
looking for adventure
but even more
Escape.

As a man
I no longer search,
contented
with the majesty,
mystery,
and beauty
of life
in all it's
wondrous
(sometimes mundane)
Reality.

But perhaps
(to be fair)
I remain aware,
still harbor
a small
and secret
sliver
of belief,
for were I
to find a door
I would, thoughtless,
cross the threshold
into the divine
Unknown.

Chris Rock

Summer after freshman year of high school I watched Bigger & Blacker when it premiered on HBO and it's only slightly hyperbolic to say it changed my perception forever. Rock's aggressive but relatable, his astute consternation, his searing commentary was a type of comedy I'd never seen. Funny but with a message, with a punch. His takes on gun control, race, relationships(among other topics) illuminated things I'd never really seen or understood. He made me laugh but also drew conclusions and commonalities that made me see and understand the world differently, better. I was bolled over, stunned, up to that point nothing hit me like Bigger & Blacker. After that viewing I religiously checked HBO for a replay and then caught Bring The Pain by happenstance which hit me almost as hard.

After that summer I was a life long Rock fan, watched all his movies, devoured The Chris Rock Show and waited with bated breath for his two follow up specials 2005's Never Scared and 2008's Kill The Messenger. I even watched(and rewatched) his episode of MTV's Diary. I always love watching him but nothing really had the impact like those first two specials until recently with Top 5 which has that great blend of emotional truth, comedy, and bite that I associate with Rock. He's helped shape my taste and world view for almost 20 years.

A couple months back he announced his Total Blackout tour and I got tickets as soon as they went on sale. Tonight was the show. He's a hero of mine so I went into it with high expectations for what the show would be like and it exceed those.

Rock prowled the stage with his indelible energy, relayed his searing insight, and had the packed crowd laughing for an incredible 90 minute set. It was an experience I'll never forget. And I realized that he does two things that little to no comedians, or artists of any kind, do. He brings people together and he offers solutions. For as controversial as some of the topics he addresses may be he approaches them in a way that are relatable, that include rather than exclude, that make you feel you are a part of.  Regardless of race, age, gender, or class everyone was there to see him and for a brief and precarious amount of time we were united, we were a community. He also offers solutions to problems, some may be punchlines some may be absurd, but they are solutions, and sometimes they are simply straightforward honest applicable ones. He offers insight and advise, imparts real world knowledge and hard won experience. He doesn't operate from an ironic remove, his material isn't pedestrian, it has an edge and a purpose. You laugh of course but you also, perhaps, see the world more clearly.

Argument Metaphor

I wrote a basic how-to previously about argument and recently someone mentioned the commission I was on that prompted that post and I've been thinking that both argument and creative ideas both start from the same place- essentially you got to have an angle.

An idea requires an angle, an in, a perspective. If you're sending up something how are you doing it, through tone, genre, context, character etc. Similarly for an argument you need an in, a place to begin, a starting place from which to apply pressure.

Imagine a wooden deck. Depending on its construction it is either tightly put together or sloppily constructed. This dictates just how difficult it will be to begin. Imagine a crowbar or hammer. That is the start of your argument, the beginning of your inspiration. You find a crack, crevice, or hole and start prying up those boards. You insert your tool and exert force, depending on how seamless the construction the more difficult it is to get started. But with time and patience even the smallest crack can be exploited, even the most solidly constructed piece can be broken down, taken apart.

It's just a matter of getting an appropriate way in, a solid start. Some ideas or arguments seem impossible to realize or break open but with even the smallest opportunity, the tiniest flaw, pressure and time will pay off. Once you figure out the way in the whole thing will blossom.

Ode To Luke G.

It's been almost 15 years
since your fatal date
with Spring Creek Rd.
and you've never strayed
too far from my mind.

I didn't attend your funeral
and sometimes I regret that choice
instead I sang the first song
I ever wrote
at a collegiate open mic
thinking that a fairer tribute
than public grief
for you inspired me
more than you ever knew.

In our high school
creative writing class
you wrote a poem
about my notebook cover
at the time
a collage of xeroxed
LIFE magazine photos
and snap shots
from a family trip to AZ
and it was good
the best poem
to come out of that class
but more important,
more shocking,
it was cool.

