It’s been a while since I posted. I could blame it on the fact that my computer is still giving me fits. Or that I got back from Turkey and then left a week later to come to Utah.Or that I have been so busy I haven’t had time to walk or write. But none of those are the real reason.
I haven’t not been walking. There are seven posts I have waiting to be published.
The real reason is that I am scared.
I’m not scared to share London with you, that is easy. I am scared to share me with you – a much harder task. The truth is, this journey has become something much more personal than I expected it to be. It has forced me to face some life-long insecurities and fears head on and, now that this challenge has taken on its own life, I can’t just stop and avoid it any more. And I can’t really write posts without purposefully or inadvertently revealing some of that. That’s terrifying for me.
I panicked and ran away to Utah because I was so overwhelmed that I needed to recharge in a place where I know myself, or at least where I thought I did. But I have spent two weeks here reading my old journals, reading great books, writing pages and pages in my journal every day and meeting up with friends and family for long chats about my life and theirs. It turns out two things are a fact: I am the same person I ever was, and I didn’t know much about myself.
These walks have suddenly become a very real analogy about my life and I am suddenly seeing all kinds of meaning in them that I was actively ignoring before.
They haven’t been about London at all. They have been about me learning to let go. To let go of my idea of what my life should be. To let go of what people think about what I am doing. To let go of London and allow it to be part of my story but not the whole thing. Continue reading