Speak up.

I don't write blog posts until I'm compelled to.

Tonight I am
compelled.

It's almost three o'clock Utah time,
but I'm in Washington so I'm not up as late.
Right?

All I have to say is this:
I have just spent two hours reading emails from age seventeen. Then writing about them. I laughed out loud at the little details about off-axis 180s, draining musical rehearsals, state tournaments, seminary seating charts, reasons to like The Who, and Clean Flix marathons.
A stack of dance pictures and birthday cards sits on my floor amidst middle school report cards, binder collages, and autographed band posters. I am sorting through my past. Literally. I am astounded by the effects individual people have had on my life. I can hardly believe where I stood then and where I'm sitting now. Same bedspread. Same basketball sweatshirt. Same ceramic artwork adorning my walls.

"I am very changed.
But I am also very much the same.
After all, I remain Claire Sorensen.
She is now only __ years added upon.
I wonder all the time what he's like now.
Is it okay to ask him straight up?
Are you still _________?
Do you still __________?"

How can I know unless I speak up? For now I will speak up through my ever-messying handwriting. An envelope. A postage stamp. And questions.

Right now I say: yes.

I just wanted to get this part down before I lost the urgency.
A lot of times my posts may not seem like they're really about much.
--I often have that thought when I scan through the old ones--
But they are vibrant with meaning to me in this moment,
and I'm learning to share. With openness.

So there ya go.
It may not sound smart and it may not make sense,
but it's what I have for tonight.
And I had to speak up.