I'm not the hero of my own life at the moment; not after a long February with no days off. Not after chasing, half-heartedly, jobs that I don't really want. Not after hiding once again in the comfort of the safe, the familiar and the underpaid. Not after finding no answers to my questions.
When I first started taking this blog seriously (well, as seriously as I've ever taken it), I used it for optimistic assessments. To make promises that were grandiose, stoic and dogmatic, promises that I would find my discipline and chase my dreams, regardless. Whatever story I told, even if it was of failure, finished with some sort of hope for the future. Often I took small observations of the world around me and twisted them into some mantra of personal determination. This blog's tagline is still aspiring. It's a tagline I like. But I don't feel it. I'm not so much aspiring as waiting.
I keep thinking I've forgotten something, some sort of spark or inspiration. I must have. I must have written the book somehow. It didn't get written by waiting. It didn't write itself. Whatever's missing was there at one point, and in spite of the disheartened nature of this post, I don't think it's gone far. I just don't know where to look. And too often I don't bother trying.
I should probably work on that.
This is a fairly self-aware post. As far as I go, it's pretty much an over-share. Apologies.