Words to the Wordless

I feel less tired than usual but more pensive than usual. I know God has good plans for me, but I still feel stuck or sticky. I feel as though I'm covered in some sticky substance: not quite a trap, but it still slows me down and feels uncomfortable.

Yesterday was a lovely day—a really pleasant, lovely day. Sometimes, I think I might just have an ungrateful heart. I am grateful for my family. I am grateful for my friends. I am grateful for my job. For opportunities to write. Opportunities to paint. My car that still works.

Journalism: I was telling a friend about how I want to write and travel and meet people and explore and write about people and write about what I see, and she mentioned journalism. I don't know how no one ever mentioned that before. Maybe somebody did; maybe my heart wasn't ready for such a notion at that time. It made so much sense though. I'd probably still get to write novels on the side, but I'd get paid to write stories about real-life events and real-life people. I could deal with that.

I love people's stories. I really do: the good stories, the bad stories, the happy stories, the sad stories, the simple stories, the elaborate stories—just all the stories. One of my many, many dreams is to give words to the wordless, to those who don't know how to articulate what they've experienced.

Some day. Some day. Not today.

I feel quieter today. Usually, I could ramble endlessly in every direction, but, today, something heavy weighs on my heart or mind—I'm not sure which, maybe both.

I think it's time to go see where Meadowvale takes me today.