Restless

I come to this little wedge of the interweb that I call my own quite frequently. And I stare. Words in my head, things to say, and it all becomes too much. Overwhelming.

The past doesn’t have to define us or box us in, but we have to let it change us. Mold us. Make us better. Tis also true for this little blank canvas. So today I redefine, reclaim these words that tell my story. A new story, or well, new chapters:

I want to write. I want to hike. I want to build my etsy shop. I want to travel. I want to buy a house. I want to be debt free. I want to go back to school. I want to volunteer. I want to start a small business. I want to be sustainable. I want to be a rockstar mom. I want to be a rockstar wife. I want to live simply. I want to cook good food. I want to bring people joy. I want to be able to say yes. I want to be able to say no. I want to read good books. I want to write a book. I want to help people. I want to feel good. I want to share life with the people I love. I want to belly laugh. I want to celebrate the seasons. I want a greenhouse. I want to have a market table. I want to spin yarn. I want chickens.

Where is the line (and I am sure it is oh so fine) between being content with your rhythm in life and being bold enough to disrupt the music to change the tune a bit?

A new friend recently asked me, “So what do you like to do?”

At that moment I started sweating. I don’t like to sweat, it just happened. How do I tell a new friend, in one hundred words or less, what I like to do? What do I like to do?

We shall see…

Sometimes I feel a bit schizophrenic, all over the place. Everywhere but here. Like if a strong wind blew through I might just up and float away.

Someone needs to attach a tether, fall is just around the corner.

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