First, a lesson. Three sodium ions are required in exchange for two potassium ions across a semi-permeable membrane. Reflection is the requisite for action. The energy that fuels this transport is integrity. We constantly work against some kind of gradient.
I have been making excuses. I realize that the education I have received, the language I use, and the thoughts I have are superficial means for exploring and identifying the world around me. I have inhibitions. I feel them in my bones, in my musculature. But of what? Of fear? Of an elitist sour taste my palette has grown accustomed to? I believe I want to avoid the sharp pang of vulnerability. I am my greatest pitfall. I implode on myself and purposely distance interpersonal human experience. For three years, I have not written a sentence, a phrase, a word of genuine reflection. What happened? Was it the pressures of academia? Are there distractions, obstacles that transport me to a place other than the present? To a place of stagnation, to a place where my thoughts refuse to progress. The master of the past. She challenged, she thought critically, she was receptive to inspiration. I acknowledge that this person of the past I cannot summon, nor do I want to. Instead, I want to conjure a new being. Fresh, rejuvenated, mentally aware, and physically present. Someone who is actively engaged in her community and desires to create change that wholly sustainable and essentially positive. Who acknowledges her conservative background but reclaims those values that her history has championed as progressive. I refuse to allow this stagnation perpetuate further. I commit to myself to take care of my body, mind, and spirit. To embrace positivity, and take every opportunity to be constructive and create moments with lasting meaning. I want to write poetry again. I want to write prose that is ignited by meditation. I want to reclaim that part of my identity, the artist, the dreamer, that has been neglected for far too long. Since I began my undergraduate career I have struggled with disillusionment. I have rubbed against the grain of disappointment and weary hope. I cannot fully describe what exactly is the source of my inhibitions. What stops me from accepting fully the person I am, the person I want to be. Perhaps we all ask this question at some point in our lives. I envy the purity of spirit that came so easily to us as children. I admire those that still carry an untainted, hopeful worldview with them and sow those seeds. I hope that this is a new beginning. That I will write again. Continue, hopefully everyday, I will try to hold myself accountable to that, to record the present while it is still fresh and unclouded by memory. I will make sure that I allow myself the opportunity to create an outlet for my own personal well-being.