Growing pains.

"I've got an idea!" she said.  "I'll write on my blog every day for 100 consecutive days!  It'll be good for me!" she said.  "I'll be inspired and dedicated and zillions of good things will happen!" she said, "It will feel amazing!" 

Nearly seventy days in she said, "Damn, I sure wish I could think of something to write about.  This sort of sucks."  She even has a long list of things to write about that look boring as fuck every time she looks at them in hopes of sparking some creativity surrounding the related subjects.  The ideas come sporadically, but when it comes to actually creating, the ideas bore her.  She will have to force things sometimes, oftentimes.  She was right when she said that the second half of the personal challenge would be more difficult than the first; just like descending the peak is for her.  She knows the end is there, it is just not in sight.

She wants not only to be inspired to create, she desires to spread the inspiration to others, somehow, someway, with her random ramblings about the life of her.  She feels compelled to write, but about what?  And for what?  For herself, supposedly, that in some way may touch others.  For the feeling of achieving something she has never achieved.  She has lived an adventurous life, coming and going as like the change of seasons.  But she wants to learn how to stay put, to endure things that may not be so comfortable as the anonymity of being foreign, unknown, desconocida.  She is digging deep for the courage to do so.  

"Writing allows me to make my world that only exists in my mind seem real in a way." she says.  She will not give up, she doesn't know how.