Wow, typing on this device is so fantastic. My fingers seem to glide across the keys as though they were made for eachother. Weird, we are, for identifying with manmade objects as equals. It's a bit smaller than any computer I've come across, yet smaller is totally better in this instance. Truth is though it’s not my iPad, the story is so circumstantial and dare I say it, lucky, that you probably won’t believe how it came into my posession. Then again, you’re a computer so you don’t really have a choice if you want to believe me or not.

[wow, it's as if I sense the feelings that I just drew out of you, is that possible?]

You know how they say another man’s trash is another man’s treasure? Well another man’s trash is a half scratched lotto ticket. A bent and folded piece of assumed worthlessness. Whoever you are, you didn’t know that whatever stopped you from scratching the rest of that ticket truly changed your life… without you even noticing.

All I had on me was a quarter, which I was planning to save for a meal, a hot dog maybe, if I could manage to get even that. I was on the verge of giving up, mopeing down to the bay bridge and melting into the sea. Becoming one with the ominous water whose rhythm seemed so peaceful, so easy. It was that lotto ticket, the one I found fluttering through the silent town, that changed my mindset from that point on. I used my last quarter for not a hot dog, but to scratch that remaining ticket to its core.

People say that money can’t make you happy, but you don’t know the opposing viewpoint of that statement until you’ve lived and breathed it. Til you've crawled through the streets, mustering the energy to knock on doors and attempt to prove that you're worth a shift. Just one shift, let me prove to you that I can help. It took time to be able to brush off the abundance of downward stares and scoffs that were aimed my way. This all in some way was a pyramid, or a climbing staircase to that moment that I took that freshly scratched ticket to the closest drug store I could find. I to this day can’t put into words the expression that consumed my face when he, the man behind the counter, told me what that lotto ticket was worth. I suppose it was a combination of all emotions rolled into one; Into one stunned figure, staring at the cashier’s waiting gaze. You can’t be serious. This belongs to him, the man who let it fly. Yet – it belongs to me too, I suppose. From that moment I decided that instead of trying to track down the man it rightfully belonged to, I would do my best to essentially tear this ticket into millions of pieces and scatter them over lost souls. Use the winnings to change the world. No, I don’t want to create the next bigger, better gadget. I want to make people smile, to give people motivation and help them know their potential.

To this day I make it a daily requirement to put a smile on people’s faces, to not let my eyes rest until I have made an impact on those I come across. I use the unkown man’s fortune to do so. So, realistically, this iPad isn’t mine, but it is one of the many results of that whirlwind day that my world changed flight plans. Houston, we have no problem. I’d like to think that whoever the ticket belonged to, that they would be honored to know what it has accomplished and who it has made me. I’m no longer the bay bridge dweller, but the man behind the curtain of smiles that coat the streets. And for this I am forever grateful.

*Fiction scribbles written on too much caffeine

Hey, Journal. It's been a little since I've been able to sit down and collect my thoughts. Seems as though these days I barely have time to collect myself let alone my thoughts. Luckily, that is a good thing right now. I'm very busy with working my new job on campus, fulfilling my other job as a pet sitter, and stepping up to the plate for all Maid-of-Honor duties. Phew. There is not enough time in the day. I've missed writing, even though I don't think I quite realized it until right this instant. It always seems to slip my mind how much of a healing this is for me. Yesterday was tough. I mean really tough. But I somehow kept a smile on my face until my best friend was ready to go home from her birthday night out. So childish, it seems, that we put so much work into birthdays at this age. I don't mean just celebrating, but the physical decorating, planning and execution is entirely thought out and intricate. I enjoy holding the reigns -- equestrian pun intended -- on occasions like birthdays, yet that also comes with my personal desire to fulfill all of my expectations and plans by giving the birthday subject a day/night of their dreams. Sue me. I may stress myself out and annoy the heck out of my boyfriend venting about all of the things I have to do, but I love seeing it all play out. It's rewarding just to see that person glowing with happiness. It makes it all worth it. I guess we should all strive to feel that a little more -- personal fulfillment from seeing others happy. It's a good balance of positives.

I just said the word boyfriend in that last paragraph, which glides off of my tongue quite easily now. Truth is, though, a couple of posts ago I was spilling into this journal about how I thought that I was falling in love with him. Well, my thoughts were right. I've had relationships, and I thought I knew love and thought that I understood it. I had only broken the surface. My whole world was flipped upside down when this boy showed me what actual love was, and he continues to show me every single day. All the of the cliches can be inserted [right here] because I don't know what I would do without his support, humor and compassion. More on this later, frankly because I could go on for days. 

