Travel With Me


Here is a journal entry I wrote on June 18th, 1998:

“Today me and Tiani was acting like Pocahontas and Nakoma. We were also doing gymnastics. We didn’t play dress up today, I don’t know why. Anyway we have mail boxes now, it’s through the brick wall. Now we write to each other instead of calling each other.”

Where do I begin to explain these five sentences?
I don’t know.
So I’ll just leave that up for interpretation.

Moving out of my apartment was like an Easter egg hunt, but instead of eggs they were journals and instead of hunting it was more like a reappearing magic trick that I didn’t ask for. My journals were filled with thoughts, memories, song lyrics, drawings, bible devotionals, and quotes. Reading past entries was like watching my childhood all over again. It reminded me of how hard and how rewarding it is to find joy in the journey and to trust the process no matter how much it sucks.

Moving out of my apartment felt like flipping back to a previous page. Reading the same paragraph over and over again only to realize that you have to read it once more because none of it stuck in your mind the first eight times. Reading it in hopes that the ending would change into some kind of happily ever after. Reading it until I learned how that moment contributed to the person I am today.

I know my story isn’t over.
Some people expressed their excitement of my next chapter.
I’m not there yet,

but I can’t wait to be.

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