I’m back . . . mostly.
For the last few months, that’s how I felt. Lost.
I wasn’t sure what I was doing with my career and my writing. I felt directionless. And without a sense of direction, doubt started to fill that void: How did I get here? Did I make a mistake? Should I have stayed on the path I was on? Why did I actually think I could be a writer? What was I thinking? I have no clue what I’m doing. Why am I even writing? My writing sucks, it’s boring, who cares what I have to say? For god’s sake, there are so many other writers out there—so many other better writers. Who am I kidding? How could I ever think I could write, let alone call myself a writer? I should just give up.
And so I did.
And that’s where I’ve been. Lost.
And now . . . well . . . now I’m back. I had to come back before I could find my way again—on any path, whatever path that may be. I still don’t know what it is, and that’s o.k. Right now, I’m taking one step at a time along the road less travelled.
(Image found here.)