Today evening as I got home from work, I wondered what would I do if I would stop writing. I just couldn’t imagine life like that, so I didn’t.
Writing is a way for me to understand and construct the world. Writing is everything.
It’s easy to be dissatisfied with the state of things and end up thinking like this.
Dissatisfaction is easy! Why satisfaction is so hard?
It’s much harder to ask and answer why I am not satisfied?
The mental effort to answer the question scares the comfort hungry mind.
What would it require to be satisfied? What are the next steps?
These are the questions I am not thinking. Writing is part of me already, and most of my life I am satisfied with. So what’s wrong then? Or what’s right!?