Writing used to be my passion. It used to sustain me for hours, days, weeks. Now it seems I can barely dreg up the effort to open Word. I’m not in love with the story I’m writing, and the other idea I have is good, but inertia has claimed me and I just can’t find the motivation.
Personal struggles that I’ve been going through certainly have something to do with that. The counsellor I’m seeing says I need to find a new balance in my life, and some other rah-rah thing like making myself happy or enjoying my own company or some such thing.
But I don’t think that’s really it. I’m a pretty hard core introvert. Being alone doesn’t bother me. It’s the idea of being alone forever that I can’t stand. It’s the idea of never being the #1 important thing to someone. Hell, I’d settle for top three. But even these things aren’t the worst.
The worst is having nothing to look forward to.
I have a fairly full life for someone as lonely as I am. I have a full time job, I volunteer, I have a writing gig on the side, I see a personal trainer, I have 3 adorable pets, good friends and a supportive family. On paper this looks fantastic! Who could ask for more, right?
The problem with me is that I don’t really *enjoy* any of it. Ok, I enjoy my friends – though most live far away – and I enjoy my pets. I even sort of enjoy reading & watching TV. Kind of. But none if it brings me joy or happiness. Writing, at least, used to do that, and now it doesn’t.
I need to find something that makes me happy. Even if it’s not writing. There’s got to be something right?