I have to admit to myself that I am not willing to do what it takes to become a full-time writer, or at least attempt to become a full-time writer. I’m not willing to put words before the family or my other interests in life.

This self-revelation is both a relief and a sadness but most of all it’s liberating. I no longer feel the need to beat myself up over not writing daily or meeting a pre-set word count.

I’m still going to write. I’m not ready to let go of the craft entirely. I’m just giving more time and energy to my other interests. Writing is far too liberating to let go of altogether. And, as a bonus, all that anxiety and pressure linked to “what it takes to become a full-time writer” is gone, dissipated into a fine mist and spread throughout the heavens.

So what’s next? Honestly, I have no idea. I feel more lost now than at any time in my life so far. All I know for certain is that I have many obstacles in my way that I can use either to crush me or to motivate me to seek a better way.

I don’t want to seem entirely gloomy here. I’ve many bright spots in my life. Those that anchor me to earth and my sanity. It’s just that for year…YEARS I’ve always turned to write to vent or be creative but now, other than writing this post, writing just doesn’t have that same excitement and lure as before.

What's next for me.... if I had any idea I would love to share it. But as of now, I've got nothing but an empty notebook, a pen, and a willingness to dig myself out of this hole.

~Meditations~