On Losing My Way and The People

It has been a long time since I have written just for myself. There was a time when I wrote far more often and with far more ease about how I was feeling. I would upload and share without hesitation, laying my thoughts bare to whoever deigned to read them. This hesitation in writing is new and unfamiliar to me, but I cannot deny it has been growing in me for some time now.
It’s been a complex time for me in many ways personally since I stopped writing, but I feel that the storm clouds on the horizon are beginning to clear. I am not ready to write about it yet, I realized as this piece took on many false starts and was abandoned several times. I felt whenever I wrote personal missives, I was honest and I couldn't (yet perhaps) write about my struggles this last year and be honest. So I decided not to.

I did recognize that as I navigate out of this storm, I am filled with one overwhelming emotion, that of gratitude. I am filled to the brim with gratitude for the things that were revealed to me as I lay awake at night feeling helpless, lost and afraid. Perhaps the biggest of all these revelations were the strength of the relationships I have been incredibly blessed beyond anything else to have in my life and continue to be one of my biggest driving forces. So I decided I would fulfill the overwhelming need to write again by writing about that.

I won’t name them, and I don’t need to, they will know who they are. Even if they don’t – I know who they are and I hope that at some point I have been able to tell them just how much I value their presence in my life. True, good, strong relationships for me don’t depend on the time you have known one another, the number of pictures you have online, or even the number of times you speak. They have always lain in something un-quantifiable and undefinable – but like love you know it when you find it. They have lain in silent Sunday’s spent with hardly ten sentences being exchanged watching TV, in tight hugs when we see each other, in long conversations over meals that happen once every 5 months (at best), in answering calls at 2am just to hear me sobbing and then listen to me fall asleep. They have come to me in the form of colleagues turned friends and even family, in life partners, in family who become friends, in unexpected introductions and meetings that lead to the discovery of a shared soul. They have listened to me, worked with me, scolded me, analyzed me harshly, forced me to be better, work harder, try again. They have known when I just needed to cry and when I am wallowing in self-pity. They have never been anything but honest. I have known them for years, months, days and hours. Above they have shown me in so many forms the most amazing love.

It feels good to be able to write like this again, not caring why or for what purpose. Not caring who will read and what they will think. I write – as I began to and always will – for me. I write because it’s who I am. I share because I want to. That is all the reason I will ever need. Not everything has to have a point


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