Sometimes I don’t even know where to begin.
There are either too many thoughts swirling inside my mind, or an absence of seemingly everything, save the echo of unattained wisdom.
I have ignored so much potential throughout my life. A vibrant and eager encourager of others, I am motivationally challenged in the course of my own existence. I possess little drive, minuscule forward action, stunted goal orientation, almost zero belief in my own capabilities.
How one can be so polarized in her supports is dizzying.
For I wholeheartedly and intricately believe in the purpose and predilection of others’ talents and strengths, yet the awareness of my own equates to my likelihood of grasping quantum mechanics.
I’m baffled by my quasi-superficial perspective, yet oftentimes do not know where to begin to rectify such behavior or how to extend my belief in the value of others into the framework of myself.
Distortion is a powerful alteration of discernment.
And the solution is neither an easy nor quick fix.
It is recalibrating instantaneous thought patterns.
Tuning dissonant contradictions between truth and masquerades.
It is submitting to the marathon agony of trying again and again, because setbacks will persist.
And sometimes, the tired is impassible.
Some days the weary is a riptide.
I speak to self. I beg her, listen:
Cling to possibility. The hope of coalescing freedom with feeling in entirety.
Ask and seek and knock and stay the course.
Walk and turn around and keep turning if it comes to that.
Lean. Feel the way in the dark. Practice the art of waiting as well as moving when the times are needed.
And beloved, write.
Force it out, starting, if you must.
Because you know, you have seen, once you begin, the ease returns like memories once believed lost.
It spills forth. Replenishing dry beds. Reintroducing streams to the wilderness.