The Deluge After the Dry Spell
I’m finally back after a short and unintentioned sabbatical. My computer caught a most pernicious virus during a romp through Facebook and went into cardiac arrest and respitory failure. This necessitated a complete surgical procedure where all neural pathways required total cleeansing. The ICU took good care of little Dell and finally sent her home with many precautions as to care and feeding, which I was glad to provide.
However, due to the surgery many vital systems were compromised and some had disappeared completely. I didn’t lose any text files, though the drivers and software for my DSL were gone. Another trip to the hospital ensued, though only to the local facility.
During this time I also had a scare with my eyes, which are beyond fragile. The news was not good, albeit not the worst, either. I needed time after that to concentrate of plans and contingencies to deal with possible scenarios that were floating through conversations with doctor and family.
Finally, all things came together and I emerged more aware of my life and how I need to proceed. That clarity of mental vision did quite a bit for me. It helped to focus my goals and anticipated work far more effectively than anything that had gone before.
These last ten months or so since beginning my sojourne into the writing arena have been spent in a flurry of words and ambition. Ego had little to do with desire. Instead, thwarted passion for the creative process dealing in words did more than anything to drive me toward flaunting all just to do the one thing I’d wanted for most of my life. I refused to let others dictate what I’d do or how I’d do it. My life, I decided, was mine for the living. And I chose to spend it writing.
I’ve found myself and refuse to give up on that. I’ve finally come into my own at last. I feel like going out to schools everywhere and telling students that if you live your life to satisfy others and their demands, you and they will never find satisfaction. This came not as an epiphany, but rather as a simple truth that I was finally willing to accept as truth. I no longer needed to hide behind an excuse of guilt that had been so successfully implanted during my early years.
For those who would follow a path in opposition from those who demand something other, I can only say that you may or may not succeed. But then, I’m in the same boat. But to never make the attempt at heart’s desire is an automatic failure.
The inability to allow yourself to live and strive as your spirit demands is the same as being infected by the pernicious virus that scrambles the drives, the mental files, and the compass that each of us is born with. Our mental and creative processes go into a slow decline followed by the emptiness brought on by artisfic shutdown. The individual becomes no more useful in their chosen dream than the computer filled with cattered electrons looking for a place to connect.
When I got my computer back from the hospital, it wasn’t the blog that demanded my atention, not was it the beginning of a new story. What I had missed much more than anything else was the lost connection with all of my writer friends with whom I shared dreams and ideas, opinions and information.
All writers know that this is a lonely business and getting harder by the day. Without constant communion with others like ourselves, we wither and become stunted. Those mental electrons are still looking for their connections. At least mine are.
I’ve reconnected and am happier for it. Diving into the deep end of the pool can cause drowning. Threads containing weeks worth of entries, blogs miles long and subjects new and startling all confront me. I will slog through bravely to find all of those severed or severely stretched connections and gather them into my vault for safekeeping and count myself a most fortunate gal.
Just curious. How are your connections?