Time Is Fluid Here
Nothing makes me doubt my accomplishments more than risky, transitionary decisions. I've always had a problem making leaps of faith. The question always becomes, Am I worthy? The question always becomes, Have I done enough? The question is, Do I trust myself? My experiences? My talent, my life, my faith.

What happens next?

I like to think I err on the side of change. But you can't take change back. How much easier would it be to be given the power of hindsight. Or the ability to erase what I've done as easily as I've erased pieces of this journal; if one line of thought doesn't go anywhere I can start all over with one that does.

And now here I sit, agonizing over a decision that will change the course of my life. And how absurd is that? That one decision made in a coffee shop on a rainy Saturday afternoon over a cold espresso will ultimate decide who I am and what I will become.

I was thinking about why I write in this journal. I write in clumps and spurts, usually when I'm dissatified with an aspect of my life or when I need to work through these tranistionary periods. I think I like the idea that I can, at any time, erase it. That in some way it gives me control. Time is fluid here.

The thing is, I already know my decision. I've chosen my path in life, which will be fraught adversity and heart break and the unknown. And triumph and enchantment and blessing.

And I will have to leave everything I know. My security and my strength. And things will change and I won't be able to take that back.

At least, though, time is fluid here.