I want to write. But maybe more honestly, I want to matter. I feel like mattering means I have to be heard, and therein lies the desire to write. My conundrum is so often what to write about. I have written numerous essays and articles- published and unpublished that I was extremely proud of, that I felt like meant something and made a difference. Here is one of the most poignant. But for all the other prose...or lack of it....
When you have nothing to write, does it mean you have nothing to share that matters? I battle myself, recognizing a talent that is mostly dormant and arguably atrophying. How do I force it? How do I create habit, hoping to evolve it into meaningful content.
I feel like I am wasting away. I thought, at one time in my life, that I had a very specific calling. That I was put on earth to accomplish a meaningful, lofty, and worthwhile endeavor. Like an elusive dream you can't quite recollect, however, I never could quite grasp what that calling looked like. What exactly am I here for? It's not just this. I know it isn't. What I have is--by any standards--a great life. But I'm supposed to do more. I'm meant for more. I was created for something different. Will it be found through prose on paper or is that simply an outlet to describe something wholly new? Will I ever find it?
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