When the reality of having to make some kind of living rears its ugly head, it has a way of forcing the creativity right out of me. Some form of hesitation crops up and gets directly in the way every time I try and sit down to write something.

It feels as though I am losing the thread of what this is all for during these times. All of the projects that I have began with the best intentions that crashed and burned when my enthusiasm died. It felt like a valuable use of my time when I made them, but I can barely begin to recall them all.

That is why I can return to this place. It serves as an out loud accounting of all of these projects and their failures, in a roundabout way. I don’t mention them all by name specifically because I attach some shame to them. I am ashamed because I can’t even retrieve the enthusiasm I experienced for these ideas in the first place.

All of them felt like the thing that would finally give me some path to purpose. The trick is I’m not sure that is anything external.