I find myself strangely reticent, afraid to commit words to this brand new space.
For the last three years I've kept a private Live Journal. And I've kept paper journals most of my life.
But this is different. This is Out In The World.
It feels like the first day in a new flat. There are acres of white walls and infinite possibilities. I could place my sofa beside that window over there, or I could run away to an ashram in India.
Lately I've been having turbulent dreams of wild mountain storms and unattainable sexual partnerships. My life is in absolute flux.
And as a writer I want to write about it all. I want to write about the changes, about the exhilarating terror of taking my first steps into each new, uncertain day. I want to write about what it is like to commit to living my life Out In The World.
For now, though, I am staring at a (wild and stormy) mountain of unpacked boxes. Yet isn't that where it all begins?
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