Restarting is hard. Even though I’m a writer deep at my core, laziness and excuses took on their own momentum. And I wound up swapping my words for anything and everything – vacation, holiday preparations, sickness, aimless scrolls through social media feeds and mindless television.
The amazing thing is that true passions don’t abandon you even when super neglected. They find a way back in unexpectedly. Tonight, that was during my yoga class – another facet of my life that has been slightly neglected.
Sure, I was supposed to be fascinating on my breath but the writer in me had hopped out of hibernation. There I was in downward dog staring through my legs at the dark-haired, 40-something man behind me inventing the story of why he was there. To my defense, it was impossible not to notice his late entry when he rolled out his sticky mat that sounded like a 100 band-aids simultaneously being removed in the midst of our meditative silence.
Is it a novel? A screenplay? A random scene that will remain hidden in the scrawling volumes of my journals? I don’t know and it doesn’t matter. What matters is I want to write and I will write because not writing has been like not fully living.
And that’s what is so beautiful as 2014 comes to an end. I’ve gained and lost so much but I’m right back where I want to be. And the struggle has brought its own gift of knowing that I can always find my way back.