In defense of Creativity.

Where do I begin?

Honestly, I feel so full of purpose in this moment that I feel silly wasting time on devising an enticing introduction to this post. For that transgression, I hope you will forgive me.

Yodic pleas aside, I do want to express my hope that you will read this post with an open mind. I feel so powerfully that this message is an important one that I am taking on the responsibility- and vulnerability- of sharing it in my own words.

The words you are about to read have been immediately translated onto this blog from my “Morning Pages” journal. In fact, the ink on the pages is barely dried. Although these journals are intended to be personal, I’ve become a person that is all about proving to myself that things are how you choose them to be, and I am choosing to share this transcribed part of my soul with you all, because I feel in my soul that it is worth it.

These words were not intended to be shared or shown, and as such, they might not flow like a typical blog post. In the spirit of honoring the stream of consciousness process, I have chosen to leave the entry essentially in tact, which may mean that there are some grammatical errors or run-on thoughts. However, I think the authenticity of that rawness lends itself to the message that ended up revealing itself through my pen and paper. They are completely unedited, uncensored, and unfiltered (although at times, I may add in a bracketed word or two for clarity’s sake]. They were channeled directly from my soul, literally without a singe conscious thought.

Quickly, before I begin, allow me to disclaim that I in no way, shape, or form intend to pass negative judgment upon any person or type of people. This journal entry was a personal process of disempowering internalized falsities and inauthentic schemas and ways of viewing the world that have limited me up until this point. I do hope that my intentions convey genuinely through my writing, but if not, I do encourage you to start a conversation with me about anything you might find challenging.

With all that in mind, it is with the utmost humanity that I humbly invite you to take a step inside of my mind. I do hope that you are able to connect with this  post on some level or grow from it in some way. After all, amazing things happen when we open our minds to the vast expanse of perspectives!

 

Pages.

4th September, 2018.

3:24 pm.

 

Today had a bit of a challenging start, but I tried a couple of new strategies. Firstly, I paid attention. I listened to what I’m feeling. I also noticed that I felt really uncomfortable and foreign in that negative state, and I wanted to get through it. Notice how I used the word “through.” I wanted to process it, let it go, and move on from it. I had no intention of simply ignoring it or trying to push it down. I also wanted to let go of it, which I feel like is huge progress for me. I never wanted to admit it to myself, but I definitely used to cling to my anger and annoyance. I don’t think I wanted to feel upset, as some people suggest. Looking back on it now, it feels more like fear to me. Fear that whatever pain was hidden beneath the anger would surface and I’d be out of control.

I also think I didn’t really understand that feeling better- like for real, was even a possibility. It’s so crazy to realize how long I went not truly knowing how positivity felt. I think I almost felt a disdain for positivity and positive people. I judged them to be out of touch with reality, or permanently altered by drug abuse. I always associated that with stoner/hippie type people, which I associated with low ambition, [low] success, [low] intelligence, and instability. But honestly, I don’t think any of those associations belonged to me. I can’t locate any personal feeling, memory, or experience that supports the belief that happiness and positivity [are] equated with aloofness, no ambition, or [no] intelligence.

How can I be surprised that it took me so long to access this feeling with beliefs like that? Everyone has always told me how intelligent I was and am. I also know in myself that I’m intelligent. In my schema, intelligence equated with pessimism (or “realism,” as I called it), boredom with life, and being bound by rules. Intelligent people get things done, never take risks, and never raise eyebrows. In my mind universe, the creative people were the positive ones. And I did not honestly think of myself as creative until very recently.

I don’t ever remember thinking of myself as creative, except for maybe when I was writing, or even feeling creative for that matter. And I don’t ever remember being told by anyone that I was creative. All of my praise was centered on how smart I [was] and how I [did] great work. So, naturally, that’s how I learned to define myself, negative associations and all. I even went so far as to devalue creativity. I associated it with positivity, which in my schema of course meant no ambition or intelligence. Of course! How could I see my creativity when, by my own definition and inauthentic learned self concept, I was literally the opposite of creative?

It all makes so much sense now. Creativity, for me, was limited to the fine arts. I had no concept of what it would be like to integrate creativity into my education, my career, and everyday life. I am SO thankful that I’ve been able to release that. I genuinely feel like I’ve been set free, like I have limitless possibilities, because I honestly do. Through creativity, I genuinely have unlimited options at any given moment. That is the most empowering feeling in the world.

