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.
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I have to be honest. I don’t feel like I have much to say right now.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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I probably wouldn’t be the best person to tour a rocket ship, because I might accidentally launch us into space.
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When I am faced with something I have never done before, I almost always hesitate.
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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.
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