Blah blah blah blah blah

The thoughts are not fully formed.

They swim around in my head, one minute here, the next there.

Putting them on paper seems a Herculean task, as if by the time I decide to catch one, too many more new ones have materialized to taunt me.

Who am I? What do I want to be?

Am I happy?

I want to embrace adventure, try something new, but the prospect of the unknown creates the desire to retreat.

I want someone to find me.

I am in here somewhere. On some days, I even know myself. I feel the path is well-lit and full of potential, just waiting for me to discover it.

But then the candle is snuffed out. The reality and uncertainty extinguish that fleeting sense of peace and possibility.

The words and thoughts keep swirling. Which ones should I speak? Which ones should I write? Which ones matter?

Where will I be tomorrow? Where should I be tomorrow?

What do I want? How do I inspire myself to chase something that might not be possible?

It’s a series of short roads that end at vacant lots, like an unfinished subdivision.

As a child, I played in such lots, kickball games on the traffic-free street.

Now I feel trapped by the pavement’s end, a boundary that is real as soon as it is imagined.

I have no shortage of ideas. How, though, to put them to shape? Why will none rise above the rest?

What is more frightening: change or the lack of possibility of change?

Where is the Spirit to guide me? I am listening for the voice, but I hear only shouting or silence.

The extremes are staggering. How can one day be so different from the next, yet ultimately lead to that same dead-end street?

What should I be doing differently? What if I can do nothing differently?

I need one moment when something, anything, becomes clear and stays that way.

One moment when I know something. Absolutely know it.

I want someone to find me.

I am in here somewhere.