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May 2017

Boudoir No. 1 - Summer





The following words are Summer’s reflection on our recent Boudoir Session.  I decided to share it, because I think it shows why I love the art of photography so much.  There is so much beauty in the world.  There is so much greatness inside of us.  It is imperative that we help each other draw it out somehow.


I was super nervous to do my first boudoir shoot, but honestly,

I feel so accomplished, and damn beautiful!

Self-love has been an issue for me all my life,

and I still struggle with it,

but I'm so proud of myself for coming this far.


Thank you to everyone who has supported me through my journey.

No more putting things off.

I'm capable of so much and so are you.


Enough of selling ourselves short”.


Even though I took up photography almost two decades ago, this photo session was my first entry into Boudoir Photography and this was only my second time working with Summer.  I am glad we had a chance to work together again, as it made this session smoother.  A connection between photographer and client is very important to me.  I want everyone I work with comfortable.  I want them relaxed, because without it I am just a guy holding an expensive piece of glass.  Only human connectedness makes me an artist and transforms digital signals into beauty.

If you remember, Summer graciously took Lauren's spot recently, because Lauren was very ill.  It really worked out.  If you have a moment, you can read all about that experience.

Lauren's photos will be up soon as well.

As a side note.  It is becoming very clear that I don’t intend to be the type of photographer who one day will teach others how to become a better photographer.  I have zero desire to talk shop and explain the technical aspects of my craft.  I don't mind sharing how and why I do the things I do when asked, but I would rather send those inquisitive minds to some of the fabulous photographers I have learned from over the years.  They are really, really good, at what they do.  I see no reason to throw my hat in the ring.

My goal is to focus on the person.  My aim is the visual telling of a good story.  

Every Curve Tells a Story.

This is what I believe.

As I forge forward, I intend to tell many stories, and let the images speak for themselves.









Józef Piłsudski and a little ant


"To be defeated and not submit, is victory.  

To be victorious and rest on one's laurels, is defeat".


My loving father spoke about Józef Piłsudski, the first Marshall of Poland, more times that I can remember.  His name is forever ingrained in my consciousness and I learned about his uncompromising valour early on in my life.  It was illegal to speak about him in my country.  The state forbid it.  But the state was not welcome in our little apartment.

Throughout my life, when I doubted myself, and when things were not going too well, my dad would remind me that defeat is not the end of us.  Submitting and giving us is.  Quitting is the only unforgivable sin.

I have never forgotten this passage and this morning I am reminded how true and important it is.  We must embrace it.  We need to live out its essence.

We will never find enough glory on which we can rest our weary head.  Not if you understand that we only find meaning in the preset moment. 

If you want to live in the future; fear, and anxiety, will eventually cripple you.  You will timidly submit to their whispers. 

If you choose to live in the past; you will rest in your comfortable memories, but experience ultimate defeated.  You will come to desperately dread each new day to come, because it will never measure up.  It is much easier to sit back and remember who we once were, or what we once accomplished, than to become who we have never been, and create what has never been done.

If take a leap of faith and choose to live for today, brace yourself, and open your arms to an ongoing struggle.  You will certainly face disappointment.  You will face failure and dance with discouragement. 

But if you don’t stop…  If you just keep digging your ditch…  If you don’t submit… 

You will be victorious.

This is what victory looks like and sometimes victory disguises itself as defeat.

Yesterday, I decided to pick up my son and daughter from school, instead of the usual routine of waiting at the bus stop.  I wanted to give them a few extra minutes of quiet time before my daughter’s first meet and greet at the soccer pitch.

My daughter came out first and was super excited to see me.  After the usual hugs and kisses, I noticed that she had her hands folded over each other.  I didn’t know why or what she was doing.

She eventually uncovered them and examined her index finger.  She was trying to remove a tiny little black dot.  It took me a little while to figure out, but I finally realized that the black dot was a tiny little ant.  I assumed that it had crawled on her when she got outside, but I learned that something else took place.

At last recess, the senior kindergarten children found a few ants in their classroom.  A little boy frantically stomping on them and chanted that he was going to kill them all.  My little five-year old daughter bent down, and despite the onslaught of frantically moving toes and heals, managed to gently pick up one of the ants.  She held on to this little ant for the rest of the class, and was so proud when I finally helped her to gently lower it to the ground.

She was both happy and sad.  Sad, because she couldn’t save more.  Happy, because she was victorious in saving the life of this one. 

