words lost

You could say, it seems, that I am much less prolific since I found the life to light my way out of the dark. That bit of light appears to be a sign of the positive space that I appear to be in. The intensely frustrating part is that without my writing, I feel that I am only a fraction of the person that I could be. If I don't pick up a pen and a pad of paper or tap on the keys, I feel empty. I feel like I haven't accomplished what I should have at the end of the day, so my potential is never really reached.

Writers block, or The Midnight Disease strikes without warning, and feels akin to trying to play a concert without instruments or a voice. I feel progressively less committed to doing the work that will guide my life and carry me to the place where my dreams are waiting for me to make them come true.

I need to take every offer, every opportunity seriously. Life or death, I need to commit and recommit every single day if I have to. I have played this game before, and I always lose if I am waiting on the sidelines. Always...

At times it is disheartening to know that essentially no one is reading the words I am publishing here, but I have to continue to remind myself of the journey. Part of that journey is writing because it is what I love to do, and not because I want to develop a fanbase. That is the dream of a failure-to-be, because shifting focus to the wrong things make the right ones blurred and fuzzy and harder to attain.

I have many dreams, and I will do whatever I can to make them happen. Right now, though, most of my dreams lie in the words and ideas that spin themselves into my consciousness. I am just trying to get to the place where I don't lose them before I can write them down.