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The past few months have been interesting. At first, I felt lost--like a motherless child in a dark forest--frightened and alone. But then, as I watched the trees sway and noticed the sunlight beaming through the wiry limbs, my fear subsided a little. And I walked on, even though there was no path and no clear direction. Through words and creative photography, I knelt down to pick wildflowers, and I tied my curls up with ivy vines. I pet a small brown rabbit with a cotton tail, and I met a fox who piqued my interest enough to name him. I cooked what I gathered. I read from a hidden library of old books. The tiniest nothings became my treasures, and all that was found, was good. The forest became my home. The wilderness became my peace.
I'd been blissfully wandering, but I wasn't working. I didn't writing much--on purpose--for the first time ever. I should have felt guilty. Every other time I hadn't been able to write, I'd feel this nagging guilt that wouldn't quit. But not this time. When I thought about why I'd been neglecting my passion, I felt...
And I didn't know why. I wasn't sure how to process it, or what to do absent my usual insatiable drive to write and the guilt and disappointment that accompanied that drive. I wondered if I had truly lost my way. Could it be possible? After writing books for a decade, would I walk away?
And for no real reason.
Nothing had happened. I wasn't depressed, no one died, my feeling weren't hurt, nothing. But something did happen, though. Something on the inside of me. I'd been withdrawing inward just a little and sorting through my heart's desire for life.
Solomon said, "Better one handful with tranquility than two handfuls with toil and chasing after the wind."
The only things worth investing in are God and people--the only eternal things in life. I've always had trouble balancing things. I was all in or all out. I'm not an in-between gal. But I've been on a journey to learn how to appreciate my small portion--to be at peace with where I am in life. Once I came to the conclusion that I needn't push myself so hard and work more, I began to find my way again. Now, I've created enough white space in my little world to enjoy, to live better, to love better, and to only do the things that bring joy.
So, yes. I'm writing again. Slowly and purposefully. I'm recording audiobooks at present and have gotten back to my storytelling roots with my podcast FABLED. It's been a strange and beautiful few months, but I'm so grateful for them. Sometimes all we need it a little space and quiet time to sort out what we truly want with our lives. As for me, I'm content where I am--possibly for the first time in my life. And that is a great way to begin 2019.
This year's word: PURPOSE.
Wishing you well.