reservoir, steward, citrine, amble, prelude, underbelly

these are some of the words i've collected in the last four months. words from books, articles, videos, fellow bear bloggers, even reddit posts. if i hear a word i like, i plop it right into my running list called "Words." it's one of many lists. i like to keep my physical collections to a minimum but run wild when it comes to abstract inventories of my favorite things.

unlike my list of grocery essentials or favorite movies which i engage with, my Words list feels the most intangible, like small clouds in a box. i take note of a word and capture it, and it stays there floating, nothing more. i always imagine sticking them into my own writing—a short story, an essay, maybe even a song—but they were already sitting in a phrase just right; i don't want to taint them.

i hesitate describing myself as creative because i hardly have anything to show for it. my perfectionist tendency runs deep, i kill even attempts. i am terrified of making mistakes and failing my vision but it's so tiring. i'm tired of keeping ideas ideas and depriving myself of expression. i want to be okay with moving through the discomfort of not knowing what i'm doing. i want to show off my creativity and be unbound by unrealistic expectations. i want to share more stories because i have a voice and i'm allowed to. i want to use fear to fuel my ideas, not stunt them.

this is my attempt at pushing against that current of reluctance. today i am letting those words go.