When I go to write about something, whether it be a place, an adventure, experience, or what have you, it’s never about the sights I took in or logistical details, it’s the feeling. It’s where I find myself emotionally. It’s what comes up as I pack my bags—the resistance that’s felt. It’s, as I have said many times before, the moments that fall between the big.
The decisions made and not made. Thought through and hastily jumped into. The way I turn a blind eye when I comes to finances, telling myself before actually looking at the numbers, that I don’t have enough, which feels an awfully lot like, “I am not enough, nor will I ever be.”
How am I still applying pressure in all the wrong places?
And how is taking my own advice still impossibly difficult?Read More