What happened to my story? I stopped writing. Inspiration dried up like the ink that it always was and there was nothing left to create. And then I took a break. At least that was the lie I told myself.
The truth is I outdid myself on Graveyard of Dreams. It's the best I have ever written. Every single thing written after that was meant to chase the feeling, I got from it. The high from writing something that inspires even me. The fact that I could write something myself and read it a million times without hating it. That was my paradise - but I didn't get to live in it for long.
I wrote a short story to remind myself that I indeed do have the skills necessary to create and destroy worlds with my words. And when that felt too demanding, I went right back to reading instead of writing. It is easier for me to get lost in other people's world rather than create mine. And it worked, for a while. Until I remember who I am meant to be.
Every day I look into the mirror and remind myself that no one but me is responsible for my destiny. That I have a purpose that is far greater than could be imagined and nothing can stop it from coming to pass. And then I remember that the grandness of my destiny won't matter if I do not put in the work. If I never stop making excuses for the days that seems to never end.
You see - it's all ugly business really. This issue of ambitions and turning them to reality. You try to find the secret. Perhaps a shortcut to make it all easier for you. And then you realise that there is only one: Showing up every single day. Showing up on even on days when you feel you have nothing to give. Days that you feel like there is no absolutely no way you can push any further. Especially the days you feel nothing really matters and everything is as futile as counting the sands on a beach. That is the secret to it all. Plain, old, boring, and ugly consistency. And that's what I intend to adopt into my journey - Showing up every day, no matter what.