She failed the many.  She made a difference to the one. 

Victory was won today.

This little girl, that reminds me so much of my mother, taught me about victory. 

I am grateful to learn so much, from creatures that are so little.

Embrace the day. 

Burn the laurels.

Never submit.


the endless game


I don’t see the rain anymore.

I feel it and I not blind to it.  I am aware of its existence and I am certainly affected by it, but I no longer see it. 

I don’t see Monday’s either.

Time has disappeared or at least transformed itself into something I don’t recognize anymore.  It took me a while to let go, and there are certainly no guarantees that all won’t end suddenly, but I have come to realize and embrace the fact that there we were meant to live in the present. 

Life is a game, but not the game I was taught to play. 

Life is not a contest.  It is not a test that decides if you are going to heaven or hell.  A measurement of worth capability and destiny to be happy or a life of misery. 

Life is a game of catch.  An ever-ending game of throwing a Frisbee back and forth.  There is absolutely no room to keep score the number of times you and your partner make a catch.  There is no time for competition.  Especially when your partner is an excited little seven-year-old boy. 

The object of the game is simple.  Keep it going.  Just keep it going. 

Throw the Frisbee.  Toss it back and forth, and keep throwing over, and over again.  No winners.  No losers.  Just the monotony of back and forth.  An endless game.  That is precisely what gives life such great meaning.

I have written about this before.  I know I have.  I think I have. 

The impact of being self-aware, of being fully human, fully alive, has been an incredible life changing experience.  A reality that feels right and has been there for me to discover, all along.  It was there behind the curtain.  A curtain of my own making.  I just had to leap into the unknown and dare to peak through the heavy fabric.

I don’t see people anymore.

I now relish the opportunity to speak with complete strangers.  And for absolutely no reason.  It is an opportunity to engage them as fellow human beings, and to throw a mental Frisbee for a few brief moments.

There are so many lonely people in the world.  So many Eleanor Rigby’s. 

They are on every street corner and at every turn.  On every bus.  In our homes, and our tired workplace.

They are often too shy or perhaps self-absorbed to play, but they want to.  They are all secretly waiting for an invitation.  They want to wake up from the isolation.  They yearn for a sudden and unexpected flash of light that breaks them free from the monotony of themselves.

They just need a word. 


How is your day? 

That is all that it takes some time to begin playing the endless game.

We don’t play it often enough.  We are too busy.  We are too sheltered.

We pay a heavy price for it.


do it already


However painful it may be, or however slow you find the process, keep moving forward.

Just do it already.  Keep digging those ditches.

No matter where I turn I hear this message over, and over again.  It seems that every podcast, every interview, every book, and every conversation I enter leads me to the same idea. 

Make Better Art

I first heard this phrase while listening to a recording by Seth Godin.  He was referencing an important point that writer Neil Gaiman in an effort to inspire people. 

Make better Art

Do it already.

Seth Godin insists that we all ship our work.  Plain and simple. 

Everyone is a creator.  Everyone can create art.  Everyone has the duty to share their art with the world.

No matter how much we wrestle with ourselves and think we are almost ready, we should always share our creation with everyone.  We should ship our work no matter how we feel about the oncoming criticism, and the little daggers that will inevitably fly in the night.  We need to ship our work, despite feeling unworthy.  We need to ship, despite our thoughts of failure or being a fraud. 

Don’t be afraid of failure.  Don’t be afraid of what people will say.  Don’t over think it.  Don’t dance with your feelings.  Just make art.  Kiss it, and ship it.

Nike is right.

Not the goddess of course, although she is probably right too.  I mean the shoe company that tirelessly promotes the idea of just do it

I am a full-time English teacher.  There is not a lot of time in a day to write or pursue my other passion for photography.  No matter.  I write when I can.  I book photo sessions when I can.  I wake up.  I dig my ditch.  I go to sleep.

I will be honest and admit that I am not where I want to be.  I am not a published author or speaker and I am not a proud owner of a beautiful commercial studio in downtown Cobourg.  What I am however, is someone that I’ve always wanted to become.  I am living the life I’ve always envied in others.  I now dance with my dreams.

Shipping is important.

This Ten Minas blog is a prime example.  In one sense, it seems counter intuitive, because I could use the time it takes to write this, and work on my book instead.  I seem to have my priorities all wrong, but in my heart, it all feels right somehow.

