I have held a book. It sits finished, awaiting the dreaded editing pen. It’s about a beginning, a journey of self. Soon it will be released, soon I will make that next step.
It’s funny how the things you need, that you search and seek and yearn for, are so often right at hand. I have hidden the book, from a fear of revealing parts of who I am. Nothing good comes from fear, it is a singular visage of an ending. It is the bane of creation, of growth. Not the fear itself, but the fear of the fear.
There is a rule I teach my daughter, a rule of life, of living, one I seek to understand myself further.
Be afraid, and do it anyway.
The journey comes, a beginning unfolds. It lays awake, rising, stirring and ready to run.