More than Dickinson, Kerouac, or O'Hara
you made poetry cool.
You gave me permission to write,
devoid of fear or judgement.
Yes, I remember you as a great teammate-
your green and yellow cleats,
we called you Green Lightening.
Yes, you were a unique friend, funny and loyal
but also honest even biting.
But you, more than anyone, gave me poetry.

You live in every poem I write.
This one, perhaps, more than others.

Idea Fish

The past two months I've been shadowing a level one class at iO. It's been an engaging experience and I've learned a lot from Jessica(the teacher). One of the most interesting things about it has been seeing fledgling improvisers learn the basics, some of them with little to no context for the medium. It's been almost ten years since I took my first class and so the eager yet unformed mindset of some of the students is very refreshing but in some ways challenging. A couple of the students that have struggled a bit more have asked a version of that most mystifying question "where do I get ideas?"

In some ways I think improv, more so than other artforms because of its immediacy, is the discipline of inspiration itself. That, in application they are practically synonymous and trying to explain or teach how to be inspired is almost impossible because it will inevitably turn to how I am inspired as opposed to how one is inspired. This is through no fault of the teacher, there are as many ways to be inspired, to seek and cultivate inspiration, as there are fish in the sea and all you can ultimately impart is your own experience. You can talk in abstractions but for most students abstract instruction is at best inapplicable and at worst confusing. What I try to do is make clear various options or avenues I see during a scene or piece in hopes that it will jump start some internal analysis or imaginative spark. Some students want to know not only how to do it but how to do it right and in improv(in all art) that desire shows a fundamental misunderstanding of what creation is.

There are techniques and tools, forms and rules that can be taught but I think imagination itself can't(it can be strengthened). And most of the time I think when students ask questions about ideas it comes more from a place of natural frustration rather than true lack of ability. The one and only answer to the question "where do I get ideas?" is "I don't know." It is a question that all(famous) creative people get asked frequently but which all almost unilaterally answer with a deflection or a convoluted metaphor. Director David Lynch talks about ideas not being created but discovered. It's a theme writer Stephen King talks about a lot, currently I'm reading his non-fiction book on horror Danse Macabre, and he infers something similar. He talks about the genous of some ideas(a dream, an image of a rabid dog, a busy highway) but their amalgamation and how the book unfolds as he's writing he chalks up to will, talent(also unexplainable), and mystery.

In improv, and I think in all creative endeavors, the job of the teacher isn't to teach how but to help the student on their own path of discovery. To assist in cultivating an individual mode of inspiration. In teaching how we can only hope to produce imitators. Leading a student on their own path is much more difficult and perhaps imperfect. We can't help but impart some of our own personal process to those we hope to teach but it is certainly a more noble and, ultimately, more fruitful attempt.

And on talent, not everyone has it. Improv more so than other disciplines seems to call a lot of hopefuls because it seems relatively accessible. This is great for the improv teaching business but not so great for improv itself. Some folks can grasp how it works but lack the real creative drive that makes improv fun and exciting. King downplays talent(or natural ability) and says some talent is needed but discipline and will are the real necessities of the artist. And I agree up to a point but I've seen many tenacious improv hopefuls who simply do not get it, who do not have it, but keep on doggedly taking classes and performing in seedy locales year after year after year in hopes of a breakthrough that will(seemingly) never come. Not every person is a creative person. And although that can be a tough lesson its a lesson the teacher shouldn't be so afraid of imparting.

Where do ideas come from? I don't know. But I do know where I draw some of my inspiration- personal experience, fiction/TV/film, human observation. How that translates into characters and narrative I can't really explain, its mostly intuitive. That's a muscle you just have to build over time.

Hunger

In college I had a mentor
who said an actor is always hungry
and I think, perhaps, he meant
that an actor's life can be capricious
and meals to be indulged
because they could be few
but I also think he meant two things
when he said one
which he often did
for the gnawing tickle of hunger
can sharpen inspiration
make one more attuned to creation
force an alertness to the moment
so that it may open up to artistry
whereas, perhaps, the comfort
of a belly constantly full
breeds complacency
and dulls the edge of imagination,
I say perhaps because
Jack was never one for explanations.