Every morning when I sit down to write, I accomplish something.  I write about something that appears before me, or imagine something others are struggling with and might want to read about.  Within an hour, and a quick glance over which cannot be properly called editing, I copy and paste, and ship. 

I made a commitment to myself that I will ship anything I write, no matter what state it is in, and no matter how I feel about it.  I made a promise that I will make Better Art.

If my thoughts today are not so good, perhaps tomorrow’s will be a little better.  Perhaps in a year, when I look back at all my thoughts, a few will volunteer and have a chance to be rewritten, and it might just be the beginning of something greater.

I have no idea where this is all going.  I don’t even know if anyone besides the five or six gracious souls who really like me, even read my posts.  That is not the point.  The point is that I insist on digging ditches.  I insist on making art.  I want to make better art, as I grow stronger and more confident in my struggle.  I insist on shipping it.  They are still just small little pockets, but I hope they will lead my work to larger, deeper pockets.

This post is now complete.

For better or for worse, I have made some art. 

It is time to ship.

Thank you for reading. 

Now go and do the same.


the school for the unlearned


I’m thinking of starting my own school.  The School for The Unlearned.  I haven’t figure out all the details yet, like tuition costs, classroom size, syllabus, or any of the other non-essential concerns that help our young become indebted to banks and corporations for life.


There is a deep hunger and a tremendous need for a school for the Unlearned.

Don’t misunderstand me.  This is not a school for the idiots, those already exists, and we graduate plenty of honour roll students, who wish to consume everything in their wake.

The School for The Unlearned will aim higher, at exposing myths and perceptions.  It will undertake the important task of changing the way we see ourselves, and the world we live in.

Money is just one example. 

I learned yesterday, listening to a free podcast, that currency might not have been created to help human beings exchange goods for other goods and services.  The story we were told some time ago suggested that our ancestors were getting really tired of bringing large animals, fruits, and other assorted goods to the marketplace, without an efficient way to properly oversee the exchange.  They had a difficult time knowing what everything was worth, but low and behold, gold and silver coins came to the rescue, and made our lives so much richer.

This particular author suggested that there is no empirical evidence, anywhere in history, for this story to scale water.  Instead, he put forth the proposition that money was created by the wealthy, as an easier, and more precise way to keep track of debt.

We live in a world where we know exactly how much money we owe and to who.  These kind souls remind us every month of our debt.  They keep in touch by mail and other means to make sure we make our minimum payment on time.  They do this in an effort to get bigger, and in turn keep us indebted to them until the day we die.  After all, it is important to retain your customers.

We have a love and hate relationship with money. 

I know I do. 

I want to have it, lots of it, so I can live my dreams, but I often feel guilty for trying to get some.  I fear and falsely believe I am taking that money away from others, and I don’t really deserve it.

This is my story.  A story I must unlearn.

If I deny myself a slice of pizza, this will not help a starving child on the opposite side of the world.  All that will happen, is that this slice of pizza will be thrown in the garbage.  I will be hungry.  The child across the ocean will be hungry.  The pizza will be tossed in the garbage.  More will be made tomorrow.

It’s just a story.

Why don’t I do whatever is necessary to make as much money as possible?  Why not finally get rid of all my personal debt?  Why not gather as much money as I humanly can and then give it away and fund things I care about?  I dream of photographing people from far distant lands.  I dream of helping young musicians recording their music properly and spreading it throughout the world.

This plan seems a better way of feeding a child in Africa, than denying myself a slice of pizza.

There is definitely a need for The School for The Unlearned.

I have much to unlearn, and much to unstudy.

I need to say no to a lot of people.  Say no to a lot of things.

It begins today.

The Unlearned Revolution!


first impressions


A few months ago, I placed an order for a medium coffee and a cranberry-orange muffin, while inching along the drive thru line.  They got the order wrong.

The whole thing was a terrible experience.  It was horrible, not only because they misunderstood me and wasted my time.  It was terrible because they didn’t have what I wanted.

Some time has passed. 

I have grown up a little and I own the blame and might even venture to hypothesize that it was probably a combination of my callous attitude, the aging technology that attempted to bridge the communication gap between us, and Steve, the young man who was working that day, in a bright polyester uniform, gleefully earning his minimum wage.

Today, I placed a similar order, and once again, Steve was the person who had the privilege or misfortune of serving me, and this time, everything was smooth and efficient. 

I am puzzled though. 

Everything went well, but why is it that I still dislike Steve?

