The calendar says Autumn, but it looks like Summer still and feels like Winter. I’m as confused as Mother Nature every morning while trying to get dressed. Layers. Somehow, the answer is always layers.

That’s true for me as an introvert, too. I’ve never lingered comfortably on the surface. I always wonder what’s happening well below what I can see. That’s helpful as a memoir and creative nonfiction writer. It’s a little scary, too — I never know exactly where I’m headed when I begin writing. That’s the biggest form of resistance I battle — allowing myself to go into uncharted waters, possibly afraid, but willing to see where the journey will take me.

I don’t always win.

I’m not always in this chair.

But I am always writing. My brain is always creating, whether I’m writing it down and working it out that way.

The layer of humidity — like a wet blanket I couldn’t get myself out from underneath — stole a lot of my energy for just living this summer. But the temps are changing. And I’m feeling more like myself again.

Now, to get myself to sit in this chair more often than not, and to face the prospect of discovery and uncovering, one layer at a time.

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