This is quite a hard post to write.
The thing is, I've not always been like this. I've not always held back from rushing forward. I've always thought my way through things, but I've also not waited at the gate to be let in either. This self-awareness often catches me - especially when I find myself looking back over something I've written and grimace at the number of times I've used 'I' as an identifier. I can feel it now. I'm trying to resist the urge to backspace.
There is something to be said for distance. Not disinterest or detachment.
Distance.
The gathering up of your stuff and moving it to a different corner.
The garnering of perspective is something that you can't negotiate when you're deep down in a space that you're not sure you'd recognize if someone else told you what it looked like. I'm certainly caught up in moment of trying to align the time behind me with where I seem to have found myself.
Essentially, there seems to be an element of simplifying required. The removing of some layers. A starting over. That sort of thing.
So. Deep breath. Here's the deal (I'm running with the changes).
I'm newly single, trying to write a book and am going to be twenty-nine in seven months.
My writing is bookended by those two facts - my heart and the pace of my life. What will this space will end up as? I'm not sure but here's hoping I'm right on time.
