My most powerful moments come when I feel the weakest, when I let people see inside my raw heart. The weakness is my insecurity parading as meekness. It is more accurate to say I struggle to believe in the value of what I am and what I possess. Regardless of my struggle, my heart is good and full. 

(I have struggled to believe in the value of what I am and what I possess. So I take a small break to affirm the past tense. My course shifted toward life and faith, and I refuse to go back into the pity pit. Nope, not gonna do it. Wouldn’t be prudent.)

For this writing thing to be a thing worth being a thing, I’ve got write from my raw and vulnerable position. It’s called courage, I believe. Courage to be me. To make mistakes. To let the letters fall from my fingers and press Post even if my brain says no. 

Most of my life, I hid my heart in a damp cave of shame, scared to be honest or openly emotional. I’ve got forty years of hiding, and that shit don’t work. 

I’m here now, and I’m ready. Heart out in front.