It’s all a very weird time right now—willing myself to do anything, doubting myself, doubting You, fearing You, fearing life, fearing people, fearing things. Willing myself not to be afraid, and fearing everything anyways. Showing up late to things. Or not showing up at all. Telling myself it will pass, then waiting endlessly for tomorrow. A list of tomorrows, that hardly seem to change. 

But

I am also going to my very first concert, this week. I’m also still writing songs, fragile they may be. I’ve made new friends at the age of twenty three. And maybe, maybe, the picture is bigger. Bigger than just me and all that I can see. 

This is being twenty, or so they say. Is this being twenty?