11 Blocks…

We’re all on our own journeys. But sometimes when your mind won’t stop, you just need to take a minute and listen to someone else’s story…

11 blocks from my door to your doorstep

Three years later and it feels too close


Today is All There Is

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Worldly Encounters.”

To the friendly, English-speaking extraterrestrial outside my house,

I recommend to you the novel that speaks to me inside and out. And that is The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky.

This story is human nature at its finest. At its most vulnerable. At its great achieve-ability. It not only shows what the world has the ability to be, but it shows us the world as it truly is. It’s dirtperkscollagey and hurtful and cruel and unfair. It’s fearful and explosive and continuously demeaning. But the world is also beautiful and kind and can help heal your soul. It’s accepting and meaningful and unbelievably strong willed.

Between the traumas and hardships and all the self-hating, there’s a hand at the end of the tunnel willing to show you your worth, your importance, your purpose and strength. Its friendship and family and self love and acceptance.

It speaks to everything a person may go through–heartbreak, loss, abuse, mental illness & pain. Love, encouragement, acceptance, understanding & learning–and still find the ability to continue on. To not let life pass you by, but to move along side it. To find strength in your tears and empowerment from the mistakes you’ve made.

To let the past be your past and let the future be that of myths. To remember that today is all there is.

Untitled- Part 1

So I thought I would try a new thing. I’ve been trying to write some good short stories but I always get stuck somewhere in the middle. I thought that if I wrote a little something every week, I might be able to finish what I started. So here is part 1 of my untitled short story.

Hope you enjoy!


“I just wish he would come to me in a dream”.

The woman sitting next to me on the New Jersey Transit train spoke quietly into her phone. She sat with her legs crossed. In her lap sat a 12 oz beer can wrapped in a brown paper bag. I watched her through the reflection in the window as the towns slid past us. She continued to speak quietly, but her voice became more animated as she grew more comfortable speaking about the man she wished to be able to communicate with again.

“Once I talk to my medium, I know everything will be okay. I just need something.”

I couldn’t hear the voice on the other end, but from the woman’s response, it sounded as if it were one of reassurance. The woman clearly sought out spiritual guidance by channeling deceased loved ones on a regular basis. She also clearly found comfort in something that I had no relative knowledge about and was slightly on the more skeptical side of those types of things. But as the train sauntered closer to Bay Street, my mind stayed beside the woman trying to find some meaning in what she had experienced. Whether she wanted answers for herself or for this ethereal man, I had no idea. I couldn’t help but wonder who this man was. What he meant to this woman and how he was taken from this world. As I stepped off the train, my imagination wandered through all of the endless possibilities.


To be continued…