I’m just now realizing how deeply disempowered I have been. I think that on a fundamental level, I’ve always known my true potential, but I was disconnected from the true belief that I could actually do something with it. I believed (and still believe) in everyone else’s ability to accomplish anything, but I didn’t truly believe that it applied to me as well.

I wonder why? Maybe because my dreams seem so completely unrealistic and out of reach, because of my [perceived] lack of experience/connections/money/talent/beauty/uniqueness/etc.. And you know what brings all of that to light? Creativity, and a willingness to be vulnerable. And actually, I don’t think you can have one without the other. I know I have always had them within me, but I never took the time to listen, because I limited myself with the believe that “that’s not who I was.” Now, I can’t imagine being anything else, because my creative self is my true self. And the best part is, this creative lifestyle is full of color, whereas before, everything was very black and white. That’s a nice metaphor, isn’t it?

I am no longer limited to the belief that I have to be either creative or intelligent, ambitious or positive and full of joy. I’ve spent so long learning about limiting beliefs, and I never took the time to listen to my own. And you know what? I forgive myself for that. This journey has been exactly what it was meant to be and I am so grateful for it, because I know now that I truly can do anything. Seriously, I am living proof that things you think are impossible are only impossible because you believe them to be so. If we’re always occupied with being “right,” with being “certain,” we will spend all of our time and energy thinking of and defending all of the reasons why something can’t happen, [and] we ignore the only question that really matters for growth, change, and innovation- “How CAN we make this work?”

There are so many more possibilities with that approach, and honestly, it seems much more fun to me to approach things that way. I think that one of the reasons that people might resist that mindset is that people are so insecure in their egos that being correct becomes more important than progress and growth. I also think that people don’t want the responsibility of creative thinking. Being creative and finding solutions means that you then have the responsibility to actualize and materialize [those solutions], and although that might seem like a heavy burden, I think that it’s actually incredibly empowering.

By going through the creative process, we force ourselves to acknowledge what we can do with what we have available to us in the moment. Sure, it disempowers the excuses we invent to keep ourselves stuck and dormant-  and we are certainly creative in that pursuit- and that can be frightening for sure, because once the excuses are gone, we are forced to face the real reasons [why] we are afraid to grow, which is absolutely terrifying at times, at least at first.

All that being said, my experience has been that unchanging my creativity has allowed me to rediscover my hope and power by allowing me to see options that I was blind to before- those options were always there of course, they just weren’t accessible to my conscious awareness while I was stuck in my fear. It really makes me wonder what would happen in the world if people learned- no, decided – to value creativity over control, to persevere with finding solutions to challenges instead of basing our own self worth on being correct and having the most factual knowledge. Isn’t our knowledge only as good as our current and limited capacities to measure [and define] the universe?

Maybe if people spent more time asking how to make the invisible visible, instead of condemning the invisible to stay where it is, this world would be a lighter place. I wonder what we would see if we only chose to look.

 

3:57 pm.

 

 

Well, there you have it. A little piece of my mind on your screen. Although I am utterly filled to the brim with additional thoughts on the subject, I feel that this message is best left to simmer in its authenticity, to be perceived however it is meant to by those who read it. At least for now…*wink*

I hope that these words were able to provoke your thought process a little bit, because after all, disruption of thought is the catalyst for change! And yes, you can quote me on that!

If you connected with this post at all, please leave a comment and share it with a friend who you think might be impacted by it as well. And as always, stay tuned, because there is much more to come, sooner than you might think.

Until next time, stay creative, my friends.

 

PS- I just posted my latest video on my YouTube channel- check out the link in my “about” page!

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On letting go: an open letter to my childhood best friend.

This is not a letter I want to write.

This is definitely not a letter that I want to publish.

However, since I’ve committed to sharing my story since receiving my diagnosis, I’d feel wrong keeping this key element hidden. Who knows how long this will stay public, but I at least have to know that I tried.

The emotions and memories that arise within me as I spell out these words are things that I do not want to experience, now or ever.

But I have to get it out, for my sake, and for the sake of everyone who deserves my love and undying trust. I have to release this. I have to let go.

You told me once that I was a chapter of your life that you did not want to go back to- words that cut so deep into me that I will never, ever forget them. The unfortunate thing is, you are a chapter of my life that I simply can’t seem to move on from.

Even after so many years, after so many other things that objectively may seem much worse than this have happened to me, this piece of my past is the one thing that I still run from. That I still hate to face. That I still bury down in my most distant depths, far beyond any light or hope of reconciliation.

