This is my life nine years after my first handwritten journal.
Like all preceding anniversaries, my handwriting gradually drifted away from its point of origin. With it, who I was as a person. Some could argue I changed but I like think I became more of who I was meant to be. This anniversary was monumental for that very reason. I had finally embraced my calling after years of searching for something sitting a nightstand away.
The prolonged abdication instilled a sense of doubt in both myself and the universe, however. Both wanted proof. Both wanted to know I would never turn away again. To regain the confidence of each, three movements were composed: leave the engineering field, wield a fountain pen, and physically manifest the commitment; a tattoo. The first movement was initiated on this very week.