I used to think all the time.
In coffeehouses, crammed in a corner with my notebook and pen. Positioned in front of a window with a perfect view of a garbage can glistening in the snow. On the bus, when public transportation was my main form of socialization. On the long, dark blocks to my grandparent’s house.
But now when I’m alone with my thoughts, I don’t write. Because I can’t help shake off the feeling that I should be doing something else. Something more productive with my time. And even writing this post is making me feel uneasy.
I’m not sure how it is that I’ve become scared of something I used to do all the time. How the thoughts I used to explore have been left untouched, trapped in my mind like a lint filter clogged with cotton. How my once overly- reflective self is sitting here struggling to put these feelings into words.
I guess I’m scared because, for the first time in a while, things are going well. I don’t mean to say that things in my life have never been good but I used to feel this lingering uncertainty about myself and where I stood in relation to others.
But I’ve come a long way.
And I’ve managed to make a second home for myself and learned to welcome familiarity. .
And even though I don’t spend all my time in coffeehouses, I still have the same curiosity that brought me out here to Wisconsin. And made me start this blog in the first place.
I look forward to exploring those thoughts again.