More times than I can remember I look around and I ask why the hole I’m in looks so strangely familiar. Probably because it looks a whole lot like all the other ones I dug before I got around to digging this one.

I craft most of my own tragedies without ever having even the remotest understanding that it is I myself who have done the crafting.

It takes but a handful of words to ambush my soul with hope. Yet, the vexing question in it all is why do I so often ambush the words?

I am the greatest obstacle to my greatest dreams.

If I simply look at the map that I’ve so tediously created, it will explain why I’m laying at the bottom of this cliff looking up.

Nearly everyday life leans over and says, ‘Come on down!’ But standing at the bottom looking up, it’s finally dawned on me that it’s not these invitations that have dug this hole. Rather, it’s the fact that I accepted them.