Muse (ings) 1

I’m sitting in my favorite coffee shop in Lynchburg, Va. It’s small, it’s not very busy. It’s in a small college city in the middle of the summer and the students are away. I’m desperately clinging to my college years because I don’t know what is next. When you don’t know what to do after college, pursue a Master’s degree… I’ve been told, anyway.

I say that as if I don’t know what I want to do. That’s actually not true. I know what I want to, just not how to do it. I want to do too much. But I will try anyway.

The thing is, I need to take many steps to make that happen. Some of those steps will be painful. Some of them will be filled with unexpected joy. Some of them might even be backward. But there will be many steps.

I don’t have the calluses on my hands to play the guitar of my life the way I want to yet. I’m confident in so many things, except where the risks would be most rewarding. I guess it’s good to not have a calloused heart in some ways–you feel a little more deeply; but I swear, I do have some scars there, scars I haven’t figured out how to address. Sometimes I want to curse myself for the frustration I cause myself. But I wouldn’t want to change anything that’s made me who I am.

The paintings in here are beautiful. As full of flavor as the coffee I’m enjoying. I want to be that deep. But I don’t like being vulnerable.

I’m delusional, but I don’t care.

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