I feel like the same themes recur constantly in my writing. Obviously they are recurring in my writing because they are recurring in my head.
I’m nervous about the future. I’m scared to move to a new town, start a new program, live a new life. I don’t know what DeKalb will be like. I don’t know what studying Public Administration will be like. I don’t know what meeting new people will be like. I don’t know how much I’m going to long for familiar faces and familiar comforts. The possibility of starting from scratch thrills me. Finding something completely new. Being awash again in fresh possibilities. But I’m afraid of being torn in two. Of missing what I leave behind.
I’m overanalysing. In so many different areas of my life these days. I’m trying to know too much. When has that ever worked for me? Come on courage, teach me to be shy. My wanderlust will give me wings. My reckless, restless heart will give me love. My friends will keep me grounded. And life will come as it will.
And I will seize it. But not hold on. Because a day is too big for my small hands. I can hold a moment. Or rather, perhaps, a moment can hold me. The present is not in front of me, it is within me. I will do what I can right now. And it will be. good.