Have you ever caught yourself reading back on old writing?
Seeing your handwriting when you were younger may be different.
I can see the carelessness. The recklessness. Even the innocence.
I was a freight train ready to run through anything that came my way; I thought that was bravery.
I was an astronaut prepared to go into space, not knowing what to expect but eager to get there.
I was a kid watching mommy cry and not understanding how or why that would be.

Now, look at me. I’ve gone weeks without writing. I use the same excuse that I always do. I’m busy. I have no inspiration. What would I write about anyways?
When I was younger, I thought having my heart broken would inspire me to write a book. It hasn’t yet.
When I was younger, I thought loving the right person at the wrong time would motivate me to move away. Hasn’t happened either.
When I was younger, I thought that only a fool would not tell a woman how he felt. My chest hurts from all the words I’ve never said.

I’ve always believed that my old notebooks were something precious. Never to be touched, shared, or written again. That person was gone.

I’ve looked forward to improving and becoming a wiser, braver, and more interesting Christian. Still, I could learn something from careless Christian. I could use more recklessness. Learn to be more naive and keep looking at the sky instead of worrying if I’ll be stepping in any potholes.

I don’t know the answer to many things, but it’s time to bring a new pen to this notebook.