The subsistence mentality of a person is a prison in which his personal joy is detained. If you want to live in joy, you don't live for yourself alone. Live for others too!

Pay attention to the things that are critical to your happiness and the happiness of others.

A man is NOT weak if he cries. A man is NOT a punk if he cries. A man is NOT acting like a little b*tch if he cries. He__ a Man! And he__ allowed to have and show his true feelings without feeling less than. Ladies, some of you need to do better. Learn to be compassionate, loving, supportive, and understanding. There__ NOTHING wrong with a man being vulnerable. I encourage you to be his joy, peace, and his safe place. Lift him up and be mindful NOT to tear him down. If you truly care for and love your man, do and say everything with love. Let him know that it__ okay to cry and that he doesn__ have to pretend to be okay when he__ not. Real men DO cry! They experience sadness, disappointments, pain, and many other feelings. A man shouldn__ have to suppress his emotions. That__ pure nonsense! A man that can cry, smile, and let his guards down is a keeper in my book. I couldn__ imagine acting hard all of the time. That__ so unfair! Ladies, strive to be a Queen of substance. PEACE.

The first handkerchief was tied to a second, yellow handkerchief. He fed both through the window and kept pulling. Attached to it was a red one. Then a green one. __o away, you goddamn clown!_ Jenny ordered. But Benny the Clown continued to pull out handkerchief after handkerchief. Five_ten_fifteen_then_ That__ not a handkerchief.

I pass a construction site, abandoned for the night, and a few blocks later, the playground of the elementary school my son attended, the metal sliding board gleaming under a streetlamp and the swings stirring in the breeze. There's an energy to these autumn nights that touches something primal inside of me. Something from long ago. From my childhood in western Iowa. I think of high school football games and the stadium lights blazing down on the players. I smell ripening apples, and the sour reek of beer from keg parties in the cornfields. I feel the wind in my face as I ride in the bed of an old pickup truck down a country road at night, dust swirling in the taillights and the entire span of my life yawning out ahead o me. It's the beautiful thing about youth.There's a weightlessness that permeates everything because no damning choices have been made, no paths committed to, and the road forking out ahead is pure, unlimited potential. I love my life, but I haven't felt that lightness of being in ages. Autumn nights like this are as close as I get.

Make a plural hey while the singular sun is up there. Not just the hey, but the best hey. Excellence should be your priority!