Missing It

Something’s missing in my life, what is it? I know there’s money missing and that causes a lot of stress but it’s not about money, money is two-dimensional flat and pathetic. Having money in my life might make it easier but not necessarily more fulfilling.

Is it opportunity? The opportunity to do the things I know I want to do, the things I need to do? Is it energy to keep on trying even though it seems that everything is working against me sometimes. Maybe it is just a new perspective, unclouded by all of this negative thinking.

Maybe it is the belief that I will get a job so we won’t be completely broke anymore, that I will get the opportunities I desire. Maybe it is the belief in myself, in the universe. If I actually believed in myself, like I say I do, why haven’t I sent out the book proposal I wrote anywhere? Why haven’t I tried to get any of the books I have written published?

I need to believe. Believe I am worthy. Believe I am ready. Believe I am unafraid. And the worst thing is, I’m not only afraid of failure, I am equally afraid of success . . . and commitment and trusting or loving or believing in anyone.

I can’t invest in other people anymore, not really. It just ends up hurting too much when I allow myself to depend on others. I need a friend I can call in my darkest hour who will respond. I have been that person to so many, yet I am unable to find that person in my own life.

And maybe I expect too much of people, like I’ve often been told. But how is it expecting too much when I don’t expect more than what I would do for them? But I am getting off the point. Maybe it is this loneliness, this very absence, which allows me to be who I am. And I like who I am.

Everyone has talent. What is rare is the courage to follow that talent to the dark place where it leads. Erica Jong

Passion is much more significant than talent. Maybe that’s what is missing: passion. Not with my writing. I am passionate about what I do, artistically at least, but passion in my interior life doesn’t seem to reflect into my external life. I am missing the passion in people, in relationships, in interaction. I am not present for my life as it is happening, right now.

I am always working on something, working toward something. I am not just being, just enjoying life as it is. But how do I get that back without losing the intensity of my writing, my art, my work? How do I balance the two? I must find a balance.

I need to write an article on passion as defined this way. Not the steamy romance passion, but the wholehearted immersion in whatever you’re doing: the juiciness of life.