Four years ago I began this blog. Its intention was to trace the story of my adventure moving across the country to Arizona to get my PhD. That time has come and gone.. once again I have trekked across the country, this time in a different direction. The start of a new journey signals the close of another. And so, this will be the last post.

This blog had been taken down for several months since I no longer posted. Today I found myself compelled to read through my stories of yesteryear, to live those experiences again.. and I was not disappointed. For the first time, I finally realize why I kept a blog. It was never to share my stories with others. It was to save them for myself, to remind myself of all the joys and woes which I felt.

Now I reopen these pages, not just for my eyes, but for any who happen to stumble across them. If even one of the posts brings you a glimmer of enjoyment, then it was worth reopening.

I end this blog with words from an earlier post, ones which perfectly summarize the end to my journey. I started the blog with a story: the reason for why I chose Arizona. The reason that called me to the desert. The quest I had undertaken. And so it ends.


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My eyes turned away from the angry sun retreating towards the horizon. A steady, hot breeze swept my hair across my face. Still somewhat unsettled, I cast my gaze around this place which just minutes before had been only a fragment of a distant memory, a memory I chased for nearly 10 years and across a thousand miles. And yet I had found not a whisper of what I had hoped to find.

But what exactly had I hoped for? Meaning? Reassurance? Some kind of connection to all that which I've lost? 

Like so many hopeful treasure hunters before me who had stood before those same mountains, I searched and found nothing. 

And yet, while I feel a crushing weight in my heart, it comes not from the disappointment of walking away from these mountains empty-handed; rather, I instead mourn the coming of the end of my quest. The idea of imagined gold at the end of the rainbow is a far more alluring prospect knowing that the end of the rainbow will never be found. I reached the end of my rainbow, and upon discovering nothing, I regretted for a moment ever undertaking this quest; for the idea of the gold gave me hope, and hope gave me a reason for living. But that regret faded quickly. The pursuit of my imagined treasure led me to a wealth of other riches along the way. And even though this quest ends unsuccessful, I certainly do not walk away empty-handed. 

The Arizona Saga has ended. My eyes turn again to the sun on the horizon, eager for the next chapter in this adventure.

I longed to trace my hands across the horizon, fingers imbued with a kaleidoscope of pigments, painting my dreams into the world before me.

But the palette has been torn from my hands.. the world stripped of life, one color at a time, until naught but a dull gray pall remains..

Now my path is clear. To bring the color back to the world, I'll cut open my veins and paint the sky red with my own blood.

And as my eyes grow dim, I can look up and see the beauty I've created, and smile one last time.

Greatness is achieved in the wake of fanatical pursuit.

An inquisitive mind needs only to ask the questions; the answers will make themselves known, crying out from countless sources in voices which only the one asking can hear.

Never drink and derive. Drinking and coding, however, is highly recommended.

Crumbled cities lay strewn upon a torn landscape, only barely beginning to emerge from the thick layer of dust and ash choking the air in the aftermath of destruction. It's the end of the world, at least as we know it.

I wasn't home when the first wave hit; out on some now long-forgotten errand, I had been in the company of strangers when I felt the earth shake and watched the smoke rise in the distance. We ran outside to get a better look; squinting against the sun, I scanned the horizon and saw similar plumes of smoke and ash further away in nearly every direction. Had I known that it would be the last time I saw the sun, I would have lingered, basking in the warm rays, which can no longer reach through the perpetual haze that now envelops the earth.

As the violent shaking and sounds of destruction rapidly grew more intense, the others and I hid inside and tried to search for information. All forms of communication had been disrupted: satellite, television, radio, all silent. Smoke obscured our view from the window. I could not tell you what was happening; the noise of destruction was chaotic, senseless, and unbearably loud, and I was unable to distinguish the source of any single sound. The noise grew closer. One sudden jarring explosion ripped open the side of our refuge, and I glimpsed a view of the sky above us briefly; bright lights, confusing shapes and sounds flashed across my vision only for a moment before the world went black.

