Nova Ren Suma’s post speaks to me on so many levels - on not wanting what other women in their 30s want, on not following a traditional path, on being a rage machine when the writing isn’t going well.

But this stood out most of all:

That beautiful post makes me think of all I let go and thought I didn’t want and so lost, over the years. About being this strange kind of creature who’s filled with only this WANTING to become something she may never get to be because it’s never good enough, where I am, it’s never the best I can do. What will be left of me if I never reach the heights I see in my dreams? And does it even matter if I know I’ll never stop reaching?