Maybe this seems too melodramatic. After all, you were not my lover. Not my abuser. Not anyone who should have had the power to hurt me this way. But that’s the trouble, isn’t it? If I truly blamed you, it wouldn’t hurt so bad. But I never have, and I never will. Nor should I. No, I blame myself. And that is something that is impossible to separate from.

Friendships are often fleeting. Some endure, but many fade and reach a natural end, so why can’t I let go?

The fact is, for the first ten years of my meaningful life, you were everything to me. You were the one who I grew up beside, the one who I admired above all else. You were the one who I laughed with, cried with, played with, fought with, grew with, and changed with. The one I adored, the one I held on a pedestal so far above everyone else that no one could even hope to come close.

I defined myself through my attachment to you. You were my other half. My stronger half. My better half. The one who inspired me and ignited me.

But above all that, you were my security. You were my constant. Through change, through death, through broken families, through distance, through time, it was always you and me. I depended on that. I cherished that. I clung to the fact that even if everyone else left me, even if everything else around me went up in flames, that you would always be there. That knowledge got me through things that should have rendered me despondent, and I held onto that safety so hard that I was completely blindsided when I finally learned that I was wrong.

I’ve spent over ten years now going over and over what happened, replaying it all in my mind from start to finish in a countless loop. Ten years wallowing in guilt and anger, sadness and despair. Ten years without seeing you, wishing that I could stop caring, just the way you have. Ten years hating myself for what I did.

But I have to let go now.

I have to forgive myself for what I know you saw as my betrayal. I have to forgive myself for the terror I felt and the way I let it take over me. I have to forgive myself for not being strong enough to face you with honesty before it was too late. I have to forgive myself for losing you, and for convincing myself that I am unworthy of anyone else each and every day since.

I just get so caught up in what could have been, what should have been. I get so lost when I wonder why, after everything we had been through, we weren’t strong enough to get past what happened. I torment myself wondering why you couldn’t just see that I never meant to hurt you, and that I was just a terrified young girl put in a position beyond her control or understanding. But how could you possibly see that? How could I ever have expected that of you? And what did I do to deserve that understanding in the first place? Probably nothing. And yet I think about it all the time anyways.

I’ve always told myself that one day things would change…that one day we would reunite and laugh off the foolishness of our past. I still dream about it far more often than I care to admit. But I need to release that dream. I need to relinquish that hope. Because the pain of it has tainted me and darkened me in ways that have caused me to never trust anyone again in the way I trusted you, and I can’t live like that. Not anymore.

I see glimpses of your life in what you choose to share with the world. I smile about your success, knowing that you have turned out to be everything I thought you’d be and so much more. So beautiful, so creative, so successful, so happy. It warms me, and I’m so grateful to witness it, even from a distance.

But it is always accompanied by the ache of missing you. The ache of wishing that I could wake up to a text from you, or jump on a plane to come see you, or look over at you standing beside me at my wedding the way I always imagined you would.

Maybe somewhere in this vast and growing universe, things did turn out that way for us. What I would give for a day in that life.

You’ll probably never read these words, and if you do, they probably won’t matter. But that’s not why I’m writing them. I’m writing them so that I can finally, for first time, get the words out. I have avoided this for a decade because, to me, to write something is to make it real, and I could not face this reality. But the time is long overdue to begin the healing process.

I hope that one day, I can see your name, or look at old photos of us, or think of our memories together without having to bite my tongue and swallow back tears. I hope that one day, the guilt will finally leave me, and I can at last know what it feels like to know peace. I hope that one day, I let myself trust another as steadfastly as I trusted you, and once again know what it’s like to have certainty that I am unconditionally loved. I hope you can forgive me for writing these words, if ever you see them. I hope you know that my anger has always only been towards myself. And most of all, I hope that you continue to follow your trajectory to becoming one of the most amazing, innovative, inspirational dreamgirls that this world has ever seen, and that one day, maybe you too can look back on a memory you shared with me and smile.

Wherever you are out there, know this- for whatever it’s worth, I am still here, and I always will be. Should a time ever come when you need someone, I will be here with my arms ever open. I wish you nothing but the best. Now and always.

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My thoughts on family.

Yesterday marked my first Thanksgiving away from home. I had anticipated that it would be a difficult day, but I have to say, I definitely underestimated the intensity of the emotions that surfaced as the day went on. Before the end of the evening, I found myself lost in a nearly inconsolable state of sadness. The loss I felt was tangible, so strong that I could feel it in the cold, foreign air that surrounded me; so strong that it crushed my lungs under its weight as I breathed it all in. I was surrounded by it, with nowhere to run, so I did the only thing I could do- I let myself feel it.

