Am I really here?

Well, what can one say that hasn't been said once a year for 8 years? I keep coming back to this blog towards the end of a calendar year, promising to be more consistent with my posting, and then never follow through. I wouldn't say my life was not worth chronicling. Truth is, I have (when I have time) a pretty adventurous existence. My summers especially, are filled with exotic locales, beautiful wild trout, Bald Eagles soaring above me, and the camaraderie of my culinary peers and apprentices. Here at home, work has been as rewarding as it has been challenging.

I think one of the problems with me being consistent with writing is, I am looking for something. Something to be excited about, something worth chronicling.  My health (physical, spiritual, relational) is not well.  I am heavier than I have ever been in my life, I am struggling with the fact that I have lived probably 2/3 of my life to this point, the cynicism inherent with the utter lack of spiritual pursuit, crushes me to my core. I'm not suicidal or mad. I am deflated. I am struggling to take the first step towards happiness. From what I understand, I am hardly alone in this predicament. This last paragraph is why I don't blog. I fear that it could turn into a documentation of the sputtering, lurching, blasé life of the Reluctant Midwesterner. Fuck me..........