To Start Again

This writing thing. Woof.

It is the thing I dreamed of doing as a child. It’s the thing I did. I’d sit out on the porch when it rained and fill up my notebooks with invented places.

Then I stopped. I went to college and read economics textbooks. The muscles on the left side of my brain grew stronger at the expense of the right side.

How does one realize they’ve gone down the wrong path? I’m sure it’s different for everyone and there are those very fortunate souls who didn’t. Who found it. And stuck with it.

For me, it was a physical reaction. I felt myself folding. And you can go on folding yourself for a while. And then you can’t. Because you hear a poem.

At least that’s what happened to me. I heard a poem and started unfolding myself. And then I stopped again. The right side of my brain atrophied. Smaller, it all felt.

All of this to say I’m here. Working on unfolding. Slowly. Slowly.


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