I don’t really know him. 

From his appearance, I can see a big, lanky kid, with a deep voice and a few misplaced pimples.  He moves somewhat awkwardly, and doesn’t seem to handle stress or his customers very well. 

The fact remains, I don’t know the first thing about him.

Why do I have such negative thoughts about him? 

Why the impulse to get my back up?  There is no reason for it, yet I cannot deny the experience. 

I am reminded of when I participated in the Colin Sprake three-day business workshop, in early December, called Make Your Mark.  We were doing a personal growth exercise and I was paired with an older, well-dressed woman.  We had a wonderful chance to connect and share some of our experiences.  At the end of it, she looked at me, and said that it was surprisingly a pleasant experience, because I look very intimidating and unapproachable.

This was a revelation, because inside of my mind, I am just a shy juvenile little kid, who cannot wait to tell the next inappropriate joke to cut through the tension of life and evoke a smile.

It amazes me how much of what we see and experience is predetermined by our initial reactions and first impressions.

This means that some of the faults we see, might actually be the opposite.  The person we dismiss or ignore might make a great impact on our life.

There is another story here. 

At the same workshop, fate kept putting me in the proximity of this older, strange little man.  My gut kept telling me to avoid him, yet every time there was a chance to talk, there he was. 

I never sat in the same seat twice.

At every break, I ventured into a different part of the room, yet he was always somewhere close, and several times I had felt the internal pressure to be his partner.

I avoided him with every fibre of my being.

There is no simple answer here. 

Sometimes our gut tells us exactly what we should do, and we should listen.  It will save our life.  It has done so in the past.  It will set us on course in the right direction.  Our gut reaction often serves us well, but sometimes, sometimes, our perceptions are very dreadful.

We need to stay vigilant and become a little more self-aware and observe ourselves as to how we interact in the world.  Not so much when we order a coffee, or attend a workshop, but in the way we behave and see our very friends and beloved family. 

We need to see them as they are, and abandon our distorted impressions.

They are too important to be dismissed.


peach schnapps


For some reason my mind decided to think back to the last few days of my youth. It brought me back to the final days of high school, and to my prom specifically.

It has been a very long time since I have given any of this any thought, and all that I remember now is that one, beautiful bottle, of Peach Schnapps.

It was the first bottle of alcohol I ever bought.  It was also the first time and the last time I ever put Peach Schnapps in my mouth.  If I look carefully at my life after this moment in, I might reach the conclusion that I have also consumed less peaches over the years.

I remember myself as a nice, sky, innocent kid.  I had never been drunk in my life.  I had a sip of something here and there, at Christmas or during Easter, but never in large qualities, or without family.

I must admit that prom was fun. 

We decided to fight the romantic pressures of finding a date by going stag.  There was twelve of us in total.  Six girls and six boys.  We both bought a table separately and by default decided to hang out and dance with each other.  I don’t remember doing any dancing.  That would come much later at University and involves a sexy shirt and some tables.

We rented a decent hotel room, somewhere close by, and filled the bathtub with ice and all kind of goodies.  It was really pretty to look at it.  Unbelievably exciting. 

The whole experience of my new freedom and adulthood was amazing.  My ability to make my own decisions, like buying Peach Schnapps, felt like a great promise of things to come.

And they came.

I learned that alcohol and the propensity to being cheap is a lethal combination.

When you come from an oppressive and poor country to a country of wealth, cheapness is not really that difficult to develop over time.  It has been a curse in my life ever since, but I’ve been steadily fighting it and winning.  You would be proud to know that I stand victorious, on most occasions.

I had a deep philosophical dilemma that evening.

As much as I pretended to be independent, at some point the next morning, I had to face the reality of finally going home.  There was no way in hell I was bringing back bottles of booze, back to my house, like it belonged in my possession. 

My family has always struggled with alcohol, and this would have been very immature, if not insulting.

This is cheapness comes in.

If you cannot bring back the leftovers, and you are too cheap to pour the rest out, there is only one solution, and that is to drink it all.

That is exactly what my naïve brain did, having to experience of future consequences.

At first everything was amazing.  I was light on my feet.  Giddy.  Happy.  Everything was funny and comical.  People were laughing at my witty jokes.  Hanging on my every word, or so it seemed.

I was at the top of the world.

And then it all turned. 

