Writer.

I always knew I could never be the first baseman of the Mets, but I always dreamed of it. Heck, even now, at times, I dream of it. Hope is a beautiful thing and what is the point of losing that dream unnecessarily.

I knew I couldn't play, but I could cover. For a time, I wanted to be a sports journalist, a poet, a songwriter... and while that dream has never lost me, I have lost that dream.

In my youth, I wrote because I was confused... I was in pain. Writing out the inner workings of my mind as blog posts or poetry helped to serve as a release and a way to better understand my emotions.

The last few months and years, I haven't written as much as I have in the past. It's not because I don't have much to say (those who know me know I can be a talker), but, rather, I am not fighting the pain I have dealt with in the past.

I still have the intense desire to write, but the passion isn't there. I sit at the blank page and I lose the battle. There is a reason why there are infinite amounts of literature and music about pain and suffering, and fewer comedies and happy songs.

It's really hard to write when you're happy. For me, I've been in a great stretch of my life and I'd rather share my free moments with loved ones rather than isolated at a computer screen.

It's funny, in a way, how one moment, one instant can change the course of events. I want to write every night, but tonight, I can't shake the emotions I once knew all too well... and still silently linger.

I want to write a happy prose. Or, at least, not be inspired by heartbreak. The next few months of my life are planned, but they aren't written. I'm anxiously awaiting the journey... the next stage. As that happens, I'm ready to explore the world of being a writer again... writing about what I know: sports, movies, music, life.

Because, well, why not? We only get one shot at this thing, right?

I hope you're all having an amazing start to 2011 and I hope you're ready to follow this train one more time.

Be well.