Sometimes my brain is completely blank, lacking even one iota of inspiration. I wonder how many hours I’ve wasted staring at the screen or into the blank pages of my journal before I resign myself to typing a few paragraphs of diary-esque drivel or filling the page with doodles of curly ques and flowers?

Sometimes I dream of walking up to a random airline counter and buying a one way ticket to the furthest destination available within the next hour. And upon arrival in whatever city I land in, staying a week or two before heading to the airport and doing it all over again. Rinse, repeat. Sweet.

Sometimes I wish I could swim, play the piano, speak French, cook, make out under an umbrella in a storm, fly to the moon, learn to like vegetables, run a marathon and make it through War and Peace. And then it occurs to me that I can feasibly do all of those things, minus flying to the moon perhaps, and I realize that many wishes aren’t as out of reach as they may first seem.

Sometimes I think I should get my head out of the clouds, settle down and take life for what it is. To learn “in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content”, as it says in Philipians. But I’ve decided to work on just being content with who I already am, and that means accepting that my head will always be in the clouds. Accepting the discontentment I suppose. And that’s just fine. I’m a dreamer. That’s me.

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