I couldn’t run to the bathroom fast enough.  And that is when the real laughter started.  There I was, in a Buddhist, meditative position, hunched over the toilet, contemplating my wretched existence, and desperately trying to see if I was smart enough to create a time machine.

I wasn’t.  But there was nowhere to go but through.

The ride home the next day was horrific. 

I took the local bus for a whole hour, but because it was Saturday morning, the traffic was light, and the anxious bus driver wanted to teach me a lesson.  He drove the bus fast, or faster, over every pot hole and every crevice he could find.  This did not sit well with my suffering insides.

When I got home I went straight to bed, and I think I slept until Monday.  My parents never mentioned it, nor did they try to help me in any way. 

I vowed to live a monastic life from this point forward, but that didn’t happen either.

Looking back, I realize that there is a great lesson here somewhere.

Cheapness is definitely something to watch and poverty is not much better.

What I learned the most that day, is that no matter what your shit is your shit.  We are free to choose whatever it is we think we want, but win or lose, the consequences of our actions are all ours.  They are the only thing we can claim as our own. 

Peer pressure is a bitch. 

It is the underpinning and foundation of all great stories.  One day I will recount how I came to have the Goodyear name impressed upon my forehead, in the early hours of a frosty morning.

I have great sympathy and feelings of immense pride looking back and embracing that awkward young man.  I am very glad he helped to shape me who I am today.  Despite everything, I don’t miss the Peach Schnapps.


the last rep


In the sport of bodybuilding the last few contractions of the muscle, on the very last repetition, is the most important.  In a way, bodybuilding is a sport of failure.  A quest for a complete breakdown.  In order to grow muscle, the human body doesn’t repair itself, unless the many fibres are actually damaged.

It makes sense. 

Why fix something that isn’t broken?  Why make it stronger, when it can do all that is asked for it to do?  If we don’t condition our minds, and push our bodies beyond comfort and pain, we will never allow the muscles to reach their full potential.  Out of the many tasks our body needs to perform daily, unless something is actually broken, it won’t warrant attention.

The same principals apply to our life.

We all wish to be someone we are not.  We dream of being someone greater than who we are today.  Of doing things we have never done.  Of going to new exotic places.  Learning unbelievably new things.  Of creating things that have never existed.  Of haring ourselves with the whole world.

In order to become who we want to be, we cannot remain who we are. 

We need to get broken.

We need to fail.  Fail miserably even, because without it, without the last rep, we cannot transform and become who we are meant to be.

Sometimes failure is not enough. 

I am not talking about tragic things happening to your life.  I am speaking about the failure of losing weight, of quitting smoking, the desire to stop complaining, or our habit to pick our nose or to fart secretly in unventilated places.

Failure is not enough. 

If we just fail, we continue being who we don’t want to be.  We won’t change.  We simply continue living our life as usual. Total failure, on the other hand, which we are all afraid of, the kind of fear that wets your bed and urges you to assume the fetal position, is exactly what brings us to a place we have never been.  It leads us to a life we will love and be grateful for.

A lot of people are afraid of bears or lions.  That is a good thing.  If you see one in your neighbourhood and you decide that you want to dance with it, you’ll probably end up dead. It is a good fear to have.

The fear of public speaking, or of the many other things we get anxious over, serves absolutely no purpose in our life.  It is precisely the reason we stop ourselves from performing our final rep.  We always just stop a little short of a complete failure, and as a result never recover and squander any home of emerging as the person we so vividly dream of becoming.

We are not failures.  We are spectacular people, but we must learn to fall.

Go out and fuck something up real good.  Real good!

Tell them Greg made you do it, if it makes you feel better.

Don’t be afraid to fail.  Fail big, and reap the benefits that await you on the other side.


sudden and unexpected


Chris Cornell is dead.

Newspapers throughout the world are reporting this morning, that he died suddenly and unexpectedly.

He was one of my favourite voices.  It is a small list, but he was right up there with Sam Cooke, Freddy Mercury, Eddie Vedder, and Neil Young. 

Chris Cornell had a heart piercing voice and his lyrics cut you to the soul.   He was rare.  Gifted.  Honest.  Humble.  A courageous man who fought his demons valiantly. 

A man who made a deep impression on me. 

It is truly going to be a sad day. 

You won’t read my thoughts on social media.  I have no desire to commiserate with friends or strangers in an artificial manner, that doesn’t cut to the heart of the matter. 

All I am, is grateful for the music we have been blessed to have received over the years.  I am most grateful today, for Chris Cornell’s courage, talent, passion, and above all else, his capacity to love.

