Night into Morning
I stayed up late again. The light outside my window is turning purple and blue. I hear birds chirping and I’m kind of upset with myself for being awake. Why am I up? Partially because I was trying to finish more work for Hudson...and partially because I know I need to return to the city soon.
There’s nothing for me here. Rather, there’s nothing for me here that I can’t get in New York. I need to stop running from my problems, from men, and responsibility. I claim I want to be a great writer, but I shut down as soon as I hit a tiny roadblock. I spend as much time chasing men as I do work on myself. That isn’t right.
I know, in my soul, I need to work on myself before I can have a successful relationship. The same goes for writing. Nothing that’s worth having is easy to obtain. But it’s so easy to see everyone else’s success and feel like I’m not worthy, because if I was wouldn’t it have “happened” by now?
I think I figured out what I was running from. Fear. Not pain and not ennui, terror of myself and what I’m capable of. But if I keep running how will I ever know just what I can do? The only way to find out is to go back to New York.
Back to the airport.