When I was younger, I wanted to be a dog when I grew up.

The breed wasn’t important; I just wanted to be man’s best friend. And I was committed. I would get down on all fours and follow my dog around the house. I would sleep in his bed. I would even, to my mother’s embarrassment, bark at the mailman. As I grew older and realized my transformation into a dog was very unlikely, I stood up on two feet and kissed my wish goodbye.I often wondered why I so desperately wanted to live the canine life.I realized it wasn’t about being cute or getting taken care of. I wanted to be a dog because I admired the essence of one. 

I still want to live life like a dog.

I want that curiosity about everything around me and I want to find that sheer joy of chasing a bouncing ball.

I want to love life.

I want to work hard.

I want to spread joy.

As farfetched as it sounds, I do this through my writing. I feel alive when I write. I give off this light-a radiant energy-when I write. I have a passion, an eagerness to write and to learn, as well as a unique perspective.

Through my writing I want to remind people of what is important in life. I want to take my readers on long runs and show them ways to chase dreams and discovery. 

I want to be a dog when I grow up.