I used to be good at this. At writing. At collecting my thoughts and putting them somewhere. And I feel like I don’t even have thoughts anymore. I keep trying to be the person I used to be, but maybe it’s time to realize that I’m not.
I never became the person that I thought I would be. But maybe I like the person that I am even better. Even though I’m secluded. Even though I never go to church because I haven’t found one that I belong at. Even though I sometimes drink too much. Even though I don’t write enough and I almost never touch my guitar. I like cuddling my dog. I like eating dinner with my boyfriend. I like adventures, and most of my bad decisions aren’t bad at all.
I know that I’m probably always going to wish I had done life differently. So maybe 2018 is going to be a year of acceptance. Accepting that I am who I am because of the choices I made. I am who I am because of who I love and who loves me. I am who I am because I was created this way.
I’m going to try to take more time for myself this year. I’m going to try to work on things when they’re still stirring. I’m going to try going back to school and getting my masters in something that I actually care about, and maybe giving myself a new focus.
I’ll try not to disappear as much or for as long.
But I’m going to stop trying so hard. I want to be more than content. I want to be more than happy.
So here’s to 2018 I guess.
I hope my neighbors aren’t as loud this year.