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I haven’t blogged in a while, due to lack of inspiration or time perhaps, but mostly due to illness. I’ve been sick the last 5 days or so with some variation of the flu and it has sapped all energy and clarity of thought from me. Now, as I struggle to regain the land of the living, I am struck by how things appear new or altered by my return from sickness. I’ve noticed this a few times in the past. Perhaps nothing has changed in and of itself, but my perception is altered and, thus, the world around me seems renewed.

I read something today, which I cannot quite remember, that said something about the need for change not being so much in the things around us as in the eyes we view it with. That’s a convoluted way of saying it, but the best I can do at this point.

I was wondering to myself, earlier tonight, when it was that I stopped dreaming for myself. I’ve deluded myself into this strange and perplexing state of cynicism and regret or a jaded sense of realism. I have somehow started holding myself back from those things that I used to believe in and strive toward. Perhaps its some kind of disillusionment or ennui, but I have stopped believing in the untapped potential of my own talents. Frankly, it’s depressing. So, I’m going to have to work on giving myself some little “pep-talks” or something to re-spark that sense of adventure and plausible possibility. I cannot rely wholly on other people’s encouragement; I must have some sort of drive from within, challenging and pushing me to new levels of accomplishment. I have been an introvert to the point of my detriment. It’s time to expect more of myself.

To be more specific, as my posts have tended toward the vague, I mean that I need to reawaken my passion for writing, my desire to learn new things, including languages, my joy in expression through art, vis-a-vis, painting and collage. I just need to get to DOING things. I feel better about who I am when I use what talents I have and exercise them toward improvement. I used to write a lot of poetry, but I started doubting myself. Who cares what it amounts to in the end, the point is that I write! I remember a line from a Sandra Cisneros poem that struck me a few years ago, “She must write poems!” So, why should I be concerned about whether the general populace reads poetry for pleasure anymore or whether anyone would read or find merit in my lines. The point is, that I write them. Otherwise, I stymie my talents until they cease to exist.

Likewise, to anyone who may have happened upon this page or this blogsite, do not underestimate yourselves. Do what you do because you love it and it gives you pleasure. Any other reason is beneath you. If you are talented and ambitious enough to form a living from it, bravo! Would that more of us were as able as you.

B

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