charlobo-a-go-go

There comes a time in every woman’s life when she has to stop what she’s doing and say, “Okay. It’s time. I’m done.” With those words, she picks up her things, whatever her things might be, pushes back from the table, and with one final glance, she walks away.

That table, her things, those could be anything. A dinner table, a work desk, a bed. Her books, her laptop, her nail polish. But it’s at that moment where she has the most power: her mind’s made up. Such a pregnant moment, it seems more appropriate to be heavy, laden with something, but in truth, it’s that point of separation that releases her from a burden. So lighter, it would seem, is a more appropriate choice.

Where am I going with all of this? Well, to those that know me, and there are few who know me well enough to understand this part of my life, I have blogged for almost 10 years (this will have been my tenth year) under a pseudonym, enjoying the ability to post with reckless abandon and joy about anyone, everything, and every place. And since then, there’s been a part of me that’s always wanted to be out and about, to live out loud, so to speak. It’s not that I wanted to hide behind something in order to write; those years of blogging were really about building a persona and being able to be a story teller with a perspective that few people saw.

It’s time, in essence, for me to be who I really am. Part of me exists still with who I used to be, and the other half continues on that forward progression, just fast enough that I don’t lose sight of my past, yet steady enough to keep on a trajectory to the next manifestation.

I don’t know what the future will hold, but I am moving towards it. I promise to write. I promise to share. I promise to be myself, and that alone is a powerful statement.

So this is it. I’ve pushed back from the table, so listen to my heels click clack down the hallway to the next destination.

Char