I went to Barnes and Nobles this weekend and the smell of books haunts me. I used to associate B&N with soy hot chocolates, chai teas and reading romance or suspense-filled fiction, but this changed with children and my decision to further my education. These days if I enter the bookstore, I end up spending more time in the children’s area reading books and playing with toys than perusing the romance section before I settle in for a cafe visit.
But, as usual, I digress… Back to the books that haunt me. I want to write! I want to fill pages with my seemingly endless ideas and spend countless nights with Beethoven playing, the moon making its way across the sky as I sip Guiness and type (weird combo, I know). The truth is I hold back now because I feel each slim moment of freedom I have must be devoted to studying, at least for the next year. Still, another part of me believes my denying of my true passion pulls me away from a balanced me. Sounds dramatic but I also believe we each have a true calling, which if we deny, will only prolong unhappiness. I’m not saying I’m unhappy, not yet at least. Right now I’m reveling in this opportunity to learn and grow. And I wish I could do both with being consumed by either. A possibility doomed to fail? What do I decide? I do realize that writing will come again for me… and it may be sooner rather than later. I think I’ll welcome it with open arms and have no regrets when I do.
Happy writing this week!