I am obsessed. 

Crouched over my own two feet. 

Struggling and second guessing myself over a task a four-year-old could do.

Lacing up my running shoes.  Because —

They need to be perfect. 

What does this mean?  How can I know?

Everyone waiting —

On me. 

Ready to go?  I’m not. 

Feeling rushed.  Flushed.  Just one more time.  Maybe this is it.  Yeah, this is it.  Cool.

Ok.  There.

No —- no.

This way?  There. 

No.  Damn. 

“Wait?  Please.  Just a second —

“Ok.  I’ll catch up.  Where?  Where should I meet you?”

Oh my god — I am not ready. 

What was I thinking?  I can’t do this —

But I want to do this.  I said I would.  And they’re waiting. 

I don’t want to be —

Left behind. 

But I can’t. 

I can’t —

Get past this feeling that I should feel complete and utterly —

Ready.

Ready in some way that  — well — 

I’m not.  

Yet.

My art flows from the patterns & paths of my lived experience which ⏤ like yours ⏤ are at once deeply personal and entirely universal.

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