While immersed in my sorrow, the thought that took over my mind was simple: “I miss my family.” Now, when I say “family,” I don’t mean it in the conventional sense. I was of course desperately missing all of my relatives, but my family extends far beyond blood. As we go through life, we form bonds with others; bonds that- at times- end up being influenced and damaged due to the changing of circumstances. Our culture and societal norms dictate that when these bonds are damaged, they should be broken for good, left behind to fade into memories that maybe one day won’t hurt to think about anymore.

Well, I’m nothing if not stubborn, so I am fighting that expectation tooth and nail. I am holding on to and cherishing those bonds in whatever form they have taken now. Perhaps letting go is better for peace of mind, but to me it feels like a pointless and futile exercise. I will not surrender to circumstance, nor will I relinquish the love and adoration I have developed for all of the phenomenal individuals who have come into my life at one time or another. Society can dictate whatever it chooses, but I am here to defiantly ignore it.

I will admit that holding on to these feelings is painful, and at times, excruciating. Yesterday was one of those times. If it weren’t for the wise words of my loving other half, I would still be wallowing in grief; he told me that instead of focusing on the feelings of loss and emptiness, I should focus on the happiness that still lives in the memories I have and the bonds that have persisted. In the moment, all I could think about was how it is absolutely impossible to feel the happiness without also feeling the loss. While this may be true, I have meditated on his advice, and I’ve come to a conclusion; it is not about only feeling the happiness- both emotions have their place and purpose- but rather about empowering the happiness. I had given over the power to sadness wholly and completely until it took over my being. That was a choice. Perhaps even a necessary one. Now, however, I will choose to empower happiness, and the best way to do that (in my experience) is to throw myself into a state of overwhelming gratitude. And I want to share my gratitude with the world.

 

I am thankful for the family who raised me.

For the mother who has always put her children before anything and everything.

For the father who instilled in me the values that guide my actions.

For the parents who have loved and supported me beyond blood.

For the siblings who grew with me (or despite me).

For the cousins who have provided me with laughter beyond measure.

For the grandparents who have done far more for me than I could ever hope to repay, but of course never expect anything in return.

For the aunts and uncles who never forget my birthdays.

And, of course,

For all of my sweet pups who bring me limitless joy and resiliency.

 

I am thankful for the family who chose me. 

For the parents who embraced me, accepted me and loved me like their own.

For the mother who laughed with me, cried with me, counseled me, and cared for me far beyond the call of duty.

For the siblings and cousins who provided me with a friendship that I can never forget or replace.

For the aunts and uncles who have never cared about blood, who have taken me in, who have provided for me and guided me.

For the friends who have stayed with me despite distance, time, and hardship, who have gone above and beyond to support me and keep me going.

For the friends who have drifted away, but whom I will always love and cherish for the joy they brought to my life.

For the ones whom I have loved and will always love, the ones who have shared their families with me, the ones who have shared their lives with me, the ones who have shared their souls with me.

And, of course,

For the one who has chosen me above all else, the one who loves me in all of my entirety, the one who has filled my existence with wonder and meaning.

 

For all of you I am eternally and endlessly grateful. Without you, I would not be me. Please accept my sincerest gratitude for all you have done and continue to do for me. Your importance in my life is beyond description. It is not enough to simply say that I miss you, but you all know that I do.

 

I sincerely and humbly thank you for reading my words today. I wish you all the most amazing holiday weekend filled with joy and gratitude. Until next time, my friends. Or should I say, my family.

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A 25-year-old temper tantrum.

I suppose I should begin this post by saying that I had originally planned to write something completely different today. My original post will be making its debut in the near future, however, recent events and a serious dose of self reflection have guided me to choosing a new subject matter for today’s post.

Today I’d like to write about my greatest friend and my truest enemy, which happens to be the exact same beast: control.

I’ve been a grade-A control freak for as long as I can remember. Throughout my life, this need for absolute control has manifested in many ways. Some ways have been highly adaptive, such as my tendency to be extremely intrinsically motivated and disciplined. Other ways have been…not so pleasant…such as my tendency to be bossy or (obviously) controlling over everyone and everything. Still other ways have been both assets and deficits, depending on the context, such as my ability to manipulate words and situations as well as my tendency towards extreme perfectionism.

