The writing streak almost came to an abrupt end today.
Work was stacking up as things tend to do at the end of a busy sales month. Then out of nowhere, imposter syndrome reared it’s cruel and ugly head. And in that moment I almost said “fuck all of this”.
It was the Forrest Gump in the desert moment; when he stops running because he realizes there’s just no damn reason for it anymore.
And I was okay with it.
I was preparing myself to give up something I’d done each of the last 258 days for basically no reason when it hit me. It wasn’t the moment in the desert when he gives up and goes home; it wasn’t that at all. It was the moment when reached the ocean and had to change directions to keep running.
It wasn’t the end, it was simply a new way to go.
One benefit I’ve consistently found with writing has been finding answers to hard questions. Questions like what do I really want to do with my time here? What legacy do I want to leave?
The answer to the seemingly simplest of questions continues to elude me. What’s the whole point of coming here to blast those thoughts into the void? If clarity is all I seek, a simple journal would do the trick.
So what’s the catch?
The streak almost ended today because I thought I’d reached the final stretch of that proverbial road; where the sidewalk ends.
The answers are still out there.
And as it turned out, we’ve only just begun.
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