My nights have been full of heavy thoughts lately....thoughts of the things in life that I haven't done, things that I wished I had done and things that are yet to come. Maybe as we age we step back and look at where we've been.
I also have been thinking about the losses in my life....the loss of pets, the loss of parents, the loss of friends and lovers, and the loss of talent. Yes, talent.

There is a project that consumed me for many years, and yet, I can't seem to get back to it bacause what was once so easy is now a struggle. I considered myself a writer. A writer of poetry and writer of short stories and a writer of a novel. The novel part is what concerns me the most. After years of putting words down on paper, I've lost that part of me that had the imagination to create my story. The picture images in my mind just don't appear any more and the words to describe what I see in my mind's eye have left me.

I think I've come to a conclusion about what is happening with my talent......I've traded the ability to write for the ability to paint.

Whatever drove me, obsessively, to express myself on paper has changed and now comes out as color and movement and texture on canvas.

Is this a good thing? I don't know because I miss being able to paint pictures with words and instead, paint pictures with paint.

There are times when I'm really sad at the loss of my writing ability and wonder if I've sold my soul to the devil for the chance to be a painter instead of a writer.

Some people might say....do them both.....but, I can't.

Introspection can be both a good thing and a bad thing and right now it seems to be the latter. It is bringing me sadness and I don't want to be sad. With the few years that I have left on this earth I want to be happy. I want to enjoy my accomplishments and cherish my memories. I want to create a legacy that someone will remember me by....so I guess it will be painting instead of my novel.

 


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