Moments aren’t just moments. They are surrounded by anticipation and memory. They shape us. They mold us. They can give us life, or they can be our death. At times they sustain us. At others they impede us.
A little over two years ago, I began to write. I’m not quite sure what compelled me to do it, but I wrote for various reasons and at somewhat various intervals. In the midst of writing I began to become more aware of myself. I became aware of my past and the many moments that led me to be able to write about the things I wrote about. I became keenly aware that things were changing about my present. My life was shifting and the more I wrote, the more it was unpacked before my eyes. The future, all of a sudden, began to matter more. I realized that part of my growing self-awareness meant that life extends beyond myself and that the words I was writing would become monuments to my journey.
In the past five months, I have been relatively silent. Both internally and externally. This season has come with an intense amount of shift and change, and I have found it to be somewhat therapeutic to allow this time to breathe. This intentional breathing in my life, however, has given space for the page to be turned to the next chapter.
Maya Angelou writes that “There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you."
This is the pursuit of an untold story being told. A journey towards freedom. A life to its fullest.