It may seem like I haven’t written anything for almost a year. At times I’ve almost let myself believe I’ve stopped writing altogether but then there’s the shower. Reliably as dreams, thoughts about my character creep up and pounce like overgrown kittens. Her relationships with friends, what she’s wearing, conversations she’d have with her mother. All of these random details crashing like waves. And no matter how desperately I try to finish lathering in time to examine these lines in the sand, thoughts about my actual life wash over the beach before I do it. Sometimes, it’s the only time I feel creative in an entire day.

Figuring out  you’re doing something wrong without having to be told is a good feeling. Unfortunately, organic knowledge takes way longer to cultivate. I can’t change the amount of time I spent trying to succeed at the wrong things but I’m eager to embrace my unique journey getting to the right things. I see with more clarity than ever before, an intentionally qualified statement. After battling myopia my entire life, I’m content to focus on what’s in front of me. No more scanning the horizon for things I haven’t done or places I haven’t seen. For the next decade or so at least.

I like my job. I like my home. I love my dog. Despite being unlikeable to just about everyone I meet, I’m at ease with my existence. If I make you uncomfortable, just remember I’m the all kinds it takes.