The waiting is very nearly numbing.
I repeatedly tell myself that the end is in sight—but what is “the end”? December 31? The last day of high school? The day I go to college? The day I get a job?
The concept of “the end” is so trite, in hindsight. It’s almost juvenile. But if I’m forever waiting, I’ll never take it all in. I’m waiting for something to end to start living life. It’s silly because life is supposed to be lived in the interstices.
I feel I’m forever in this tornado of chasing the next goal and fixing what went wrong. Forever on edge. Forever comparing myself, and somewhere along the way, I turned on myself.
Hi there. I haven’t called this place home in nearly a year, and I’ve no one to blame but myself. This singular post has been in the drafts for over a month, and I tell myself I’ll write after this, and after that… but there’s always an after. There’s never a right now.
So welcome to right now. It’s messy, emotional and raw—but it’s full. It’s full of life.
Read More »



