Falcon flew above me yesterday, keen and slow.
Focus was her message. Stop splitting your gaze in a hundred different ways.
I know the things that deserve my full attention. I know how often I avoid meeting myself in the eye.
My anger deserves my focus, or it will continue to go unprocessed. Holding it in saps me of energy. It will continue to sap my relationships of truth.
TPI deserves my focus, not another arbitrary task on an endless list. My passions, my talents, go unused and unexplored out of fear of the conflict they might introduce in my life.
L deserves my focus.
My family deserves it, too. I’m sure they’re sick of the small talk.
I know what I need to concentrate on: plucking words from the deepest parts of me and letting them fall from my lips, my pen. Trusting that I have something to say that’s worth listening to. Believing it’s worth breaking a years-long silence for. And accepting that when I finally start to speak again, people I’ve tried to keep close may drift from me. When I finally let myself be myself, friends may realize they aren’t interested in the version of me that doesn’t kiss their ass and pour her heart into 24/7 emotional availability for them.
The energy I’ve wasted in the effort has stolen too much of my life from me.