I came to write

Today I came to write. Not to preach and disguise it as ‘food for thought,’ but because I need to write. I need it because I moved to a new city and I’m dragging my feet. Or I’m not, but this move is hard in a new way that moving hasn’t been before and part of me is like “this must be because you are dragging your damn feet.”

The other part is not necessarily kinder, but it’s truer. It’s the “moving is hard,” “you just got here,” “you weren’t set up before you came,” “you’ve never made a move without a program/school of some sort,” “you’ll find a job,” “don’t be ridiculous,” “you’re doing the best you can,” “do more, write some more people,” “just ask, it can’t hurt,” “have faith, it will lead you to what you want” dialogue.

And just now I take a deep breath and I know it’s okay. Because I’m not alone- never, even when I convince myself I am. Because I can amp it up or amp it down. Because I have something worthwhile to give- and if I need proof it’s in the job offers that I’ve already secured. Because things not going as fast or as easily as I’d like doesn’t mean I’ve not shown up in some way or that I’ve gotten lost in the mass numbers of people practicing this craft.

What this really is, deep down, is an insecurity with the unknown. An angst, wondering:

“will I do well here?”

“will I like it?”

“will we be happy?”


“will we be happy?”