I’m slowly making my steps back onto the path which I had abandoned years ago. My memory of it is so faint that I can hardly believe that I was ever on it as I think of where I am now but clear enough to make me want to take it again. I can remember the joy, the hope, the ambition of having a dream to chase. I want to feel the way I did before when I could feed soul the bursts of creativity that I needed.
Now I struggle. Even with simply taking the first few steps. I thought the writer in me had died. I thought the part of me that had dreams that I truly craved for had somehow slowly vanished. When I read an article about Samantha Sotto and how she spent her time caring for her family and writing, something stirred in me. The longing to have that life came back. And when I finished reading her first book, something in me awoke. And once again, I longed to pick a pen.
But the path that I once traveled and then had wandered from has now become a river. Its waters are murky. I don’t know how to get on it and the thought of even trying scares me. Heck, trying to write this post is scary. I don’t know where I’m going and I feel lost.