Sometimes, the gravity of real life threatens to pull me out of my creative orbit. The inescapable responsibility of being human weighs heavily – the “Real World” of work, relationships, and surviving on this fragile planet crushing in on me like pressure on an ascending deep sea diver. The closer I get to daylight, the further I am from the intimate, interior depths of my creative endeavors. That inner life disappears into the darkness below as I’m drawn toward the surface, my tenuous connection lost until I dive again.
Above the waves, my belief in the importance of the world below fades. Submerged in the process, my work felt real and worthwhile. But, now, back in the real world where there is a mortgage to pay, a hot water heater to be fixed, and the intricacy of a sixth grader’s social life to untangle, my conviction wavers. Is writing really that…
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