I wish the days to be as the centuries, loaded, fragrant.

I have wanted to be a writer for as long as I could write--even before my childhood obsession with dinosaurs and desire to become a paleontologist (a dream which partially materialized itself in the form of an evolutionary anthropology degree, oddly enough). After all of these years and life paths, the dream to be a writer has withstood the test of time.

Yet lately I have become to expect more out of myself when reflecting on my dreams. I am now 25, which somehow feels so much older than 24. Maybe it's because of the common statistical grouping of "18-24" being designated as "youth" and "25-45" often more plainly labeled as "adult." Although it is purely psychological (and not due to any true distinction between who I was last month at 24 and now), I feel a new urgency at this point in my life. I have always been motivated to work towards my future, but now I have a greater sense more than ever that the days are fleeting and it is possible to go through life without ever fulfilling your dream.

Let me repeat that. You can go through life perfectly content and making great strides in ways that you can feel proud of, but there is a very real possibility that the dream you carried through your life may not be realized.

This is why I want to sit down and ask myself, "What do you truly want to accomplish while you're here?" You really have only one chance to be great at something in a lifetime. And I consider that a beautiful, earth-shattering thought. Why be content to be mediocre? Why not take the chance and work feverishly towards what you really want to accomplish, until you find yourself truly there? I also think this reflection should also carry a component of a "reality check." It is not enough to say that you would really like to make it "some day." You would be cutting yourself short if you have anything less than a carefully concerted plan towards your goal, to which you apply yourself with earnest.

Ralph Waldo Emerson has a quote which resonates with me deeply: "I wish that life should not be cheap, but sacred. I wish the days to be as centuries, loaded, fragrant." Thus, I raise a glass to this beautiful sense of urgency I now have and hope that I may use my days with purpose towards fulfilling my dreams, and that my efforts are like perfume--filling the hours with beautiful desire.

Does Brooklyn need another writer?

There is something I should come clean about in terms of my motivation for creating this blog. As might be obvious from the title of the page, I would like in part to chronicle my transition to living in Brooklyn and urban life in general. Yet my more overarching goal, I confess, is simply this: I want to be a writer by profession.

I figured that if I could start somewhere--even with an anonymous blog with a loosely connected theme--after a year, I might have something to point to in terms of my talent and ability. A tangible product, so to speak.

I think this might really only work out if I dedicate myself to post every day for a year, let's say. I may not be able to post every single day--and that is fine for me--but if I try to make daily posts, even if they are only a line of thought, that is something I can move forward with.

Will you join me?