I used to be a lot better about writing. In my late teens and early twenties I blogged almost every day, sometimes more. This was before Facebook, Youtube, Netflix, or even reliable cell service. But more importantly, it was before I began to doubt anyone would care and before people could be branded content. My career building came with a heavy dose of censorship as I feared my true voice would limit my market potential. So, I’ve been writing for others the last few years which does not help me work out my own sense of self. I need to open my circle wider again and begin the reflective process through words.
As a woman, I am so often interrupted before my ideas are fully formed. As a witch, I struggle with the perceived illegitimacy of my spirituality or exotic nature of my practice. As a graduate student, I silence myself for fear I am dominating a conversation. And as an activist, I worry if I am making any difference. My intersections need mapping to find the place where I am comfortable being me again. Time to return to the blinking cursor and write my way out of this.
The world is mine: blue hill, still silver lake,
Broad field, bright flower, and the long white road
A gateless garden, and an open path:
My feet to follow, and my heart to hold.