It’s a dirty secret that we all carry. Some days (or weeks/months/years) you cannot muster up any enthusiasm. You aren’t unhappy, but most days you are looking through a lens of “meh”.
When you are hit on every side with messages about living life to the fullest, you can feel like a putterhead for not being excited about getting out of bed in the morning.
I get frustrated when I go into a quagmire of uninspired blahness. I get angry, a little bit pissy. And I think it’s never going to end. I’ve thought of my last passionate idea, I’ve done everything that gives me a buzz, I can’t find any more special anything.
I think back to when I was flying through life. Dripping water all over the floor from jumping out of the shower to tap out a thought. Having days fly by and seeing all that I made/wrote/built at the end of the night. Those times always looked like they were in a soft focus, glittering with fairy dust and dancing flowers.
I forget that the in-between days (thanks, Cure) are my rest period. That being uninspired gives me time to refill the bucket of inspiration. It doesn’t make it less sucky but it does light a spark.
Where are you right now – refilling your bucket or tapping into it?
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What I see: Drive, physical strength, and endurance.
“Stomach stomach sticking out, how I want to cut you out”
– start of a journal entry, circa 1994
Flip through family pictures and you’ll see I rocked a belly from the moment I was born. Pictures of me jumping into a pool at Disney World when I was six, round little tummy leading the way. Frog jumping contest, t-shirt snug against me as I whack the mat behind my bullfrog. Year after year, picture after picture. That tummy stands out to me like a beacon.