I know I blame my busy-ness and all the gosh damn shit that's happened in the last few months for my tardiness, but the truth is - I've been in an unforgiving stall pattern. Like a boat that is bobbing in the lake and can't motor itself into harbor. Lost - or more precisely, horribly uninspired.
Man, when you're young, your imagination is so powerful, fueled by an endless hunger to explore, learn and create. But now, as adults, are we living without passion? Aside for some, most of our jobs are tactical, logical, direct. They don't invite whimsy or room to invent. When I get home for work I stare at my fingers on the keyboard, waiting for them release ideas that never come - ideas that have been muffled by the 8,9,10 hours I spend executing.
You can argue that you can be creative with anything. That, and passion doesn't always associate with art. I'm sure there are accountants as passionate about what they do as writers, painters and singers. I think I'm just stuggling to find the middle ground.
I've always been more of a creative spirit. I'd rather read a poem than turn on CNN. If that makes me uneducated and ignorant, so be it - because, quite frankly, I don't care. I tend to stay in the know enough to understand the world I'm living in, it's just not what moves me.
I'm just feeling, well, tired. Like maybe I'm losing touch with what drives me most, and not knowing how the hell to strike a balance with what I need to do, and what I am, hopefully, meant to do. I'm worried that passion is giving way to responsibility, and I already feel a weight sinking in. Because writing, for me, is what keeps me level. And when I churn out a blog post, poem or scene in my book, it's like releasing a sneeze that has been tickling the tip of your nose. Return to normalcy.
Maybe I'm alone on this, but I feel we need to find a way to keep ourselves inspried in between all of the to-do listing that seems to pile up. And whatever the hell is the answer is, I'm hoping it will help pull me out of my writer's block. It could be as easy as taking a few quiet moments to power-cycle, not leashing myself to my BlackBerry or just re-visiting, and absolutley making time for, the things I used to love.
I may be down, but I'm not out. So until my muse starts working over-time, I'm going to find inspiration in a little girl I knew a long time ago that would write short stories and poems under her nighstand lamp in early morning hours. She'll tell me what to do.
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