I am Sam. I was born and raised in the city of brotherly love (and sisterly affection), Philadelphia, or for the initiated: Philly. It’s the home of the cheesesteak, but I’ve never eaten one. It’s the home of the Flyers, but I’ve never been to one of their games. But I have walked the dark alleys of South Street on numerous Friday nights, watching the chaos that goes on down there, and sometimes participating in it. The first 21 years of my life were spent in that grand city, then I moved to Tennessee, but I’m getting ahead of myself.
I am Sam.
My life growing up was a sheltered one. My father was a traveling preacher, who also had a thriving prison ministry program (that I participated in myself when I got older). My mother was a Sabbath school teacher (think Sunday school, but for Seventh-Day Adventists). Living in the shadow of two parents like that was daunting for me and for my sister, Joy. I didn’t really comprehend how much that affected me until I became an adult and had a family of my own.
Knoxville, Tennessee was a wild experience. College town that it is, it couldn’t contain me. I struggled to reconcile my studies (at the University of Tennessee) with the fact that the university was the number one party school in the nation while I was there. I could totally tell. I somehow survived, however, even working on the school paper as a roving reporter/journalist. That was the beginning of my writing for an audience, which has obviously continued to this day.
Now I’m in upstate New York, which, when I tell people I live in New York, they get all starry-eyed until I explain that it’s far from the city, both geographically and emotionally. I am still a very spiritual person, even though I don’t go to church. I am a teacher who is not teaching at the moment. I am a father of two young girls who are incredibly amazing. I am the husband of a phenomenal woman I felt I wasn’t worthy of before, until I realized it’s not about that. It’s about the journey, together.
I keep a daily journal, or at least I used to keep a daily journal, but you know what happened. I got busy once, and I didn’t get a chance to write in it, and that led to me getting depressed that I missed a day, and so I missed a second. It began to snowball, and before I knew it, I hadn’t written in my “daily” journal in over three months. Do you think there was any going back then? No way. So here I am now, hoping that a different type of medium, these words typed on this screen, might make a difference. We’ll soon see. Welcome to my daily journal. I am Sam.
You can also email me at firstname.lastname@example.org.