I have anxiety over writing. Anxiety over my future. It’s irrational and I never seem to get used to the feeling but it resides in me and it’s real. I can, to a degree, rationalize the irrational; a weakness and strength. I never questioned things to get out here just went with the momentum of my own energy and intention. Staying away from the bad and moving toward the good. As simple as asking: what are the makings of a productive day?
I feel very human today, not unlike the usual, but more vulnerable and real. More in it. More settled. Amidst the transition toward a more human version of myself and my place here, I contend with the purpose and the energy I left behind as it catches up with me.