Playground Architect

Inspiration for the most part isn't something that strikes like a lightening bolt, unsought and without effort. Different mediums require different degrees of diligence and discipline in order to be open to, seek out, process, and implement whatever myriad of things might jump-start the discovery of an idea. With writing it can take the combination of a kind of constant pursuit as well as idea gestation, which I've gone into previously, to lock down some actionable inspiration. With improv there is a certain amount of preplanning, of preparation, all in real time for the most part, when you assess a scene or situation and evaluate and discard a number of possible options or digressions before making a specific choice or move. But there are those rare moments when things bubble up from no where.

I had one of those moments in the Schwa show last Sunday. Jeannie and I were two loveable nerds in a prom scene where both of us had gone stag, we had this kind of awkward flirty conversation and at one point asked each other what we planned to do after graduation. My response was "I'm going to be a playground architect" which got a laugh and led to a fun scene later on with Craig. Now certainly that isn't particularly revelatory nor was it one of those moments that anyone in the audience will necessarily remember but for me the idea, the profession of "playground architect" just came from no where. I had no idea what I was going to say I reached for something and thats what I found apropos of nothing. As on-the-nose as it may sound it was one of those moments of true inspiration where I didn't force anything, didn't invent anything, I just found what I was looking for out in the creative ether. And that kind of moment feels like magic.

I had a similar experience with the poem I wrote this week. I woke up and the idea and first three stanzas were just kind of there, the afterglow of an apocalyptic dream. This kind of thing is rare enough, at least for me, that its still very exciting and gratifying. Ultimately every artist/creative person needs to develop a discipline with how they create content, a routine of input and output. A habit of looking for inspiration everywhere, with this default awareness in place you are more susceptible to those rare calls of the muse.

"I decided that it was not wisdom that enabled poets to write their poetry, but a kind of instinct or inspiration, such as you find in seers and prophets who deliver all their sublime messages without knowing in the least what they mean." -Socrates

Plateaus and Progress

The Sight Unseen show last night was the first time I felt really good about a show in a while. Not to say they have been bad, after you've been doing improv for a while you don't go below a certain degree of proficiency, and I'm lucky to be on teams with incredible talent, but I haven't felt particularly energized or inspired recently.

There was nothing terribly different about tonight's show save maybe that all of us were a bit more patient than usual. The piece had some interesting characters that we let develop, wove them together, and concluded in a satisfying way. For my part I felt a sense of immediacy that had been lacking the past couple weeks. More in the moment. I could see the moves before I made them, anticipate the trajectory of the scenes. Intuitively knew how to play the various emotional beats and execute the internal games. It felt great.

With improv and with creative pursuits in general you are on an increasing trajectory, that is- as long as you continue to work hard. They'll be times of stagnation, times of inspirational sterility. But during those times your ability doesn't dip below a certain level of skill, if you have been diligent your craft will always be there regardless of the level of your artistic energy. I've found that these times of torpidity come less and less frequently and that you cannot forces yourself out of them. Times of creative neutrality are natural and you come out of them simply over the course of time. The trick is to be OK with those times of lethargy, keep going through the motions, one step at a time, until inspiration reveals itself.

Ideas

Like a lightening strike
in the middle of a field of corn.
Like the moment
a decision is made
to attempt the first kiss.
Like a snow flake
in its fractal beauty
landing randomly
on a child's tongue.
Like a lonely seed
falling from a discarded sack
finding solace in a patch
of warm earth
sprouting against all odds
into an unexpected blossom.
Like surprise itself.

They are not created but discovered
always lingering in the ether
searching for form, substance,
and translation.

Schwa Alums

Last night we had three LA Deep Schwa members in town. The first time we've had such a full roster in a couple months. It's always great when old members come back, they bring a fun energy and there's a sense of history and longevity which make Schwa unique.

It's especially exciting to have Brian and Nooch back(Joe comes back about once a month, other members visits are more sporadic), they were on Schwa when I first started watching the team, part of the incarnation of Schwa that really opened my eyes and inspired me to want to do improv, showed me what it could be. I'm very thankful folks that have moved away/on still make time to come back periodically to play, it means a lot.

HFCH Analysis

Holy Fuck Comedy Hour at The Annoyance is my favorite show in Chicago, I've written about it a number of times before, its at midnight on Fridays and its free.

