1/28/20

It's been over a month since I've written in this book.

I still need this.
This is my therapy.
My safe space.

But I don't know why I haven't been writing.

Or maybe I do . . .

I've been so caught up in all things that have to get done.

And in all the things I need to do.
And in all the things I want to do.
And in all the things I want to be.

It feels like I have no time.

Even though I need to write.
Even though I want to write.
Even though I want to be a writer.

And it doesn't make sense.
Or maybe it does . . .

I'm never willing to allow myself to do things that make me happy unless they're important.

But my happiness should be important.

So why do I deny myself it?

It's not like I don't have time.

I've been itching to write, but I can't find the words.

Maybe that's it.

I've been so focused on the things that are important, that I forgot about how important it is for me to think about the important things.

Everything I write about starts from a idea
A question.
A theory.
Maybe even a quest for self exploration?

And all of those are important
. . . for me.

So maybe that's it.

Maybe I don't think I'm important enough, to be important enough to spend time on.

Maybe it's that I don't like thinking this hard about myself right now
. . . and all of my writing is about learning things about myself.

Maybe it's a lot of things.

Maybe I'm a lot of things.

Maybe there's a lot of maybes.

And maybe I can be okay with all of those maybes
. . .  or I can learn to be.

Maybe can be something other than scary.
Maybe could be nice.

Maybe this will be good for me.
Hopefully I can learn to be okay with it.

Maybe I'll be okay.

———————
Author's Note:
I'm back. And it's a new year this time. Don't worry, I'm working on the writing more often thing, but zero guarantees about consistency. I'm learning to recognize that things from the heart can't be scheduled, so I can't force myself to set dates. Hope that's okay.

May it be soon,
Eliza Bright