I’ve always loved to write. Putting pen to paper is natural to me. I swayed from it longer than I care to admit, but I’m s.l.o.w.l.y finding my way back.
I don’t know where this is going. I don’t have a plan. I can’t see the bigger picture. And quite honestly, that scares me.
I don’t know if I need a plan.
I don’t know if I should share all of it on here.. or Facebook or Instagram.. or just keep it to myself.
I just feel things stirring. Old wounds. Old ways of thinking getting shaken up.
Layers and layers of myself unraveling onto pages in my notebook. It’s not nice and neat. It’s not structured or orderly. It’s raw. It’s a work in progress.
It’s thoughts that are practically jumping out of my head onto the paper before me. I don’t know where this is going, but I’m exciting to ride the wave and see.
I’m intrigued.
I’m feeling the calling. The pull. And I’m showing up to answer it.
