It makes me sad because even though I initially dreaded the thought of writing something for any and everyone to read, I have come to enjoy it.

I have to be honest. I don’t feel like I have much to say right now.

I love everything about journals. I love to shop for them. I love to write in them. I love to fill them. I love to look back in them.

Over the last couple of years, I’ve had ideas pop into my head that I thought would make a great story. So I’d write them down and tell myself I would work on it later. Only problem is that I almost never went back to those ideas.

The desire to write came, but I never thought it was a possibility because I had zero experience. I never wrote for school, other than research papers. I never wrote for a school paper. I never wrote little stories for fun at home. Nothing.

I have always lived my life thinking that life was all about finding that one career that you could see yourself retiring from and sticking with it.

However, one thing I’ve noticed in these three weeks is that the longer I go without doing something I like doing, the easier it is to make excuses not to do it.

I probably wouldn’t be the best person to tour a rocket ship, because I might accidentally launch us into space.

When I am faced with something I have never done before, I almost always hesitate.

I’ve known for a while that I feel like God has called me to start writing, but I’ve allowed fear to hold me back.