My Drug

I want to leave a trace.

Some mark upon this world. The proof – visceral or intangible – that what I did here mattered. That somewhere in this grand scheme of things, I did not waste my time on this earth, that everything that was given to me was used, that every talent that I had I employed, that every last shred of my effort and my heart came to bear somewhere in something or someone. Many someones. Countless someones.

My time here will have been wasted if all that results is "a tale, told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing." (Shakespeare.)

This life is so fleeting, these moments pass so quickly, that it is all I can do to stop myself from yelling to people everywhere: "Pay attention NOW. This is life right here in your hands. Stop your complaining. Stop your squandering. LIVE IT."

There is significance and meaning in our smallest moments, even in the tiny victory found in an empty gym by just a woman and her barbell. These moments matter, often way more than we realize.

They are the building blocks of our souls.

Life rushes at me so fully and overwhelmingly every single day, that it is all I can do to keep my head above the waves.

But the view of the sky above? And the feel of the ocean around me? Absolutely beautiful. Intoxicating. I breathe in and I am high.

My filter is fitness, but my drug? My drug is life.