When one is feeling down, it’s certainly not something one cares to advertise. Though I’m having yet another day of feeling inexplicably sad, I have neither the desire for expression nor the ability to hide it. But this blog is not meant for me to emotionally vomit on you, dear readers (if there are, in fact, any of you out there). If you’ll pardon my selfishness, it is for my own catharsis and discipline, and if someone out there gets something positive from it, that’s wonderful.

I suspect I’m not the only one trying to make sense of my bewildering late twenties. Striving to be the best version of myself–and figuring out just who “myself” is, exactly–feels like a perpetual quarter-life crisis. It is an odd kind of striving to find who I am, much less who I should be, when I wear so many hats (wife, daughter, child of God, co-worker, friend, leader, artist). Even taken out of the context of others’ expectations, it’s no wonder I have no idea who I am.

I know this: I exist to please my Creator, and what makes me feel most alive in Him is when I myself am creating. So why such an unshakable ache in my spirit? The sadness itself is not so unbearable as not knowing why.

I’m blue. Just blue.