I‘ve lost that lovin’ feeling.
No need for panic. It’s not Matt or my kids (at least not today). I’ve lost my love for this place, my writing. Several years ago, as I began to share my story, and I discovered a buried passion for writing. I felt something inside of me ignite, and I never believed that flame would die. Until it did.
At first, I panicked, because the last thing I want on my resumé is one more discarded life beau, because my journey is already littered with old possibilities, but this time, this writing thing felt different, this time it felt like true love. It came easy, and whether I’m good at it or not, well, I guess that’s a matter of opinion. So, to feel the passion fizzle felt like a failure.
I can’t say what caused the cavern between us. Maybe I listened to too many writing “experts” on what I should be doing.
Maybe I stopped writing for me, and started writing for you. Maybe I forgot I’m already accepted, and was trying to get your acceptance.
Maybe my writing began to define me, which sucks, because writing is a terrible definer.
Maybe I was procrastinating, which Elizabeth Gilbert says is just another form of fear. So, maybe I’ve just been afraid, or maybe I’ve used fear as an excuse.
Or maybe I just needed to rest my heart and soul.
Whatever the reason, I’ve chosen to accept it and practice just being — in every single minute of every single day. I’ve decided to rest my hands and heart, and not to make any decisions, you know like, should I stay or should I go? I decided to show up in life, and just be present.
You know what’s happened this summer? Nothing exciting — a simple and average life.
Then, today I felt a tiny warmth reignite inside my chest.