I know this is going to be a sad day, but I am not sad.  Not yet, anyway

It is hard to be sad, when you stop to think and realize that this was a man who lived his life doing what he loved. 

Unapologetically.  Humbly.  Relentlessly.

He was a spectacular human being that never stopped creating.  His passion and energy was contagious.  His thoughts and struggles were transparent.  He was vulnerable.  He also liked to take his boot to your teeth.

Sudden and unexpected.

That is our fate. 

Let’s live for today. 

Let’s not waste any more time on meaningless words, unfulfilled wishes, fragile sentiments, and memories of forgotten dreams.

Right now. 

Not suddenly, but purposefully.

Not unexpectedly, but with purpose.

Let the songs and memories of Chris Cornell reawaken our reason for being.


tiny little insignificant things


There is no yesterday and its foolish talk about tomorrow. 

What exists is today.  Right now.  Knowing and living this reality might be the difference between what you dream about and what you wake up to. 

There is a great energy that comes from living in the moment.  There is a powerful opportunity that presents itself, but only today.  It is a reality that did not exist yesterday, and one that has yet to be manifested tomorrow.

I’m not breaking any new ground here.  We are all believers.  We’ve all heard the Carpe Diem chant.  We raised our fists.  Sang the song.  We’ve all uttered the cry of possibility.   

We all hear it.  We believe it.  We understand it.  We graciously applaud it.  Even suffer for it. 

Yet, here we sit, motionless, tired, and dejected.

We say we know the meaning of today, yet we struggle to achieve momentum, or any movement for that matter.

Perhaps one of our problems is that we are looking to make a big leap, or are expecting something huge that will transform our life in a moment.  We are waiting for that sudden and unexplained gust of wind that will fill our sails and force us on our way.  We mistakenly expect God and His angels to come down from heaven and serve us.

Life is here today.  It moves in tiny little insignificant way, through tiny little insignificant things.  Progress hides in the things we think are not important.

This is not our universe. 

We are perpetual guests, and therefore as guests we should appreciate the fact that everything in our life matters.

The majestic, century old Oak tree, for example, that stretches its branches far and wide, was once a tiny seed.  A little sapling that no one payed attention to or noticed it as it patiently grew, ever so slowly.  It took a lot of insignificant time for that Oak tree to reach its full potential, when we finally arrive and spend but a fleeting moment in its shadow. 

We must remember that everything in the universe is somehow connected, and since all is one, there is no such thing as an insignificant or unimportant gesture or action.  It all matters.

Our dreams of our future do indeed begin with a solitary step.  Today needs to be the day we not only take that step but remember to keep walking.

We must smile.  Say please and thank you.  Make strangers laugh.  Buy them a coffee. 

We must stand outside for even a minute, arms outstretched, welcoming the warmth of the sun.  We should change the oil in our car.  Do our homework.  Prepare our taxes.  Cook dinner.  Even have a bowl movement.

It matters.  It all matters, somehow, some way.

When we don’t do what we should, we burden our tomorrow.  What a loss.  Imagine if what we could have done today, was done, and we had more time tomorrow.  What would you do with it?

A lot of my own frustration has been caused over the years by wakeful sleepwalking.  A state of living non-existence.  I often put things off for another day and promised to focus on it tomorrow. 

We need to change our habits and our perception of time. 

We need to take charge and focus on the insignificant little things in our lives. 

Don’t let the urgency and priority of something fool you into thinking that its important.  It is only urgent; its importance is a mystery. 

When your child asks you to play.  Play.  They won’t be a child tomorrow.  When you feel, you haven’t spent enough time with your friend.  Go and see them.  They won’t be around tomorrow.

Don’t get stuck in a run. 

You’re not as tired, busy, or as overwhelmed, as you tell yourself you are.  Focus on the insignificant little tiny things in your day.  The things that require only a bit of sustained effort and leave you with a bit more time tomorrow.

It is that tiny little bit that makes a difference.

Don’t get stuck living a superficial life or wait to be happy in some distant future.

Don’t wait for Heaven. 

Heaven is not there to make you happy.  You must understand that it is your responsibility to arrive at its door step, in full joyfulness.  It is a gathering centre of likeminded souls.  It is not a place for dreamers and could have beens.

Go get unbusy. 

Do something insignificant. 

Do it well, and feel the energy of being alive.