It’s weird…. When I was younger I was so lost, but I knew where my thoughts were. I used to lay them out before me in print and would somehow magically discover the answer. As an adult I have so many questions, but I don’t really want answers and writing never seems to be the answer anymore. Then again, perhaps I already know the responses.
I stress about not having that “burning” desire to write, because this was where I honed my craft. In my own self-discovery (online of course) I built-up a collection of pieces that I was really proud to display, even if it exposed my darkest secrets. Yet as my life becomes so much more fraught with peril, and quite frankly more complex, I retreat further and further from the written word. And I wonder if it’s because I just don’t want to write or if it is that I lack the time.
Adulting is all consuming. Working and personal responsibilities sometimes get in the way. Even now the only reason I’m writing is because I have nothing on-deck at work. (Ah, the wonder that is commission.) Here I have a few spare moments to tap out something, but even as I do it I wonder if it is even any good and if anyone cares. Which is ridiculous because I want to do this for me and not for an audience. I want to better my mental state and my skill.
It’s funny, I have so much more to write about now and no idea where to begin. Now, my life is intriguing and worthy of a daily blog, yet I retreat. Funny how that works sometimes.