. . .

It's funny to me, a little, how people who were once perfect strangers can become closer to you than blood.

It is sad, too, that familial connections aren't what they could be.

I realize that a quick read through my blog might seem to indicate that I have no problem in talking from my heart, but the truth is that any ease that one can surmise is made possible only because of the nature of blogging - I find it easy to talk about myself, my hopes and dreams and fears, because it is just me and a screen, with words magically appearing here and being read over there, wherever you are.

After growing up around a group of people for awhile, or spending time with anyone over a lengthy period, you start to assume that you know a thing or two about them. But we are fluid beings, humans. We change so much over time . . . years have a way of eroding certain parts of us, exposing things that perhaps were hinted at but never fully seen before. And you may not notice the change as you live out your life, or notice the change in those around you, but just as the ocean rocks gradually lose their battle with the water, we find ourselves changing, growing. The rocks are still rocks, and I am still Greg, and you are still you, but a different rock, a different Greg, a different you, emerges.

Normally I try to have a point when I write. Perhaps today's point is to give voice to some kind of restless churning inside me. Perhaps it is about trying to avoid, well, today.

Maybe my mom was right, and I was running away when I moved out to Calgary.

Maybe the lack of connection I feel to my extended family (both sides) is because I just haven't tried hard enough.

Maybe it's too late. Maybe a person can be so insulated behind some self made walls, that the walls become them, and in their endeavors to escape the past, there are places they should not return. Maybe , instead of running away, I was running towards something. Maybe I wake up every morning wishing I could take those I love from THERE and bring them HERE, where life just feels better.

I wonder - do rocks ever question the whys of erosion? Do they long for the way things once were, though knowing there is no going back?

And what if what once was is more illusion that reality?

. . .


Hey. If you've stuck with me for this long on this post, then thanks for hanging in. I don't expect you'll gather much meaning from it unless you know me very, VERY well, but I still felt like writing it. I'd normally journal shit like this, but I have yet to procure a new journal. Sometimes it's just about getting what is in, out, and if anything I wrote is beneficial, then cheers.