She was a dabbler.

Never quite committing to anything, she dipped her toes repeatedly into anything that interested her. She dabbled in art, and she dabbled in love.

A dabbler will fall in love easily. Some may say too easily, but can one really help their own nature?

She grew up constantly falling, dabbling, forgetting, and returning. Music would become a muse. She’d learn as much as possible and lose interest, only to return in a few years time with renewed passion. Drawing, writing, and men would follow similar patterns.

When she reached a certain age, she’d acknowledge her cyclical nature, as well as the cyclical nature of the world. History had a tendency for repeating itself, and she was no different.

Permanency entices the dabbler. Tattoos and death cannot be undone, and both came to her when she was eighteen. One cannot dabble in tattoos or death, as they are forever.

Forever.

The concept is anxiety inducing. What happens when the dabbler loses interest? Is the loss of interest forever, or will she return, more in love than before?

What happens when she can’t even predict her own self?

Forevers don’t exist for the young or for the dabblers. When you’re committed to dipping your toes in different waters, do you ever take the plunge? Are you just committed to nothing at all?

Options.

Dabblers thrive on options. She finds herself afraid of drowning, so nothing but her toes ever reach the water.

What happens if the water is too cold? Too warm? Too deep? Too shallow? Too dangerous? Would you dive in if you didn’t know what awaited you under the surface? Or are you too scared to fail fully? Would you rather take solace in many little failures rather than one huge one?

She’s always been adventurous. She thrives on the options that may take her down thousands of roads in her life. It’s beautiful to her. Possibility is even more beautiful than the adventure itself. Call her an idealist, but she only feels like a dreamer.

Stories.

That’s why stories entice her. At each point in a story, in a life, one has many choices. They have many paths. It facinates her that each path can grow to be so different, yet we seem to find happiness from the paths we could never quite expect.

Why does one’s life differ so much from the next? Specifically, how does this happen when they seemingly had the same starting points?

The dabbler will wonder and mull over the thousands of possibilities. What if she had tried a band instrument over a string instrument? Would her own life be significantly different? Would she be where/who she is today?

Can she dabble in different paths, or does she have to commit to one? Will it feel like settling? Will she enjoy the path chosen, or only wonder about the possibilities of other paths?

Silence.

The dabbler has an extensive list of trials and tribulations that come along with their personality type.

She’s constantly seeking a plan and stability. She’s terrified of choosing the wrong path to said plan and stability. Her brain is constantly in overdrive looking at every option, wondering if she’d just try this or that, if happiness would lie there.

She sees her story as this long and vast series of events, some chosen and some not, that have led her to this very moment. She’s terrified of being led somewhere she doesn’t desire.

She’s realizing she can dabble in anything and everything, but she has to have some stability in regard to herself. She finds what feels supremely her, and she holds those things (and people) close.

She writes. She thinks. She smiles.

Perhaps she needs to quiet her active little head. Trying to try everything is exhausting. Maybe, for the first time, the dabbler will try silence. She will try nothing at all, and it will be glorious.