I’ve discovered something about myself. When I blog, more often than not, I am not very personal. I give the air of being personal and vulnerable, but I’m not really telling you my feelings as of that day.
I suppose we all do that.
I would hate to air my dirty laundry, and no one really wants to hear all my emotional woes, but I don’t really know how to sit down and write about how I’m doing without feeling like I’m wasting my words. So I’m going to practice.
How are you, Sarah?
Good. Blessed. Busy. All words that come to mine. They are polite, southern and vague responses that give the asker no more than what they started with.
So here it is.
I’m wondering what I’m supposed to be doing. I’m anxious to see if I am where God wants me and when his plans will come to pass.
I wonder if I need to take more initiative with some things. I’m terrified of overstepping but you know what they say about go getters.
I’m embarrassed. I let my heart get in the way and now I feel stupid and wrong and so invisible.
I’m fake. I try to come across as fearless and adventurous, but I’m too scared to take a class at the gym and I’m too scared to open myself up to friends who have really hurt me.
I’m content to be home with my parents and Im finding new joy in this season, but every time I walk in Target and Bed Bath and Beyond all I can think about is furnishing and filling a home I don’t yet have.
Im thrilled for the opportunity to babysit so much, but I want my own children and I’m simultaneously terrified of having my own because I know it’s going to be so much harder than I think.
I’m antsy. I love my job, but contrary to popular belief, it’s not what I want to do forever. I’m here now, but I’m wondering what the next season will bring.
I’m conflicted. I love working and I’ve been encouraged to pursue a masters, but I don’t want the debt and I really don’t want my masters.
I’m scattered. I love children and adore this town, but I want to see the world. Will I be able to?
I’m excited. I love to speak and share but I don’t know if my story is worth telling or who would even listen.
I’m lonely. Surrounded by people, but lonely in my soul. In the way that strikes you at 9 in the evening when all you really want is to tell someone about your day who really wants to know. It’s a lonely that strikes right as you wake up and you want to make breakfast for someone that doesn’t exist.
I’m feeling selfish for how many times I’ve used the word I in this passage. I want to be real, but I don’t want to be self – absorbed.
I’m going to stop now because this could go on forever and I’m feeling so weird and exposed and free and philosophical.
How are you, really?