The rain beats down hard and heavy against the living room window. We expected it two days ago, two days that were instead spent chasing down the best frozen yogurt, walking along the boardwalk, and drinking beer on patios. It’s welcome now, in the stillness of a day intended for cleaning the house and sorting out paperwork. I have flights to book. I have appointments to make. I’d wanted to pick some wildflowers, too, but that will have to wait. The sky is already lightening.
I have 52 archived posts. Drafts started and stopped, half-finished – or mostly done, mouse frozen on the “publish” button. For whatever reason, I can’t seem to finish writing anything these days, let alone send something off into the interweb. I’m not certain that I can do justice to the thoughts in my mind anymore, perhaps, or maybe it’s that I doubt that I have anything of consequence to say or to contribute. With every year that passes, I feel younger than ever; more aware of the ideas others have, more aware of the limited impact I can have, more in touch with the tearing sensation within me – this desire to try, anyways.
I want to make a difference, however small. I want to change minds, I want to have conversations, I want to learn. I want to go places, alone, with others. I want to have my mind opened further. I want to say something, to write something – I’m just not sure exactly how I want to do these things, yet.