I sometimes find myself writing for the sake of writing, other times I write to prove a point. The former is where I generally get my best thoughts whereas the latter generally amounts to no more than an exploratory essay on whatever it is that compelled me to pick up my (figurative) pen. It was only a few days ago that I found myself yet again divulging the 'less-than-respectable" parts of my past to my soon-to-be spouse. Not that I mind. The way I see it, if I'm going to do something, I'm going to do it right or not at all. So by extension, if we're going to be spending the rest of our living lives together, she should know me better than anybody else and as much as some of you cringe at that thought, I'm okay with it... Mainly because it's always reciprocated. Anyway, I was somewhere in the middle of my story when I realized how long it had been since I had picked up that pen and wrote about something meaningful. I guess I've been so busy concerning myself with planning the future and juggling the present that I somehow neglected my pseudo-passion. But “what,” is the question. What was it that I wanted to write about? Ideas came and went, but they mostly went and is my custom, I usually travel to particular places for inspiration just shortly after I beat my head against my bedroom wall. I'm sorry to say that tonight was no different and currently I am sitting not 200 metres from my inspiration. I'm actually sitting in a coffee shop. Not a coffee house - coffee shop. If the difference eludes you, I suggest you pay a visit to Wikipedia or take a marketing course. I strong suggest the second option, but that's just me. There are two middle aged coloured men sitting a few tables behind me; one with a thick west-Indian accent and the other seems to have been in Canada long enough to be able to turn the accent off in public and back on around other west-Indians. He does this to convince them that he hasn't been completely assimilated into North American culture. He's also a part-time preacher from the sounds of it. I was just at my old high school. I often find myself drawn back for no apparent reason. No, that a lie. There are a bunch of apparent reasons, it just depends on who's story you believe. The only thing we can all agree on is that everybody else is wrong. My mother would say that it's because I'm suppose to be a teacher while part of me says that I have unfinished business there. Either something else to give, get or (more than likely) both. But like I was saying, when I walk along the property things happen. It's where I first kissed my fiancée and decided what I was going to do with the rest of my life - and all of this was after I graduated. Something's going on at the school tonight. A play I think. A television van was there. It could be a championship game, but after my graduating year it all went downhill and not just sports - the entire school. Either way, I was walking between the new portables and somewhere between number twenty-eight and number seven hundred and sixty-three I realized that I was, in fact trespassing. Of course, the sign that read, "field usage by permit only" and the fact that I was indeed permit-less also contributed to the realization. It was almost as though everything that I had done for the school and everything that it had done for me didn't matter and that after your four years are up, you are in fact merely trespassing. You might as well be breaking into somebody's house because you'd both feel and be treated the same way. We are all, in fact, trespassing. As much as we work towards something and no matter what we belong to, it is in fact temporary. Things change, we all change. We will grow up, grow into and grow out of everything. And yes, I am counting negative growth as a form of growth. It's all temporary and I do no mean this in a fatalistic or emo way (quite the opposite in fact.) What I do mean is that because everything changes in the micro (the majority of us only ever able to effectthis realm) we must cherish, relish and make the most of each temporary state we find ourselves a part of. You see sometimes we'll know when it'll end - things have dates of expiration, mandatory completion dates, deadlines etc. Something’s though... something’s are unannounced. In fact, most of our temporary states expire before we can completely or more than likely, ever get a chance plan ahead. The funny thing is that even the memberships (a crude but functional title for our purposes) that we willingly end will result in some form of regret or "what if." And that's the best case scenario. So am I suggesting that we spend out lives attempting to optimize every departure/ ending we encounter? No, that's just ludicrous. We'd end up spending more time planning the endings than enjoying it, the beginnings or the in-betweens. what I am suggesting is that you enjoy everything the best you can. Not because it'll end sooner then you'd ever imagined but enjoy it for all of it's intrinsic value - both genuine and conceived. At the end of the day, we're all trespassers, that we cannot change. But in reality, it's not the actual act of trespassing that matters; it's how you trespass that counts. Trespassing 'til the end, Captain B. In-between PS The preacher behind me just quoted “the gambler” by Kenny Rogers. Now, despite my dislikement for Mr. Roger’s choice in women (Dolly Parton) and the preachers ideological point of view (“Joseph was Jesus’ Step-Father”) even I’m forced to agree with them both.