Twenty-Something Renaissance This is me growing into myself.

When we met I knew that if I ever blogged about him, I'd call him Santiago.

A man off chasing his Personal Legend.

A man who would provide inspiration.

A man who'd remind me to be the me I always dreamed of.

It's been months but still no blogs. Poems? Yes. More poems than I post.  But stories? No. I like to keep them to myself.

I'm not sure why I have this sudden case of writer's block. Part of me believes that I just don't have the words. Part of me knows that writing it will mean admitting things that I'd rather not confess. And another part of me doesn't want to explain that I have been moved, that I am changing, and that I'm battling myself.

A few weeks ago I went home. I saw and built with just about every man who had a key role in who I am today and who I hope to become. Many of those men are the guys I blamed for my baggage, even though I chose to carry it.

During that trip I decided to leave my luggage. I decided to replace the memories that haunted me. The New Parish was no longer the place where I saw the man I'd fallen for with the woman he loved and with whom he was starting a family. It was the place I danced with one of my old homeboys and talked about our new lives over drinks. Instead of the guy who never showed when he promised to come over, my Dad was now the dude who picked me up and took me to dinner for family time. I replaced the visions of my homies when they ran game on every chick, with images of them as loving partners and those in search of the one.

As I created new memories, I wondered if I would be able interact with Santiago based on my new reality. All the walls I'd built were because of situations I was no longer willing to claim. Accepting a new reality would have to mean accepting a new me. I was certain of that. 

What I didn't realize was that I'd have to choose the new reality over and over. I didn't realize that the baggage would suddenly reappear and I'd have to keep deciding to put it down. Being open takes work. Lots of it. Some days it takes more work than I'm willing to put in.

Some days it's easier to carry the baggage. Not because it feels better, but because there's comfort in the familiar. And because battling yourself takes a lot.

Today, I decided that part of battling the old me, part of that struggle for growth would be acknowledging Santiago. Not only giving him a name, but confessing – without the code of poetry  or worry that he'll see this – that I am moved.

At some point I'll go into the details. Hopefully, I'll be able to accept the like without feeling the need to defend, without feeling the need to prove that I'm not the girl who does too much, and without worrying about what my feelings will mean for the future.

My goal is to fully enjoy and take advantage of the now and all it has to offer.

I think I'm getting there.

Baby steps.