I’ve rewritten the first paragraph of this post at least twenty times. I’m stuck. I have things I need to say, but am not convinced this is the best forum. I’m oversharing with strangers, but intentionally silent with friends. I’m craving the catharsis that writing brings, but can’t decide which container in my compartmentalized life to expose to the light and air. I have at least a half dozen half-written blog posts, and my inability to just flipping finish one is beginning to take its toll.

So here I sit and will not leave this chair until I hit “publish” on this post.

In a few weeks, it will be time to pay the annual fees to renew this website. Or not. It would be hard letting this go, but I’ve thought about it. What began as an attempt to inspire and motivate others is now navel-gazing. Once a companion piece to give voice and substance to a passion project, now an object I hurl at the world, to see if anyone is still listening.

I remember my mother telling me about a time – I was young, maybe six or seven – I was standing next to her at the kitchen sink, while she washed dishes, and I asked her, “Do you ever feel like you’re not you? Like you’re standing outside yourself?”

I feel like that every effin’ day. You’d think that standing on the outside would give me the perspective I need to pull the pieces of my life back together. But it’s a coping skill, not a holistic approach. It hurts too much to be inside my body, so I’m standing outside of it, analyzing the crap out of things and wondering why I feel so disjointed.

That’s it. That’s all I’ve got tonight. Not enough for a full-fledged catharsis, but maybe it’s a start.