Each week the cast, joined by a guest or two, put up in-development/experimental sketch ideas, some more structured than others. The result is a somewhat chaotic, frequently brilliant, always entertaining show where a collection of some of Chicago's most creative performers really go-for-broke. Yes, there is some failure- given the late hour, the typical lack of extensive preparation, the almost implicit requirement of absurd costuming, and a mercurial audience- how could there not be some. But failures at Holy Fuck can be almost as delightful as its successes. When an already insane (or even bad) idea goes off the rails there can be an almost rapturous quality to the depths, the volume, the commitment, of the failure.

From time to time I'll talk to some members of the cast after a show I enjoyed which they felt didn't go well. The audience wasn't responsive, this bit didn't get laughs, that bit didn't get a reaction. But the truth of the matter is the show was, usually, amazing. The confused, frequently drunken, random audience members that find their way into the free midnight show aren't your typical comedy audience. They may have no frame of reference for what they're seeing, a couple weeks ago there was a full Indian wedding party, last week a table with three generations of a family, people who don't typically see sketch comedy at all let alone something as bizarre and playful as Holy Fuck. There's also often a portion of the audience that is under the influence to various degrees. This is all to say the audience response isn't a good barometer for the quality of the content, especially with a show as capricious and chimerical as Holy Fuck Comedy Hour.

There's a lot of lips service paid to experimentation and support of failure in the Chicago comedy community. But there is no place where that philosophy is more in evidence than The Annoyance Fridays at midnight. It is a place where daring and courage are displayed without pretense, where expression is taken to dark and absurd extremes, and inspiration is ever present.

Miracleman

My dad was into comic books when he was younger and has a massive collection from the 70's and early 80's. For a year or two when I was a kid he tried to get me interested in them, the only series I got into was Sleepwalker which was a short-lived and unpopular Marvel property. My interest faded quickly.

In the past couple years Craig, who is a big comics fan, has given me a number of books to read and gotten me interested in the art form. Sandman, Preacher, Powers and Jonah Hex were my favorites. I found I liked the ones with longer narrative arcs with the scope of novels rather than shorter stand alone stories.

Recently he gave me Miracleman which I'm liking a lot. It's nice to branch out, take in different types of content, get inspiration from sources I wouldn't normally seek out or be exposed to.

Lakefront Visits

I've been spending a lot of time at the lake recently. An hour or two each day reading and soaking in the calm of the water. The patience and endurance of the lapping waves.

"Be like water making its way through cracks. Do not be assertive, but adjust to the object, and you shall find a way around or through it. If nothing within you stays rigid, outward things will disclose themselves. Empty your mind, be formless. Shapeless, like water. If you put water into a cup, it becomes the cup. You put water into a bottle and it becomes the bottle. You put it in a teapot, it becomes the teapot. Now, water can flow or it can crash. Be water, my friend.”  -Bruce Lee

"In the day-to-day trenches of adult life, there is actually no such thing as atheism. There is no such thing as not worshipping. Everybody worships. The only choice we get is what to worship. And an outstanding reason for choosing some sort of God or spiritual-type thing to worship- be it J.C. or Allah, be it Yahweh or the Wiccan mother-goddess or the Four Noble Truths or some infrangible set of ethical principles- is that pretty much anything else you worship will eat you alive. If you worship money and things- if they are where you tap real meaning in life- then you will never have enough. Never feel you have enough. It’s the truth. Worship your own body and beauty and sexual allure and you will always feel ugly, and when time and age start showing, you will die a million deaths before they finally plant you. On one level, we all know this stuff already- it’s been codified as myths, proverbs, clichés, bromides, epigrams, parables: the skeleton of every great story. The trick is keeping the truth up-front in daily consciousness. Worship power- you will feel weak and afraid, and you will need ever more power over others to keep the fear at bay. Worship your intellect, being seen as smart- you will end up feeling stupid, a fraud, always on the verge of being found out. And so on." -David Foster Wallace

