I love writing. I especially love writing poems. Songs, even more. All things rhythmic. I also love performing. There is nothing in the world that brings me such utter, pure joy as performing. So what am I doing? I’m on my way back from Costa Rica, dreading the arrival of my reality. Aside from my dog and a few choice people, the home that awaits me is one full of questions.

Who loves me? Who do I love? Where is the man I can love forever? When will I meet him? Have I already?

What am I doing with my life? What are my options? Return to school and get a Master’s in Creative Writing? Then what? Write my own memoir? About what? Who am I?

What about my music career? Am I trying hard enough? Should I give up? Didn’t someone tell me never to give up? When does never end?

How will I perform? I need to perform. It lives inside of me, performance, and if insufficiently fed, it feeds on its very host (my soul). This I know.

What about my album? What do I do when it’s released? What are my next steps? How do I move forward? Will anyone help me? Who? When will it be released? Who cares other than me? Does it matter?

Should I travel “while I still can”? Mission work? Tropical countries? Become fluent in Spanish? I loved everything about Costa Rica. Could I live there? Would I?

Should I keep living here? Is this the right place for me?

Does it feel like it? No.

Am I comfortable? Yes.

I know some answers…