On another note, I had an assignment do for a blog-centered class a couple weeks ago. I decided to tie food into advertising and blog about inspiration you can find from cuisine. In this moment, I connected the dots that have been staring me in the face for quite some time. I've admired the time and effort put into making a meal look presentable for quite some time. Whenever  I receive a dish, I promptly notice the execution of colors, balance, and texture. I did all of this without even realizing I was doing it. It was this assignment that made me correlate the reasoning for my mild obsession with food presentation and quality. Unlike my mother, I don’t possess the ability to come up with recipes on a dime and have the outcome be impeccable. (You rock, mom.) Yet,  I like learning how to cook and seeing how different ingredients and methods can alter the outcome of a meal and make it that much more spectacular. It’s an interesting concept, and during this assignment, it had a significant impact on me and I saw a correlation –Food is a necessity, we simply need it to survive, but we choose to make it beautiful. In a consumer driven world, Advertising is much like a food. To keep the industry thriving, companies sustain themselves with Advertising to either draw in profit or to inform.  Advertising is a food to business, but we choose to make it beautiful. There are hardworking teams that work day in and day out to create the next world-shaking campaign that puts their products at the top of the charts– one day I aim to be a part of one.

So there you go, my passion put into a simple summary. I'm a blatant ad-nerd... and I'm okay with that. I also love the beauty of cuisine and the effort of impeccable execution. Well done, chefs and moms (and dads) worldwide.

It was last week. I had a grade-deciding final project due in my 3-D design class, and as any art related student will understand, I had to stretch some resources to find materials to work with. That's the most unimportant detail of this post. It's just part of the back story. I was hunting for used cardboard, to be exact. I went store to store, door to door. In this process, I only faced sour faces, short words, and turned backs. Not one single person that I encountered was willing to help me locate even the slightest amount of material I needed. I could credit this to the fact that with each failed attempt, I became a little less conversational and convincing, seeing as the stress of the week and night was catching up to me. That's an excuse, and I'll accept that. But that doesn't change the effect it had on my mood; the world was winning. I felt worn down. How could not one single person be willing to take a second out of their night shift to help me? I'm not sure if it was selfishness, laziness, or just the choice not to care that stopped these people from lending a hand or offering a tip. I knew that if roles were reversed, I wouldn't shrug off their request. I would at least make an effort to make it SEEM like I cared. I understand the variation of people in the world, even though I've only been exposed to a grain of the sand castle, but it baffled me that night and it broke me down how inconsiderate every person was.

Luckily, the night was beautiful. I was trying to keep my head up and work out a solution for my procrastination and failed attempts. I kept driving around with cardboard vision, doing drive by's of every dumpster in town. I decided that I had time to walk around for a little bit, that the night was too pretty to pass up. I chose to try again in the morning and parked my car at the local outdoor shopping mall. Shops still had a couple hours left before closing, and I was in need of a cocktail dress by the end of the week. So I started store hopping.

Every store I walked into, I was asked if I could be helped. What? You want to help me? Normally, on a regular day, this wouldn't phase me. I may actually be annoyed by the pestering. If I wanted help, I would've asked. But today, today was a different outlook. They wanted to help me. This was beyond refreshing. I still felt the weight of the world as if things just weren't balanced. I was hoping for a break in the defense, a gamechanging run.

I decided I would walk into one last store before I made my way home. I made my way to the checkout counter and asked a woman where the reading glasses were. She escorted me to the shelves of glasses to choose from. I began trying them on, attempting to get my mind off how battered I felt. Some people say that the world sends you signs. Whether that be religious or simply coincidence differs by opinion and belief. I needed one of those, but I didn't know that at the time. Out of nowhere, as I knelt to the ground deciding on glasses, a young boy came running my way. I barely saw him coming from behind the shelving. He was about 3 years old, that's all I could gather before he stopped in front of me, eye to eye, and muttered "you're pretty" with bashful eyes and innocent stance. He then ran back to somewhere on other side of the store without me seeing where he went. I let out a thank you as fast as I could while trying to grasp the situation. How incredibly sweet. How perfect in timing. I couldn't help but see it as a sign. As an "it's gonna be okay." I stayed kneeling on the ground, smiling ear to ear. I was so humbled. I then saw the bright eyed boy run to his mom in the checkout line. He saw me still kneeling and came running back to me before I could react. He wrapped both of his arms around me in the most sincere hug I've ever embraced. Let me reiterate, he was 3. How could a 3 year old insert this much positivity into my world in such a short amount of time? I can't explain it. I heard his mom lecturing him on the way out, "Mason, you can't just hug people, some people don't like that." Yet little did Mason know, he turned my world around with that hug. The little things prevailed in that moment and I no longer felt the weight of the world. Instead, I felt it gliding with me.

