Occasionally, I write about something I would never have attempted. I perceive this as growth and courage, but it can be far more difficult when in the trenches that I find myself digging.
While nothing exists until the day I tap that "Publish" button, there is a pressure that I cannot define before that moment of release. The absolute need to get that piece of life out and to let it fly free is a powerful entity.
A piece such as that cannot be written in a day, a week, or a month. It is all relative to how intense and dense the account is. Complexities exist not only on the day I share the accounts but also on the day I write about them.
There are no shortcuts to reaching the goal. The process is full of reflection, regret, sadness, and nostalgia. There is no detachment when telling a good story. Initially, it must be experienced and recorded; only after that can a third person's perspective be shared, as it's only then that I can see it in that light.
I can be impatient. I am learning the process I find myself on a ride where there is no way to get off until it is complete. Choices are no longer an option once that ride begins. It is time to commit, hold on, and tell the story that needs to be told. That becomes my only mission at that time. Otherwise, I am incomplete.
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