I was going to finish that post, but I didn't, and now I don't want to, so I'll just leave it as it is.
I've discovered something. After all these years of writing, I've never been completely honest in what I record. It's like I'm writing to my sister or my mom, and even though I can tell them just about everything, it's not everything. But this past week I took a notebook and wrote really obscure things about myself and my thoughts, things that I don't talk about with others and before now haven't written about because I didn't want to explain myself, and I feared being judged or labeled as strange, even by the imaginary readers of my journal-writing. But I put those reservations aside, and let me tell you, it is liberating. Before, I was writing merely to make a record. Now I am writing to free myself. Honesty with others can be difficult. Honesty with myself, well, it can be excruciating. But I'm getting there. And even though the things I've decided to write about in this notebook of mine may be ultimately inconsequential, it has released a weight on my mind that I refused to acknowledge before, but now that is is lifted, I don't want it back.
I may not be a great writer, but something in me says I was born to be one.
I mean, look at this hair. It deserves some time in the limelight.
P.S. I ran across this quote on another blog a week or two ago. It's good, no?
"If we wait for the moment when everything, absolutely everything is ready, we shall never begin."