If I could, I’d take you each by hand and lead you into a quiet clearing under a ceiling of tree branches so we could talk. There are a lot of things I want to say, but I find it hard to say them lately. I feel secretive and silent and a little bit scared.
I tell myself that it’s okay, that I don’t owe you anything, that I am allowed to keep as much as I want to myself. But the truth is I want to be loud and brave as I’ve been in the past. Some days, I’m bursting to tell you stories about my adventures and relationships and plans. I just don’t know where to begin, so I never do. Soon, too much time has passed, and it’s a closed chapter in a book.
The real stories, I know, are those filled with ache and beauty and truth. Those are the ones I like to hear. Those are the ones I want to tell. I just need the courage to tell them.
I am trying to find my voice again. I suspect that wherever it is, I’ll find my hope and faith there, too.