Half the time I have no idea what's going on in my life. The ups and downs and the in betweens. They're hard to put my finger on and sometimes just when I've got them pinned down, they shift, change, and slip out of my grasp again like a bar of soap on the shower floor. I write about the same things over and over and over and yet I don't feel any more sure of my understanding of life and the events and experiences that encompass it than I was at the beginning of all of this. I still find myself most when I'm writing and less when I'm not. I still feel lost and confused and disappointed by myself every day while discovering the beautiful, amazing, and very human parts of me in those dissappointments which leave me feeling grateful after feeling discouraged. I'm so not where I want to be in so many ways and yet I so don't want to be anywhere but here right now - in the thick of it, trying to figure things out. Because this is the most rewarding pursuit of my life. I have a few things figured out and so many more truths to unearth before it's all said and done. And if it weren't for the epic failures of my life I would never have discovered the heart ache and pain I can see in others now that is a result of their epic failures. And without being able to recognize that hidden dispair and fear written in secret volumes of manuscripts on their faces and bodies, I would never want to know them or want to listen to the words they'll never say out loud but they are screaming in their heart of hearts. And if I didn't know them or listen to them, I would never ever get to where I want to be going.
Goodnight, dear void.
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