please speak well of me.

I feel like anything I write at this point will become a hinderance in some fashion. I don’t know. I get anxious sometimes that what I write is too lofty, too grammatically incorrect, too much from my own heart for anyone to understand.

And sometimes things overlap in my head. Mostly I get nervous that what I write will have no meaning at all. Maybe it doesn’t. Don’t get me wrong, I love writing. There are times when creativity gives me shivers. But I often think that what I have to offer is in no way unique, that I most likely wrote about the topic a month ago or others have already driven the point home or the words I choose are unintelligible and superfluous. (hmm.)

But. (you knew it was coming)

But the very fact that I have these thoughts, I feel, is a good thing. There are things in my life that I routinely question, and I love it. If I didn’t ask myself whether or not there was a point to my writing, would I ever know the answer? No.

“He who asks is a fool for five minutes. He who doesn’t ask is a fool forever.” Chinese Proverb.

I love and hate challenging the status quo. It has always made me uncomfortable to ask questions, but I need less comfort in my life.

I need less me in my life.

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