Why did I not write for months and months…. I’m wondering that still. I think I just chose to close up the pipeline to hearing my inspiration. For some reason I felt not so confident with my direction, with my work, with where I needed to be. With all the fogginess I couldn’t make out much of where my next steps were supposed to be. Then I started to live what I define, as a “conventional life,” with more routine days, schedules, predictable tasks. In fact, I went from perfect freedom to expected appointments. My family may call it being mature. I did not adhere to unreliability— no well meaning adult wants to be considered un-reliable… I just happened to do life in the way that I chose to go about it– but in a most reliable way.
So I’m leaning in again.
I’m ready again to be a more reliable writer, getting the inspiration down where I can see it and consider it and be surprised or uncomfortable with it.
I still don’t feel absolutely blazing and burning about writing again, but its time to show up. I just happen to know it.
See you again very soon..
Fingers limbering up.