Sometimes writing is an angst-filled-guilt-fest.  All you have to do is scroll back to – um, say – pretty much every post and you’ll find me whining:  ‘I’ve let myself down’  ‘I want to give up’ ‘rejection hurts’ or my favorite ‘no one told me it was this hard’.  Pah-leese.  The only thing positive about my dirge-like pity parties is that they’re usually followed by the rallying cry ‘Yes, I Can!’.

Yes, I can.  We all can. But sometimes, whether you like it or not, it takes a bit of a break before you can believe in yourself again.  Sometimes breaks are a self-imposed part of the plan and sometimes they drop from the sky without warning.

I didn’t intend to not write for a month.  And, in fairness, I managed the occasional blog post accounts of my yoga adventure in Soquel and my journey home to Pennsylvania.  But these posts fell far short of my intentions. They weren’t my ‘real writing’.

I wanted to write but I didn’t seem to know how anymore. I tried to think about the revision that needs to happen for Maggie’s WASP story to soar and I expected a hike to a quarry I loved as a child in Lynnport to be all the inspiration I needed for The Growing Season to take root.

Yet the words weren’t there.  Nothing was there. I thought I was done.  I began to wonder if all the early mornings, all the classes, the all too brief one-on-one sessions with my brilliant teacher – were all for nothing.

Still, I kept showing up.  I continued to set my alarm and every morning I continued to sit in front of my laptop.  Waiting.  And while I waited, I processed.  And when I finished processing, I re-grouped.

And now I’m writing again, and it’s good.

No matter what your dream is – when it feels impossible and feels so far away that you know you’ll never hold it in your arms – keep showing up.

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