In the Seeking

I already know I can’t search out, cobble together, what I need. It’s not right here, so I have to find it.

Does it become more valuable because I have to dig it from the ground? Wrench it from the Earth’s clutches?

In the seeking, I learn what’s truly desired. Or is it now an obsession? Or just a waste of time? Or is it just lost to me? Am I run by convenience and the unnecessary?

Easily distracted by everything; overshadowed by the Shiny. Here I am, allowing coercion, manipulation, influence.

Why?

Because I’m desperate, lonely, and willing.

Several months ago, I stopped writing. I allowed attacks, accusations, and endless bombardment to stall me. To fill my head with worry that my words would be used against me during each encounter.

My words.

My words hurled as proof of my inadequacies. My lack of resilience. My failures.

I’ve decided it’s no longer my job to fear interpretations or retribution. This is my space, my sanctuary and I’m taking it back.