I was sitting in blue Danube, reading their journals that are there for anyone to write in. I felt envious that everyone’s stories seemed so honest and witty. More importantly it was so relatable, everyone seemed to put everything I’ve ever felt into such eloquent words that actually made sense to me for once. It’s frustrating for me, because I’ve never been able to write anything honest without my inner critic shooting it down. I feel as though my inner critic has grown increasingly more critical as I grow in age. It’s upsetting and hard to conquer. I feel like I know more talking to others than I do myself. In reality I know nothing and every day I gather more and more questions oppose to answers, creating this unquenchable thirst for knowledge.