I got knocked down recently. And now I’m getting back up.
A month ago an anonymous visitor left several comments here. The comments seemed mean spirited and personal. And the benevolent place where I was casting these writings changed into something creepy and critical.
That’s not a place I enjoy visiting. It’s a barren place, an enervating place.
The magic of creating something out of nothing – of writing – doesn’t survive there. Or at least mine doesn’t.
So I haven’t written in a month.
My friends would check in on me. “Are you writing at all?” one asked. “When’s our favorite blogger going to post again?” asked another.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said.
So what do I want?
I remember walking toward a favorite café a couple months ago to write for a couple of hours by myself. I felt so happy and full of anticipation to go write – it felt like I was going on vacation.
I want that.
I remember writing a post in an Indian restaurant in Vancouver. I was there by myself after assisting in a coaching class all day. I ate very spicy chicken Tikka Masala as I wrote. I felt joyful.
I want that.
So I’m getting back up. I’m dusting myself off. I am very afraid of getting knocked down again.
But I want that joyful magic more.