I write to clarify my thinking, to finish saying what I started yesterday, and to quiet the chatter. I write to create windows through which the ideas tumbling around inside my head can escape, where they might (hopefully gently) bump into yours, and be enriched.
I used to be a pleaser; now I simply need to speak my truth.
I feel an array of strong emotions around much that is truth, and even stronger ones around obfuscation.
I dislike middle age, but am still stubbornly chasing, and mostly finding, joy.