I like pushing the button that says Write on the home page of my blog. It feels incredibly productive, just pushing that button. It feels like I am starting something new, opening up to a new page in my life. Beginning.
I’ve always dreamed of being a girl with her life together. Of having routines and a cozy bedroom with perfectly matched decor. But I’ve dreamed of a lot of things. I’ve dreamed of traveling, I’ve dreamed of writing books, I’ve dreamed of love and about a dozen different day to day lives of adventure or quiet coziness as my mood demanded. I’ve dreamed absolutely ridiculous things, and I’ve wanted to achieve so much. Sometimes I wonder if its the sheer amount of dreams I have that holds me back.
After all, the success stories you always hear are of the people who had one dream, one burning coal of a desire inside of them, that they never let rest until they were basking in the glory of success. But I feel like I always have a mixed up, fickle potpourri of dreams all scrambled together and not making much sense in context. Sometimes this can result in a strange feeling of discontent.
I think I’ll start working on my book again tomorrow. There is a persistent voice inside that keeps telling me I have something to offer the world, so maybe I should listen to it.