one.

I like starting over. I like clean lines and fresh foundations. I like the plainness of an empty canvas.
I crave simplicity and the slightest hint of newness.
The thought of a clean slate and a fresh start call out to me, and the idea of a completely new adventure terrifies and excites me in the most exhilarating way.

My life has changed so much since the last time i consistently wrote and let my thoughts and feelings take flight across cyberspace. When I was sixteen and a semi-angsty adolescent, i wrote or "blogged" if you will, to sooth my soul. I wrote to give life to all of the passions and ideas and feelings that at the time, I thought nobody else was capable of feeling let alone, understanding.

Its been a few years since then. And to be completely honest, I still have days where my passions, ideas and feelings seem a little more out of control than the rest of humanity. I wear my feelings like an old sweater. When I look back, I regret letting the fear of other peoples opinions control me like they have. I quit writing because i quit being open and expressive and apologetically myself. When I stopped allowing myself to be vulnerable, I didn't have anything left to say. And because both heaven and hell know that I'm a terrible liar, I stopped writing completely.

I realize now, that that choice was unhealthy in so many ways. Because not only did I blanket the most pure and genuine parts of my soul, I also suffocated the parts of myself that crave to be free and openly expressed. I stopped writing and feeling and living for myself as I worried too much about everyone else around me. In that process, I lost myself a little bit . I can openly admit that I let go of some of the best parts of myself out of my fear of being judged, criticized, or made fun of.

I've spent the last two years picking up the pieces of who I was and who I know I'm supposed to be and worked hard at putting this old soul of mine back together. But I'm ready to try again. I'm not together, but I'm getting there.

As strange as it sounds, I miss the vulnerability that comes from this kind of public self expression. And although I never really have, nor will I ever write for anyone other than myself, I miss the idea of being heard. Even if the only one hearing what I have to say is the heart beating in my very own chest.
I miss opening up a little window and letting some light in. I miss taking the time to listen to the thoughts inside my head and then trying like a mad-women to somewhat organize them. It's been forever since I let my hands hit the keys at a scrambling speed and allowed them to just - Go. Its been longer than I can even remember since I was honest with not only everyone around me, but also with myself. I'd be lying if I said that I haven't missed being real and being open. I miss everything about it. I miss the finished project. I miss stashing all the feels one person is capable of feeling and writing down in a matter of a hour or so, and then being done with it . Turning the page and then moving along to the next window.

This is all kind of scary for me, beginning again. Because being real, means being vulnerable and being vulnerable means completely owning who you are and expecting the hate and the criticism to come flowing in from any direction. But i'm ready. I've spent the last few  years learning to be OK with that Concept. Now that I am, I'm ready for this empty canvas. This clean slate. This fresh start. I'm ready to nurture the parts of myself that need extra attention, to speak when I need to speak, to give life and breath to my passions and ideas and feelings. Because they deserve to be freely and openly expressed. My soul needs room to breathe and grow and the only way it will have the space to do so is if i write. So that's what i'm doing. Starting now.