I struggle with writing.
Not for lack of ideas or time, but because I’m afraid of the skeletons I’m creating. 💀
When I look back on the thoughts I’ve shared over the years, I often feel embarrassed or ashamed.
And I think that’s probably normal. As time passes, people grow. We change. We learn new things. We understand old things differently. Our worldview is refined.
The things I wrote in university are a relic of who I was in that season. A vain, selfish boy with too few responsibilities.
The things I wrote while traveling are likewise a relic of who I was at that point. An entitled, proud young man who thought he was smarter than he was.
The scary thing is that during those times, I was blind to my lack of character. Some people tried to help me see my flaws, but my pride got in the way. What’s one to do if a person refuses to admit their faults?
But we must remember that we all come from somewhere. Past experiences inform our path. They shape our hearts. Growth requires a past, a former self.
Allowing past shame to cripple future progress is bondage. I choose to pursue freedom.
I truly hope I’m able to look back on these notes one day and see a young man who is open to correction and seeking truth. 🙏
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