Death is Rebirth

Yesterday I died. Literally.

And by literally I don’t mean actually or figuratively, but truly literally, as in literal, literature, as in a sense of story–a living story that’s now, abruptly, quite dead.

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Reclamation

This past Wednesday, things between my fiance and me ended. Part of me had expected it, and to be brutally honest, it wasn’t the first time this year when I had thought our relationship would end, but it still pierced my heart when it finally did.

I moved quickly from injury to recovery, having already prepared a path in my mind for where I would go next, what I would begin to do as a truly single man. One friend called me to ask how I was doing, and he told me I had already grieved the loss of our engagement, that the end of our relationship was not the start of my grief, but its conclusion. And in many, many ways, he was right.

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Howling On

Today the Writingwolf is reborn.

Exactly three and a half years ago I began blogging, and although from time to time I changed my headers and rearranged my pages, my blog largely looked–and functioned–the same way: an assortment of posts on an assortment of topics with an assortment of fiction and poetry haphazardly mixed in.

Today that assorted, one-size-fits-all regime ends.

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WARNING: REBOOT IMMINENT

If you are reading this message, within 24 hours The Writingwolf: Words and Wonders will bite the magic apple and fall forever into slumber. At least until it rises from the ashes on July 1, a noble and glorious creature with a greater wingspan than ever before.

So perhaps I should’ve said “death and rebirth” is imminent, but I liked the sound of “reboot” too much. Gotta love the mixed metaphors.

Born Again

Today marks a special anniversary more so than just the start of another year: It’s also the third birthday of this blog–and as I sat drafting my goals for 2013, I found my blogging featured prominently. However, this is not the only birthday I’d like to celebrate today: I’d like to celebrate mine, and yours, and everyone’s.

When the year begins anew, so do we–and with this ethereal rebirth, we are able to do away with our old selves and promise to move a step closer toward the ideal we’ve always aspired to become. This heavenly image will certainly change over the years (and certainly already has), and as we draw closer to its general shape the edges become clearer and there is always one more step between us, but the impossible attainability of this end is not what matters–only making progress defines us in the end.

As this new year begins, I invite you to join me as I try to take the next step to becoming my ideal being. May we become each other’s witnesses on this journey, holding us each to our goals, and in this time, may we also become greater friends.

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Snakes on a Plane (or Something Like It)

I’m starting to think I won’t be having any more thankful Thursdays this semester. For some reason beyond me, all my teachers like to have all my homework due Friday morning, so naturally, Thursdays have become crunch time for me: A fatal rush to the finish, pushing past the boundaries of bedtime into the realm of “when he said he wants us to lose sleep over this, he meant it.” But that’s alright: We grow and we adapt. We change our ways to meet the new days.

I was thinking a lot about that today, about adaptability and change. After a while, I found I’m rather thankful for it, but what does that have to do with snakes? Or more importantly, what does it have to do with planes?

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