Although I have been both massively helped and hindered by this element of my personality, if I’m honest, I often find my compulsion to be utterly in control at all times completely and totally exhausting. Deep down I struggle and yearn for a break, but my behavioral and cognitive habits insist on clinging to the familiar, and, more often than I’d care to admit, I find myself rapidly spiraling into self-induced mental breakdowns. The thing is, the more control you crave, the less control you feel you have, and the less control you feel you have, the more control you crave. It’s a nasty, intoxicating cycle, and it’s a tricky one to pull yourself out of.

Within the last twenty-four hours, I have found myself yet again marching along that yellow-brick-road of torment, chased by some demonic version of the Lollipop Guild that taunts me as I descend into the control-craving hells of my psyche, singing merry little songs of anxiety and neuroticism. For the millionth time, I found myself rebelling and resisting against my circumstances, easily finding excuses to hate everything and everyone because, at the root of it all, I’m terrified that I have indeed lost all control over my life. Here’s a little PG rated snippet of my latest brush with madness:

“I hate it here. I’m stuck in this Godforsaken country where I can’t talk to anyone, I can’t go anywhere, and I can’t do anything. I have no access to the activities I enjoy, the foods I like to eat, my friends, my family, or my dog. Everything is inconvenient…shops close by 8:00 every single night and on Sundays they aren’t open at all. I can’t even receive my damn mail in this country because of their stupid import laws and refusal to work efficiently.”

I can assure you, it went on and on and my language was much more…graphic. My mother, the poor recipient of this outburst, responded by telling me hard truths, truths that I already knew to be true but didn’t want to admit. The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth is this: I am in the situation that I’m in because of choices that have made. I chose to move to this country (to be with my beloved, which I conveniently omitted from my ranting and raving). I have chosen to put learning the local language on the back burner, making communication with pretty much everyone more difficult. I have chosen to ignore the positives and the opportunities that living here in Germany has to offer, opting instead for harboring a festering sense of resentment, and justifying it by trying to convince myself and others that it’s all because I am a creature of habit, and because I have a serious health condition, and because anyone would be depressed without their dog/friends/family/favorite hobbies, and honestly, how dare Germany not have Target…

The harsh reality of my excuses is that, well, they’re excuses. And poor ones at that. They’re nothing but a big, steaming wad of woe-is-me-ism and BS. These nasty little lies are what I have been telling myself to help reconcile the cognitive dissonance I feel about living here. And, here’s the real kicker- It’s. Not. Working. Shocking, I know.

My mother, wise as ever, was quick to point out how much I embraced my lack of control during my many other stints in Europe. Of course, she was 100% right, but during our conversation all I could muster up as a response was “it’s different.” In a way, that is the truth…the situations are different. I am living here now, paying bills and living a relatively stationary existence, as opposed to gallivanting around the continent as fleeting and carefree as a feather in the wind. If I’m honest with myself, the amount things that I have control over have not decreased in the transition from being a traveler to being a resident of another country. Not by a long shot. However, the things I have control over have changed. And because- as I mentioned- I am a creature of habit, I am resisting this change with the kicking, screaming, vicious stubbornness of a cranky three-year-old.

After some serious checking-myself-before-wrecking-myself, I have come to the following conclusion: the amount of control one has at any given point in time or in any given situation all comes down to perception. If you perceive yourself as having no control, you will have none, whereas if you perceive yourself as the master of your own life, you will be. You know, that whole “cogito ergo sum” thing. I may not have the German language mastered, but I sure as hell have an excess of resources (not to mention real live Germans) to help me learn should I choose to do so. I may not have a car to drive, but I’ve got legs to walk and an apartment conveniently located mere blocks from the inner city should I feel restless. I may not have access to my favorite foods and activities and so on and so forth, but somewhere within me, I still possess the unrelenting sense of adventure that, if channeled, could guide me along the path to new and exciting alternatives, should I choose to open myself up to them.

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about the human tendency to feel entitled to express anger, resentment, and general bah-humbugness (fuel for a future post, you can be certain). In my case, at least, I have to face the cold hard truth: I have been playing the victim because I wanted to. I made conscious, real, adult decisions that have gotten me into my current situation, and I have no one to blame (or thank!) but myself. No one likes to hear it, but if we ever hope to grow, as individuals and as a species in general, sometimes we have to take a good hard look in the mirror and say “You’d better stop it RIGHT now. I mean it! I’m counting to three! One…two…..”

