March 1, 2016
I missed yesterday. I knew it would happen. Part of me thought it would happen sooner, but I knew it would happen.
I write most days… not just on the blog, but I have a journal I use during my devotions. I have another notebook dedicated to a spiritual formation course I’m participating in. I keep notes on a laptop while I read. I have several work projects going at any given time and my own personal stories that get jotted down. I’ve written something, often a few things, every day since January 1.
But not yesterday. I didn’t write anything other than a few work emails. I didn’t write in my prayer journal. I didn’t do anything for my course or take notes while I read. The work projects were mostly cut and paste and I can’t claim any originality at all.
I didn’t write yesterday. And it’s ok.
I felt it, though. After keeping up with so many things for so long, I felt the loss of that outlet. I could have dragged myself out of bed and forced something out, but I’ve done that enough.
I started writing this in my head moments after I woke up this morning and it’s been floating around all day… aching to get out.
It was good to not write. It was good to mourn that creative loss. It was good to miss it. Somehow, it makes it less robotic or obligatory. Somehow it keeps me human.
It keeps me writing.