In five short years, I’ve changed.
Five years ago, I’d write about anything, with hardly any reservation. I wrote often. I didn’t care what anyone thought. I voiced every opinion I had. I put it all down here on my blog with no fear and no sense of responsibility.
I’m in my 30s now. And I’ve changed.
I don’t know if I’m more mature, or if I’ve lost something.
Now, there are so many things I want to say that I don’t. Writing has always been my one true outlet…but I’ve become more aware of the power of words. With words, I can injure. And with words, I can inadvertently give away my own being.
Sometimes I want to write and don’t because I don’t have time.
Sometimes, I’m afraid to write.
But I miss it. I miss scattering my thoughts with abandon. And I know at least some of you miss following behind to pick them up again.
Whenever I resolve to write more, I mean it. It doesn’t happen because I’ve changed.
I’m not sure how to change back. I’m not sure I even should.