Nice to meet you, Stranger

I said something to myself the other day that I had never uttered to a soul: I want to be a writer. I had never even realized it myself. It tripped me up, as if by suddenly saying it aloud I created a physical idea in front of me. It appeared abruptly and unfamiliar; it loomed above me so surprisingly that I slammed right into it. In the cartoon version my legs and arms wrap around it, freezing in shock as my body slowly peels off of it and flops to the floor. The idea was undeterred by the impact it had on me. What I found the most irritating about the whole experience was as surprised as I was to meet this idea of mine, it was not at all impressed to meet me. It stared at me with eyes unblinking like it had been staring at me for years waiting for me to see it. How unnerving it was to slam into something that had been following me for years. It’s maddening to learn something about yourself after twenty-something years of believing you had it figured out. I have no clue what I am doing with my life but I like to think I have who I am pretty decided. And yet, the universe continues to laugh at me every day. Perhaps you can never really know who you are or what you truly want. Or perhaps you always know those things but your head and heart choose not to reveal them to you until you’re ready. So the new ultimate question is: am I ready? Am I ready to throw out everything I thought I had pinned down and start looking for something totally new? We are going to find out.


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