i have been away from this space for quite some time.
it wasn't intentional at first.
but with each passing day, week, and then proceeding month(s), it felt harder and harder to be back here.
i am in a place of transition.
i've said that to a lot of people lately.
but i don't really feel that it aptly reflects my true state. a transition implies that you know where you are going, you have a direction you are headed, something you are working towards, you are moving from this to that.
Read Morewell, this is the middle.
the in-between and un-done.
i know you get uncomfortable here.
but it's necessary.
for you can't get to the end without going through a middle to get there
Read Morethe vessel of me— i often think of my body in this way.
as a container.
as something that is capable of holding and harboring and keeping but also having the ability to be empty and having things poured out of it.
namely thoughts, actions, emotions.
but i also just love the word vessel— as it’s another name for a ship.
Read Moreour priorities aren’t what we say they are, but rather what we do.
Read Morei ran.
and i ran and ran and ran.
the driving feeling that manifested physically beat inside me repeatedly until i acted on it.
i constantly wanted to run away.
runrunrunrunrunrunrun.
the feeling i had, which i interpreted as a need, was constant.
and yet even when i acted on it, even when i did run in some form or another, arriving never eased the command.
it didn’t let up.
“you still need to run” something inside of me would say.
“you have to escape”
“you don’t belong here”
wandering flushes a glory that fades with arrival.
Read Morethe history carried within things is much more evident within their imperfections.
of objects. of ourselves.
by which i mean:
it is by the worn deck of a boat that you can gauge how many storms it’s weathered.
the lines by a woman’s eyes that tell of how many times she’s smiled because she’s chosen to see the good in life vs. the bad.
the calluses on a mans hands that showcase how hard he’s worked at his craft.
Read Morethe dirt of our hurt.
it’s a phrase that’s been running across the mainframe of my brain on repeat ever since it came to me a week or so ago.
i’ve been sitting with it, knowing i have something i need to process and write involving the ideas around it, but i've been running away from doing so.
distracting myself. thinking of other things. or not thinking at all.
Read Moreevolving is a balancing act.
to both hold contentment (without being stagnant and stale) in one hand and a desire to grow and experience new-ness (without being restless and unappreciative of where you are) in the other is hard for me.
Read Morei wrote today.
properly sat down and wrote.
sheepskin in lap, strong black coffee in reach.
long rushing, flowing paragraphs of tangled, jumbled vine-y thoughts, which became a little less entwined once translated into little orderly black characters of text.
and how good it felt.
i write on my phone a lot.
in my notes. in instagram captions. in far-reaching-grasping texts to loved ones.
however there is a lack of freedom sometimes in those outlets.
Read Morei am learning to love things without being them.
-- an entry from my writings in november 2016
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