My whole life, I’ve considered myself a writer. Is it possible to be considered a writer if you suffer from writers block all the time? As with my music, when it comes to doing the thing that I’ve considered one of my biggest talents and hobbies, when the time comes to let those creative sparks fly, I choke. The reason for this is unknown to me, and incredible frustrating. I’ve always thought perhaps the problem lies within the fact that I don’t have enough life experience. However, the older I get, nothing seems to change. I got away with that excuse when I was sixteen. I can’t make the same claim at twenty-six. Can I?
Twenty-six. That is a real number. Four more years till thirty. Time has always been perhaps the most difficult concept for me to not only grasp, but accept. It seems so unfair the way we are robbed of it at a rate that is ever-increasing. I realize that because of this, we must make the most of it. Try as I might, however, I always feel that I’ve disappointed myself in this task. Too many days end without any real feeling or meaning to them. Memories of broken promises and lost aspirations come to play, and it all seems rather meaningless and suffocating. I surrender my consciousness to sleep, where my dreams are something I feel I could never make up while awake. They are often my way to escape, I suppose.
I feel that I am fortunate enough to be guided by a very strong and good spirit, a protective one who watches out for me with a close eye. I’ve had too many lucky breaks in life for this not to be possible. I know that my soul is old, ancient perhaps. I feel a connection to the Earth and its energies that not everyone seems to possess. So why have I always felt this way? Why am I so lost? Even as a child, I had dreams, but they never seemed all that concrete, all that possible. At least, that’s what I can recall from memory. Perhaps I did believe in myself and I’m now just too jaded to remember. Maybe I just never really knew what I wanted out of this life. There was one thing that I was sure I wanted, it made me feel more alive than anything else, but it was taken from me, and I still have yet to learn the true lesson from that experience. In the meantime, I continue to live my mundane life, just waiting for the moment to come when I can grab at something that excites me and never let it go. Maybe I just need to work harder to find it. Maybe it’s just around the corner.
My child will be born in just over two more months. I can feel her moving and living inside of me and it’s one of the most incredible feelings I’ve ever had. I know that this life will be worth a lot, but I still need to find what truly makes me feel worthwhile. Maybe this will be it. Maybe I will wake up in two more months. Who knows? Today, I woke up in a funk. Hopefully, tomorrow will be better.