I immediately called my mom and told her the story of my encounter as I was fighting happy tears from my eyes. I walked passed a store, and in that instant, saw the dress I had been imagining to find. The woman working the checkout counter willingly took the dress off the mannequin as it was the last one in my size. I drove home, still smiling ear to ear, as I passed a newly thrown out mountain of cardboard boxes. Those were small details in my opinion. Somehow, everything started falling into place. If you ask me, it was all due to Mason. Somehow, he turned the world around for me.

There are many Masons in your life, coincidence or not. See them in all their glory and never underestimate the power of true sincerity. You may not remember me, Mason, but I'll never forget the lesson you taught me and the joy you brought into my life so quickly.

It's hard to remember what your family is like when you're not with them, that's something I've come to realize. Maybe that's just my own personal mind at work, but maybe that's everyone. I forget how much these people get me, and how much I love that they do. It doesn't matter where "home" is, because it's wherever they are. Minus all the mushy cliche interpretations of what I just said, they are home to me. I hope everyone feels this way about someone or something. I hope something makes you feel home, something crosses your mind everyday, or something molded you or is molding you into the person you are today. Home for me is not geographical. After all, I get pestered and guilt tripped by my mother if I call my college town my home. To me, both are home. One just has deeper roots. Yet both have seen me grow in immense ways.

Family is a tricky thing, they share a deeper bond with you and your past. There's only so much you can convey to someone who wasn't there to see it unveil. Yet I've learned that even though family is irreplaceable, you create new branches of "family" wherever you feel at home. For me, my people are in my college town. Those are just simply, my people. I've been blessed enough to find multiple minds that mesh with mine and for me, that can be difficult. I'm not the easiest brain wave to catch on to. I'm forever thankful for the many amazing people I've encountered in that town, at home, and among other travels. I'm just a little smitten at the fact that one of those amazing people, embodies a scary similar version of myself (probably a better one). And that person's hand just happens to fit perfectly in mine.

Moral of this post and this thought process, is that I'm irrevocably thankful for the inspiring and homey people in my life. Thank you for all you do for me, even when you don't realize that you're doing anything at all. I hope you feel at home, for now and always. Happy day of giving thanks. Make it every day.

I miss the days when we didn't have instant gratification. When you took a picture through a tiny lens and had to physically take it to be developed and then open each envelope, unveiling the results. Do people make scrapbooks anymore? Or even photobooks? I'm afraid the dependence on our hard drives has replaced the idea of actually holding those memories instead of swiping left or right to view them. Even bigger than pictures, is the decline in videos. Maybe I'm the only one who takes notice of this as a result of my love for documenting memories. Some families still video, but it's not nearly as prominent these days. So 30 years down the road... What are we all going to gather and watch and embarrass each other with? My family for one loves home videos, I just wish future generations would have that desire to document. Granted, I would've loved if our camera stopped working from about my 7th-9th grade years, I still will never turn down watching old videos or going through old pictures.

I've been told that my desire to keep pictures and go through old memories somehow correlates to me not being able to let go of the past. That somehow I believe I've reached my peak in life and am longing for the times in the memories. I don't agree with this, however. For me, I just like to relive memories and reminisce. I think documentating things is so entertaining and I suppose I'm okay with whatever deeper meaning that holds. I also want to be able to pull up pictures and say, "what did I do in college?" "well, ...this." I will also probably be the mom with video camera in hand at all times with my family (that is, if video cameras are still a thing).

I think looking through the past can be building and revealing if you look at it in the right light. If pictures resemble a hard time for you, look at how you have grown since then. Or what that time taught you. Sure, it's not my favorite to look at pictures from a past relationship that went downhill, but I learned a lot from that breakup. I learned what I wanted, how I deserved to be treated, how to be independent, and how to bring yourself back up when you're at your lowest point. Sounds dramatic, I know. But it's all the thought process I go through when reminiscing. A picture really can say a thousand words. What those thousand words are, though, is completely up to you.

Maybe I'll write eventually about my problem with hoarding. Pictures is one thing, but sometimes I battle with letting go of actual memoirs of things that resemble memories for me. Pictures are easy to organize and present, but a cluster of beads from New Years on the other hand... Not so much.

So hey, having a great day? Take a picture of it. I bet you'll look back and be able to recreate the feeling you had in that moment.