I have been writing in a journal on an almost-daily basis since I was 17 years old. This is a record of me going through each entry from the beginning, and commenting on the me from fifteen years ago.

I didn’t leave. Life is whatever adventure you make of it. If you prove to yourself that danger lurks in your underwear drawer, something is right in your life because you have fear and you have the balls to admit your seemingly dull life is stranger than anyone else could know.

Close but not quite. I’ve confused fear with excitement in this entry. Though I do understand that fear can be hard to find if you don’t have the social tools to seek it out. In this case, fear is an easy (but completely inadequate) replacement.