Goodwill pile

When I was young, I used to apologize to my journal for not writing everyday. I would literally start a sentence with "sorry it's been awhile..." as if the journal could sense my absence and may feel neglected. As with all forms of stress relief, the need for writing tends to ebb and flow in my life. During the past year I have experienced change that's only equivalent is found in my childhood. I have been in a constant state of flux regarding familial, romantic and platonic relationships, my work situation has proven to be anything but boring and I have rarely slept on the same pillow long enough to a call a place home.

As a child, I reacted to change as a negative thing, because it normally was. Change usually meant that something was being taken from me and I would consequently go without. With good reason, my nine year old eyes saw a scary, confusing and unfair world and anxiety and fear were allowed to reign supreme in my life. "When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child..."

At some point during the last tumultuous year, I became an adult. Every morning I have woken up to discover a new version of myself in the mirror and every evening I take a load of the old Kyla to Goodwill (just in case someone else needs that baggage). Don't worry, I'm keeping the essentials and some of my favorite pieces, it's just that I realized how much unnecessary crap I had lying around.

So journal, sorry I have been neglecting you, but I've been busy cleaning out my closet: tossing out the bad, rediscovering what is beautiful and embracing the new. I've got a long way to go, but it's a start.