A Parable About Relaxation

There once was a young man who lived in the town.
But who loved the woods.
He worked in a counting house.
At a small wooden desk.
Amidst many other small wooden desks.
He inscribed ledgers all day long.
He balanced books and kept accounts.
He did not like his work or dislike his work.
He felt a reserved apathy for what he did.
Cloistered as he was in the church of numbers.
He felt the humdrum was his destiny.
He could remember a time when he had ambition.
He could remember a time when he had dreams.
But that time seemed far away.
Separated by days and days of record keeping.
He was shackled by routine.
Restricted by the comfort of gainful employment.
One day his grandfather passed away after a long illness.
It was sad.
But not so sad for his grandfather had lead a long and colorful life.
His grandfather left the young man a cottage in the woods and a year's wage.
The young man quit his job in the counting house.
And went to live in his cottage in the woods.
He spent a year there.
Some days he would simply wander.
Soaking in the quiet of the woods as the leaves gently rubbed together ushered by the wind.
Other days he wood make a fire.
And cook stew from carrots, wild mushrooms, and rabbits he had snared.
Others he would find a lonely pond and sit silently all afternoon keeping it company.
He rarely saw anyone.
He rarely missed a soul.
The cool and calm of the woods gradually purged his bone-deep fatigue.
The young man felt ambition and desire kindle anew within him.
After a year the young man returned to the town.
And he saw it with fresh and lively eyes.
No longer did he see the intersecting streets as criss-crossed ropes in an inevitable net.
No longer did he see mundaneness and foreboding.
Upon his return he saw only opportunity.
And the possibility of triumph.

Peaks And Valleys

Currently I feel a bit depleted, creatively and otherwise. The last couple weeks of my job have been draining(two left), the play has taken a lot of energy, and my schedule has left little time to recharge. As a result I don't feel terribly inspired.

Inspiration and the corresponding creative output seem to move in cycles. Like a stream, sometimes it rushes, sometimes it trickles. Some tributaries circle back to the main flow, some dead end. I've found things tend to move in fits and starts, periods of change and productivity followed by mundane routine, a plateau before the next discovery.

Right now I'm just putting one foot in front of the other. Its not bad just tiring. But the end is in sight and I can already feel a little stirring, the promise of good things to come.

Graffiti 169

I recently reread The Shining and one of the things Stephen King reiterates in the book is that a lot of people have a little shine about them. Most people have something special about them, a spark, a gift, an ability. It manifests itself in different ways for different people- creativity, empathy, athleticism, discipline, patience, rhetoric etc. Most people have some kind of talent- some big, some small. And talent has to be cultivated but even more importantly used.

"Have the courage to say no. Have the courage to face the truth. Do the right thing because it is right. These are the magic keys to living your life with integrity." -W. Clement Stone

"Are you in earnest? Seize this very minute! Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it. Only engage, and then the mind grows heated. Begin, and then the work will be completed." -Jean Anouilh

"Obsessed by a fairy tale, we spend our lives searching for a magic door and a lost kingdom of peace." -Eugene O'Neill

31

Yesterday was my birthday, I turned 31. It was one of the best birthdays I've ever had. Nothing exciting or surprising just fun, relaxing, and good. I got to do everything I wanted to do with the woman that I love.

I made breakfast then we went to walk around Magic Hedge the small nature reserve by the lake. It's probably the only place in the city proper with enough trees next to each other to feel, even for a moment, like you're in the woods. One of the only things lacking in Chicago is parks, there is almost no natural space you can go where you aren't able to see the city, so it was nice to walk around that little wooded patch for a bit.

After soaking up some sun by the lake we took a motorcycle ride up and down Lake Shore.

We stopped off at Unabridged where I got Jo Walton's latest book. Then went for dinner at Las Tablas.

After dinner we went to the movies, then Pick Me Up for some chocolate cake, then headed home where we watched Lost, Nicole has never seen it.

A movie, a good meal, some nature, a slice of bday cake and all with Nicole. It was an incredible low key day. Exactly what I wanted and kind of encapsulates what my life is like right now, what my priorities are.

I don't know what the next year will bring but I'm looking forward to it. There are some big questions hanging in the air- employment, grad school- but I know things will work out one way or another. Over the past year I've been able to settle down a bit, get a little more disciplined and proactive about getting things done while still enjoying the present and staying in it. This year will have some challenges and opportunities and I think I'm ready to handle them. I feel like my life and all the people in it couldn't be more supportive and inspiring, I have a bit of that cliched "anything is possible" feeling. I eagerly anticipate what will happen next and where my path may wind.

Mountain Walk

 My favorite part about going to Denver is how close the mountains and amazing hiking trails are. I've always felt an affinity to mountains. At home traveling through the forested hills and cliffs of stone.

 We hiked for three hours or so. It was serene, cool, and invigorating.