My story, both for the good and the bad, could have easily been represented in those rocks. My story has been weathered, damaged, chipped away by one event after another, never fully broken, still standing. My life, like those Magic Mountain rocks, were once dark and grey, colorless. They were just rocks in an isolated desert, serving no purpose, but today, like my life, those rocks, they serve a distinctively fun, meaningful, colorful purpose to exist. Seemingly overnight, an object that most would never believe could change its existence, did. These rocks, like my life, now has color, filled with a meaning to be shared with others. This story, my story, closed one chapter on April 16th, 2014 when I had my last drink, a chapter filled with darkness, and life being lived without meaning, a story that is now being re-written by a new author, the Sober Voyager.