Serendipity

I used to wonder if anything I did would ever amount to anything before a world war started. That was how extreme my thinking became.

So I disconnected.

And when I did, I was left with a problem I wasn’t sure I was ready to face.

I had my own insecurities—ones I couldn’t blame on the world. The war inside my mind. The war I had been pushing away by using the world as an excuse.

When picking up your phone becomes muscle memory, you start to question what you’re hiding from. With no apps left, there was no reason to reach for it anymore. And that left me with a question I buried many years ago.

Who am I?

If I am not the person who can love or serve, then who am I?

I feel frustration. Rage. Guilt. More questions than answers.

I pick up a book, and the more I read, the more I realize it reflects the insecurities I’m trying to outrun.

I am left alone with my thoughts. And right now, they are loud.

I am confronting them one at a time—but with each answer, I find myself questioning more and more who I really am.