Here’s to reading my writer description and noting it’s from this time last year. Really it is quite an accomplishment, seeing where I’ve come from.
Self growth can be quite extraordinary and terribly revealing.
At least, for the moment, I’m seeing progress. I see steps forward. There is backward reflection, as there always must be, but every step is in the forward direction. Arrows pointing towards the unknown and expectation.
It’s scary realizing you have an appetite.
I may be only realizing now that it’s February of 2013 but I’ve come so far and the months have felt like years. The confusion is understandable and pleasurable.
Here’s to enjoying the future, reflecting the past, and continuously finding our Blogs to be time capsule images of a moment. Because as moments go…I’d rather continue to actively live them then to always stop and write about them.
My Uncle said to me that once he stopped looking for love he then found it. Or more like it came upon him. Suddenly then, it was natural and unwavering.
This thought interests me. Originally, I hadn’t felt that I sought out love. It didn’t seem forced. Gradually, however, under further examination, it appeared my history was a little less than. Less than natural, less than healthy and just less than.
What feels like breath and a cool breeze is where I’m at now. It’s not difficult. It comes without thought. The natural flow to it all is surprising. In a way it can be scary and overwhelming.
Even so soon the fear of losing such a feeling can be…almost self destructive. In the same breath I can say it feels it will never end. The fear I keep hidden away, realizing most irrational thoughts now are brought on by my past and the insecurities that have now been engrained.
I’m running as far away as I can from anywhere. All directions. Seeing all points falling into the distance, I still run. There’s too much in the air that’s left. Too much resonating. I feel the vibrations in my skin. I know I’m still too close. Still to near what it was I was running from. I can’t stop. I must continue to move forward. Forgetting careful steps. Forgetting paths. Forgetting direction. Just away.
I like to hide.
Finding a safe place that’s just my own. I can be myself here. The vulnerable self.
Like a Turtle, I have to gather strength for the day. The morning ritual. Alarm. Let dog out. Take shower. Coffee. Breakfast. Day.
Counting down till the moments when the day is real again. Inside my cave the time doesn’t matter. It’s “real life” that takes the hours.
Forceful vulnerability is one of the most cruel and unusual punishments.