I awoke to silence. Buried under layers of dust and debris, I pushed my way upward and emerged in darkness. I called out and received no answer. My search for clues to what had happened, hindered by the thick, choking haze, would prove just as futile. I wandered, for days, weeks perhaps, hoping that I would encounter another.

And then, I found it. Inside an overturned truck, half buried in the thick ash, was a soft glow and crackling static sound piercing the otherwise dead silence. A radio and transmitter. Still on and tuned to a frequency, seemingly from its former owner desperately trying to receive or send information as the madness of destruction had descended. The static sound and occasional whine indicated that it was unharmed and operational, and even though every frequency returned no signs of life, I felt a flicker of hope. I had a voice.

Taking a deep breath, I picked up the microphone and started to speak..

My boredom with life is surpassing my fear of the unknown and longing for stability. If I sit still too long, I go mad. It's time to move on.

I felt it necessary to record my thoughts, lest madness take me before I have the chance. There is a small measure of hope I have found which, as the dawn breaks vividly through my window, I take it upon myself to embrace. Little left is there of that strength which once carried me. I am no longer a bearer of a recent agony, nor a long-time sufferer of events both traumatic and distant. My symptoms are not the embodiment of pain. Rather, that which I bear and suffer is a complete abandonment of faith in humanity and desire to continue in any measure toward what few goals I have left. And yet, gained from a night of darkness and uncertainty is that small measure of hope. My own reasons are not enough by which I can be compelled to move forward; it is only through the knowledge that I serve as a not insignificant piece of a grander puzzle that I may recover just enough energy to continue, to trudge my feet grudgingly onward, if only for another few steps.

Perhaps the last of which will come soon. But it will not be this night.

There are no angels keeping watch over you. There is no devil tempting you toward sins. There is no God to love you and protect you.

Family abandons you. Friends betray you. Love fades.

Face it: you're set adrift on a cold rock in the vast emptiness of space. Your pathetically short life is meaningless, and any thoughts of otherwise are self-delusions.

You truly are alone.

"That's not a star, that's a satellite.."

A friend posted this video earlier today.

Following the advice of the video, I decided to spend the afternoon painting.

On my way to class tonight, I found myself smiling for no reason. Perplexed, I checked inward for some clue, and was surprised to find that the burning anger which I have felt nonstop for the last 4 days was gone. 

Well f$&@.

I guess there's something to it. That could cause problems with my future career plans.

Taking down the photographs one by one, mementos of all that I've lost.. all that was once warm and safe, now cold.

My eyes turned away from the angry sun retreating towards the horizon. A steady, hot breeze swept my hair across my face. Still somewhat unsettled, I cast my gaze around this place which just minutes before had been only a fragment of a distant memory, a memory I chased for nearly 10 years and across a thousand miles. And yet I had found not a whisper of what I had hoped to find.

But what exactly had I hoped for? Meaning? Reassurance? Some kind of connection to all that which I've lost? 

Like so many hopeful treasure hunters before me who had stood before those same mountains, I searched and found nothing. 

And yet, while I feel a crushing weight in my heart, it comes not from the disappointment of walking away from these mountains empty-handed; rather, I instead mourn the coming of the end of my quest. The idea of imagined gold at the end of the rainbow is a far more alluring prospect knowing that the end of the rainbow will never be found. I reached the end of my rainbow, and upon discovering nothing, I regretted for a moment ever undertaking this quest; for the idea of the gold gave me hope, and hope gave me a reason for living. But that regret faded quickly. The pursuit of my imagined treasure led me to a wealth of other riches along the way. And even though this quest ends unsuccessful, I certainly do not walk away empty-handed. 

The Arizona Saga has ended. My eyes turn again to the sun on the horizon, eager for the next chapter in this adventure.

Even the light of the brightest star fades from sight in the approaching dawn; so, too this must end. Goodbye my friend.

Few things make my little heart flutter more than the prospect of dessert.