{ warning: this is probably going to be hard to follow and a tad scattered. here’s my apology in advance. *shrug* sorry. }
people have always sat across from me and told me that I was incredibly focused for my age. they told me that I was mature, thoughtful, and really knew where I was headed. then they paused, thoughtfully, and reminded me that it’s rare for a young person to have such a strong head on their shoulders.
the truth? I feel like I’m losing that. I’m aimless, wandering, and very unremarkable nowadays.
I just don’t know, anymore. about anything. I’m no longer that gung-ho, I-can-do-anything youngster. I hate that adulthood has stripped that twinkle from my eye. in fact, I think it’s downright ridiculous, and (if I’m being ruthlessly honest) I feel a strong measure of shame about it. I know that shame will only continue to hinder me from doing great things. I know that, but can’t make my heart understand it nor shrug out from under its crazy heavy mantle.
so no, I don’t know where I’m going, and I don’t know where I’ll end up. it doesn’t frighten me as much as it gives me sorrow somewhere deep inside of me. I’ve begun wishing I could unsay things, so that maybe people wouldn’t have such high expectations, and maybe I wouldn’t have to be so disappointed in myself when I don’t meet them.
the idea of becoming americanized, of becoming a pretty housewife with pretty children, of working in an average job surrounded by average people.. that terrifies me. it makes my bones tremor, the idea that I’ll have talked a big game and done nothing for God. that when I stand in front of him he might say..
“so, because you are lukewarm, and neither hot nor cold, I will spit you out of my mouth,”
or
I struggle, plain and simple. and some days I feel like I’ve got no idea what’s going on.
{ post script: I realize that I probably seem bipolar from one post to the next. I’m not, I promise. I’m just contemplative. take it or leave it. }


Another great product from Cincopa 
my notebook is precious to me. it goes everywhere, and it’s seen everything. it saves me from writer’s block and saying things I’d later regret. it’s my safe haven, and is never critical. it doesn’t care if my poetry sucks, my prose is misspelled, or how hard I scribble on the page. it doesn’t mind my indecision, my crises of faith, or my whole-hearted, half-minded proclamations of love. it’s probably a tad unnatural, how I need to have it near me always, but if I’m being honest, I don’t actually care. my favorite brand? 
