Personal Essays
inside the circle
It’s been a long time since I started on this walk.
I can see the path I traced to arrive here, the curved nuances of now-seeming split-second decisions that crowded me into taking a turn for the worse (or better?). I want out, but am dizzy at the thought of where out might lead.
I don’t hazard dreaming much. Without intention, there are only forced turns. I turned my back on one very important goal for no reason other than I stopped liking it. No wonder it seems so confined in this space: that reason seems "not good enough."
The problem with getting out of here is that I don’t know what to expect. I don't know what I can expect from or of myself these days. The words don't come like they once did, and those that do seem to be circular -- I did this, I felt this, I wanted this, I lost this, I feel this.
Idle, I continue turning inward.
I can see the path I traced to arrive here, the curved nuances of now-seeming split-second decisions that crowded me into taking a turn for the worse (or better?). I want out, but am dizzy at the thought of where out might lead.
I don’t hazard dreaming much. Without intention, there are only forced turns. I turned my back on one very important goal for no reason other than I stopped liking it. No wonder it seems so confined in this space: that reason seems "not good enough."
The problem with getting out of here is that I don’t know what to expect. I don't know what I can expect from or of myself these days. The words don't come like they once did, and those that do seem to be circular -- I did this, I felt this, I wanted this, I lost this, I feel this.
Idle, I continue turning inward.