Most parents who use this trick don’t often get to “three,” because the fear of that “three” scares the pants off of most kids (myself included, even to this day. Seriously. You don’t want to see either of my parents if they get to “three.”). However, after my own stint in self-parenting last night, my “three” has finally come. It’s time to woman up and take control over my life again. No more excuses, no more pity parties, no more unfounded resentment. The reign of Queen Grump must come to an end (rejoice!).

I suppose this revelation will lead directly into another one relating to finding a healthy balance between self-control and adventurous freedom. But that, my dears, is a story for another day.

With the humblest and most sincere gratitude I thank you for reading my words, and I would absolutely love to hear your thoughts. Until next time, world!

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This is my first post; an introduction.

I’ve owned this website for a couple of months now. I have invested hours, dollars, and energy into its creation, determined to present the world with something both astounding and uniquely ME. I worked tirelessly on the aesthetic, on the brand, on the ideas that I want to bring to life…

for about a week.

After that one week of passion-fueled adrenaline and determination, the raging fire of my brainchild dimmed first to a faint flame, and over time to a low burning ember, threatening to extinguish eternally with each new gust of the winds of my self doubt. 

Some of you may ask why. Why would I let such passion dwindle like that? What got in the way? Well, to be quite plain, I got in the way. 

I have always been a person who dwells amongst extremes. If I do something, I do it all the way. I am either the best at what I do, or I don’t do it at all. As you might imagine, this mindset has prevented me from taking action on a great many thoughts and desires. Fear and self doubt have had such a crushing grip on my mind that, more often than not, I find myself in a state of paralysis; crippled in fear, frozen by the idea that what I will do or be or create will be inferior to someone, anyone, everyone. This aversion to being anything but the best has often held me back from being anything at all. 

So, what changed?

I’ve spent the last couple of months in a perpetual state of “preparing.” Much of my time is spent making lists- lists of things to study to project myself to the top of the proverbial blogging game; lists of resources for studying those things; lists of books and podcasts and websites and documentaries that will inspire self growth and call me to action; lists of necessary steps to take and when, of milestones to achieve and when, of goals to accomplish and when. My life has been an endless blur of lists and charts, diagrams and calendars, all written in colored pens in an attempt to trick myself into an optimistic and motivated mindset. And here is what I, the queen of over-planning, have learned from this experience:

Things do not ever go as planned. 

For me- the master of black and white living- making plans and failing to see them through to a “T” is a way of keeping myself from the really scary stuff- the “pouring-out-your-soul-for-the-world-and-hoping-someone-likes-it” stuff. I can plan day in and day out, but when all is said and done, I always end up telling myself that I need a few more days to plan, and that I’ll start Monday. 

Well, many Mondays have come and gone without action. So here I am, on a Thursday night at 12:54am, composing my very first blog post. This turn of events was precipitated by two things:

I have been growing impatient and anxious within myself. I have been quickly approaching that breaking point at which doing nothing hurts worse than doing something and failing at it. For the last few days I have been focusing on my negative thoughts, trying to restructure them and introduce some authentic optimism into my life. Today, in the holiest of temples for deep thought (the shower, obviously), I caught myself asking for some kind of sign. Who I was asking? I don’t know. God? The universe? Maybe I was just asking myself. Or maybe I was asking all three. It wasn’t a conscious thought at first, but as it manifested, I felt the emotional hold that it took within me. My fire wasn’t burning yet, but it so desperately wanted to, and it was anxiously awaiting something to ignite its dormant flames. 

My ignition came only a few hours later, in the form of a simple Facebook comment made by a friend whom I haven’t spoken with in quite some time. She told me that I should start a blog to chronicle the happenings of my life. “What a coincidence,” I thought, feeling a mixture of apprehension, anticipation, and excitement, “I already have a blog!” 

I guess a more accurate thought would have been, “I have a place where a blog should be.” I have a wordless blog.

Wait! I had a wordless blog!

So here they are. The first words of what may unfold to be the story of my life, my mind, my endeavors, my triumphs, and my failures. It may become something wonderful and powerful, something I’ll be proud to share with the world in my name. Or, it may not. What this blog will be, I do not know. All I know is that it is time to stop planning. It is time to start doing. I have so many words scratching behind my fingertips that my whole body trembles at night when I try to sleep. It is time those words found their home. 

For those of you who have read this far, I humbly thank and welcome you. I am so sincerely grateful for the time you have taken to witness this piece of my soul I’ve bared for you today. It isn’t much, but it is a start, and it is me. Authentically. 

Now, it is time. The adventure begins. 

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