I'm writing some again, which is a good thing. It isn't easy, I'm struggling. I've lost momentum and most of all, passion. My life is devoid of passion. I cook a lot and bake but those are hobbies. Writing used to be a passion but I've lost it, for now. I truck along but I'm not excited. It'll return, I hope, it aways has before.
I love so many things about getting older. I love the confidence and awareness of who I am. I love that I have enough experiences that make me proud and a few that make me cringe. I know whatever happens I'll be okay. But I remember an exercise we did my my 11th grade English class. Our teacher asked us if we would prefer a short life composed of extreme highs and terrible lows or a long, even-keeled life. With the exception of one person, everyone wanted the short, exciting/devastating life. My twenties were that life, the amazing highs and horribles lows. Now that I'm a little bit older I get those swings less and less. Sure, I'm content and I have nothing truly to complain about but I often worry that I'm just kind of floating on, saying yes when it's easy and no when I have to. I'm more and more solitary, much of which is chosen but not any less lonely at the lonely moments. I miss my old brave self. I'm hoping to write her into existence, not only in the story I'm creating with a character with passions similar to the ones I used to have, but also hoping that in the act of writing a reawakening can begin.