I found this the other day - an excerpt from a journal entry I had written almost a year ago. As one of my Resolutions has been to write (right?) more and lie less, I found this fitting (albeit, a bit dramatic) and thought it worth sharing.*
“I feel the weight of this story -my story -almost every day, and most moments I’m entirely unsure of how to rid myself of it. Words traipse around in my head, linking to one another in the most confusing of ways, refusing to leave without some sort of pleading and tugging- without a battle that leaves me feeling bruised and sad. But, if I’m honest, I suppose I decided only a little while ago, give or take eight or nine years, that I wanted to enlist in this kind of gore. I signed some kind of silent contract, I’m almost sure. I decided I couldn’t engage in a life that didn’t have tangled up words lining its walls. Big, gentle, wonderful words to hang my world upon, so that it could be looked at, and not soon forgotten...
...And so this too is my promise: to cry and to laugh and to swear and to dance and to pray, always in the present. Because the present is our only present, our only gift. And I refuse to make a lie of it."
*Sundays are usually good for a little drama, am I right?