Things are changing.

I observe a world where the only thing we can guarantee is nothing will be the same. I think I enjoy this chaos nature.

It wasn’t something I always embraced. I still observe my tendency to control. That last bit of effort to make things feel as if they’ll be better once I decide how it should be.

I’m realizing I miss out a lot on life when I do this. Protecting myself from the pain or struggles gets exhausting. Ironically, I realize it would have been easier to show up for the lesson and take the bruises.

The ego creates an interesting barrier for us.

Resistance. It comes in many shapes and sizes.

I had not been writing the stories I wanted to tell for a while. I want to finish the pages I have written about adventures in Colombia. Yet, those aren’t the stories that are coming to me. I know they’ll be good when they’re done, but why rush an important message.

Currently I am reminded of things from years back, buried deep. Things I thought I’d completely forgotten about.

Writing is a lot like listening. You don’t really get to choose the content your working with. At least not for me. It comes to you, ready or not. Over time you learn to work best with what you have. Art develops. And if your patient, you finally make sense of yourself along with those you desire to interact with.