I avoid looking into the past. When I do, I tend to focus on my mistakes and regrets. As a recovering perfectionist, I turned a blind eye when it came to my former errors. I pushed ahead, kept looking forward — towards my future and my goals. I am happy with where I am going, so why ruin the mood?

I entered college with a clear strategy. I would run track and cross country while balancing a rigorous biomedical engineering and premedical courseload. I would make time to develop a robust network of friends, maybe learn some new languages and explore the city of Boston. Somehow four years later, after stopping athletics for dance, quitting engineering for science, and having doubts if medical school was the right path, I was wondering what any of my previous planning had accomplished.

My tendency for wanting to inspire and uplift keeps me from sharing as much content as I would like. I want to have every word to be profound - to spark new ideas. That isn't feasible, especially with constraints on my time and energy. So I've pushed myself to produce less than stellar content on a more consistent basis. It goes against my natural tendencies. We'll see how it goes.

I rack my brain, scouring for the crumbs of inspiration that might remain from my last creative outburst, but there is nothing. No muse, no genius, no sudden epiphanies. And so I stare at the blank canvas that is the hardwood floor. It awaits my new ideas, and I have a sinking feeling I will let it down.