The Path of Least Resistance

Dear owls,

Wasn't it scary? To stand in front of the world and sing? I understand now why people look up to confident people. They portray a part of them without fear of consequences. 

What happened to my voice? How did it get silenced? What happened to my courage? When I roared, who roared back louder and scared me off? Slowly, I bring my roar back, and I begin to tell my story better and stronger. 

When did I start writing emails better than I could write to the world about things that matter? So I stood in front of the mirror and asked myself, "what pisses you off, what makes you angry?" - it's the things that make us angry that matter the most to us. When you're angry, it's a good time to look at the topic that's causing you rage. Anger tells you what you care about.

I want to be famous, for all the right reasons. To make a difference in someone's life. But, as Jay Shetty says, "Purpose is for others, passion is for you," - so before making a difference in someone else's life, I'd like to find my tribe. I'd like to feel silly again. To speak my truth without fear. To feel invincible, as I once did before my story got lost in translation.

So, owls, I come back here to say, "thank you for being the only constant" - I've been journaling secretly because some things I don't want public, but for the most part of my life, it has been a pleasure to come back to this little writing home that I've created.

Yours with a surge of change,

Me.

Dear owls, a comeback.

 When I get too afraid to write...

I remind myself that it's normal. As Lady Gaga once said, "writing music is like open heart surgery", you really need to get in there to get the art out. And that's exactly how it feels when I'm writing poetry or just putting pen to paper. It's terrifying. It's a lot because you never know who will pick up your book, read your blog, skim into your words, and never know what they think.

My last blog post was 2 years ago. It's not because I haven't written. All my pieces are in 'drafts,' beautiful, well-written, lovable pieces. But, I made the decision for the readers to hide it. I decided to wrap all those unsaid words up and hide them away to gather dust. Letters to my future daughter, updates about life, and my feelings during the pandemic. I had so much to say, but I silenced myself because I feared saying the wrong thing.

When we're younger, we care less about the outcome of our actions, which is great when you're having a good time. Now, we're older, and we calculate very well the outcome - or so we think. Perhaps we over-calculate and under-explore.

Fellow reader, your eyes read like laser beams into the scream, and I am looking right back at you through my words. You may think this journey on my blog is solitary, quiet, and calm... but it is I. Here. Breathing. These stands of sentences are my veins; they swim in the internet, study the surface of your screen, and dance around with each word you read. This blog is not dead. This blog is alive. This page has always been my baby, heart, and brain all in one.

For when I pass away, a hundred years from today, my words are all I'll have left behind.

Love always with tea between my palms and a keyboard between us,

Me.