It’s funny how the mind works.
What is my purpose, what am I good at? What special training will buff my self-esteem and make me shiny again?
It feels as if I’ve avoided the hard work of writing my whole life. Anything is preferable to failing even if that means failing at something else.
Because I’m good (real good) at shooting low. At choosing jobs that are safe and soul sucking. But no more waiting for life to hand me my purpose or for inspiration to strike. I honestly don’t know what that is, and believe me I’ve waited a long time to find out.
So I’m going to face my writing and go for true suckage… If I can finish anything at all it will be a victory. I will sit my butt down and I will write.
And I will embrace the suck.
The Daily Post Waiting
Photo by Alice Popkorn