I just sent myself a letter five years into the future about what my expectations of being a published author were versus what my reality looks like. The chasm is vast and disappointing, and I needed to write this letter just to put it down in words and to cast it into the future with the wild hope that I won’t always be as lost as I feel right now.
My friend Kathy Ellen recently posted this on one of her Instagram accounts:
It made me think.
What if the thing that has made me unhappiest is also the thing that has made me happiest?
Do you run to or from a paradox?