And so it goes. The growing tired, getting bored, or giving up. Most recently, the guitar that has been sitting in the corner of my room, beside the unplayed violin. The empty sketchbook. The notebooks with two pages full of ideas along with nonsensical musings and the rest untouched, blank white paper. There are many found crammed onto old bookshelves or stuffed into dresser drawers.
Now this blog. What would you call it? If dead air is to radio, then dead space is to this blog. The nonexistence of it. Quiet. No words or voice. Life somehow got in the way. Or I let it get in the way, which is the more likely conclusion.
My life has felt like one unfinished project. A friend brought out this bitter truth to me the other day. She said how I always start something, whether it be as simple as a new game on my phone or more involved like this blog. The point is, I start it and then as fast as I had started move onto the next thing. Just drop it cold turkey; quit mid game.
I don't know if this is a horrible fault or makes me interesting. Always wanting to learn, experience, try, taste, explore. Never being satisfied with the now and looking for the next. On the other hand, never devoting myself to one creative outlet in order to get really genuinely brilliant at it.
Except writing. I wouldn't call myself brilliant. It's that thing you hold on to that makes you feel like home even if you are miles away from anything familiar. That is writing to me.
And travel. It makes my heart hurt with just the thought of it. It's a burning desire that can't be squelched, no matter how hard I try. I don't try too hard.
Writing and travel is coming back. And so am I. And maybe I'll pick up that guitar. And this blog...
