The flow of my words can come out endlessly like a nonstop river. Other days I squeeze out a few droplets and those are the posts I keep in my drafts section, unfinished and set aside for when I’m ready to expand on those topics. I feel I write best during times I’m completely focused on what is it that I am writing without rushing myself to finish. I have had a few blog posts like that where typing everything up was easy-peasy and my confidence in my own words had no limits. Often I was excited to see what kind of response I would get in the comments section. Then there were my more “crazy” posts; the ones where I felt my own hysterics bleeding into the written words. It can be so challenging to write about a topic I’ve been wanting to explore more of, only to leave it untouched because I’m too busy feeling distracted by yet another mini-crisis in my personal life to actually write properly.
Lately in my mind I keep recalling events from past years in my life, which, at the time such and such happened, I remember how much I felt like I would never ever be able to live down the humiliation. In those memories, the embarrassment still feels as real as if the select events just took place yesterday, however, what’s clear to me now years afterward is that none of it matters anymore. I am glad that what seemed like my worst fears becoming cemented in my life then were only temporary inconveniences, except I didn’t know they were temporary. Right now it’s the same. My mind is aflutter with panic every day over small and big things. Things which I have placed on the chessboard for future moves, things I hesitate to put down out of worry it isn’t right, and things I know I can and should put down but constantly doubt myself on. Someday, I know what I am feeling in this exact moment will also be a distant, shelved memory too even though it doesn’t seem like it to the me of today.