This morning, while searching through various notebooks in hopes of triggering some creativity for a writing prompt, I discovered an old journal of mine. The journal was kept primarily during my four years living in Los Angeles (book-ended by entries of late-college life in Boise and, years later, my return). I spent the next hour reading what filled these pages. There was angst. There was heartbreak. There were thoughts about writing, acting, and the pursuit of a career that lacks stability.
I learned that I have grown, but so much, ten plus years later, remains the same.
To be fair, what I was writing about plagues most of us, at some point. Lost loves and yearning are a major theme during those years. And when I say major theme, I mean it took up about 70% of the pages. Proving again that I was once a person that believed in fate, destiny and the like.
These past experiences with love have certainly shaped the person I am today. One that has not given u…