- F. Scott Fitzgerald
I'm in need of a new year. These past fourteen months have been so interesting. I'm still not quite sure what to make of it all. My heart yearns for more. I get caught in the everyday drudgery that seems to endlessly permeate my mornings, afternoons, and evenings. I'm asked - what do you want to do with your life, where do you see yourself in ten years, what is your endgame? And it frustrates me. Because at 27 and counting I still don't know. But I don't see a fuse chasing me when I look behind me. I don't hear the crashing rubble from a landslide bearing down on me. I hear a still small voice that speaks beyond all distractions, desires, and ambitions.
I hear THIS.
And I can't help but wonder, when did this ever become solely about me?
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