The answer to the question was 'I don't know' and I could feel it rolling around inside of me like a bowling ball looking for the pins. How could I not know what I do to make me happy? Isn't that simple. Shouldn't everyone know what truly makes them happy and helps them to rejuvenate?
I let the question dwell on my mind for a few days, and then finally the light switch turned on. "Oh yeah, I got a degree in this. I guess I do kind of like writing". And with the though the floodgates opened and the words started filling my head, willing themselves to be put to paper. For a few days I wrote quick notes on scratch paper, only to toss them in the trash later. Still the words have kept coming. They have kept me up at night crafted in to well constructed sentences being stuck in every corner of my mind.
So here I am. I am here to write. I am here to write for me and for no one else. I am here to find what makes me happy.
