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People Who Speak to My Soul
The ramblings, meanderings and stream of consciousness of a middleaged, short guy.
Friday, June 13, 2003
I know that I am a rookie at this, but everytime I start to type I think about who might read this. Will they think I'm smart, witty, well-read, deep? It's strange. I don't know why I care so much about what people think. I don't know why having others think well of me is so important. You would think, or maybe not you, but at least I would think that at my age that sort of thing would have fallen by the wayside by now. I'd love to get to the place in my life where I play to an audience of One. I'd love to be free to really live, to care about people, to seek to help them, to make a contribution, to demonstrate love and generosity without giving a rip about who sees or doesn't see, what they think or don't think. I guess that's my definition of freedom: Nothing to Lose and Nothing to Prove.
Monday, June 09, 2003
It was the best of times. It was the worst of times . . . Four score and seven years ago . . . I wish I were an Oscar Meyer . . . Got it! How about this? Hi. I'm Ron. This is my blog. Is blogging like splunking? Welcome to the somewhat strange world of my mind.