I like to write.
I like the process of it, the act of it if you will, I enjoy the space my brain floats into when I start writing. Ever since I first used a computer there is a part of me that still marvels at the way I can watch words appear on the screen as I tap them out on a keyboard.
My approach to writing varies. Sometimes I’ll be inspired to write in response to something I’ve read or heard elsewhere. I used to do more of that, my archives are littered with one line/one paragraph responses, but for some reasons I’ve moved away from that.
Sometimes I have some vague idea of what I’ll write about before I start but rarely does it end up the way I intended, and that’s another reason I enjoy the process of writing and why it’s where I turn to when I’m trying to pull my thoughts together. That’s why this blog contains so many of my thoughts and experiences, it’s part of how I make sense of them.
Mind you, I know I am equally prone to indulging the more whimiscal side of my nature from time to time; the day dreamer who watches raindrops trace their way down a window pane. Perhaps that’s why I no longer write shorter posts, do I fancy myself a Writer? I know I love writing, words have always drawn me in, but I’ve never really pushed myself in the direction.
The other day I wondered how it would be like to not have to work any more. What would I do? I know I could fill my time, but I fear I would waste it.
Define waste. I work to live, to pay bills and be able to afford nice things and have nice experiences. Yet I constantly feel like I’m wasting time, that I could do more and live more if I didn’t have to work.
I am 40, is this at play? Am I looking far ahead and wondering why I want to do THIS for another 30 years? Not so much planning for retirement as pondering a long slow descent into the life I want. A simple life, with fewer things, easier days, working at my own pace on things I feel passionate about.
Ahhh passion, such a strange word so easily thrown around. Immediately the focus is not on one thing but many, jack of all trades and so on. Of them all this blog, or at least the act of writing posts, is still the longest running passion I have managed to maintain. Is this where I should focus?
I don’t think it is, but then I don’t know what the future holds. I conjure up another day dream of my day spent in a cafe, tapping away at the keyboard on my eagerly anticipated second novel.
Funny how I never dream of writing the first.