All too often, it’s someone else.

I let it be someone else. I might even make it about someone else.

How many times have I hesitated to do something I really want to do, to write about something that’s happened to me, because I’m afraid of the way it will affect someone else?

But who is the central figure? Who is the main character?

It’s got to be me. It can only be me. I don’t have access to anyone else well enough to make them the center.

Though I’ve tried.

Lord knows, Goddess knows, universe knows, everyone knows I’ve tried.

No one else can take responsibility for my life but me. No one can live it but me. No one can live it for me. It is my own, a gift. To hand it off to someone else is to spurn the gift.