So obviously, it’s been a while since I have uploaded any of my ramblings, stories, or attempt at poetry. I could try to use the excuse that I have had no time. I’ve been busy. I had other things in life that required my immediate attention first. When people have asked me, I gave these excuses, I even coupled them with over the top sighs and eye rolls. Explaining my obligations over my love of writing. I could lie to the those. I could make it like those other things took all my spare time. I can’t, however, lie to myself. The truth is, I was procrastinating. Not intentionally. My lies were not intentional either. But my inner focus has waned for a while, life and my ‘adult responsibilities’ were taking over everything. Yet I still found time to read! Go Figure.
I slowly noticed that during my down time I was beginning to feel flat. I mean, not in the low in Iron or B12 type of flat, but spiritually, emotionally. Just my inner self. Then the frustration when everyday things went wrong, I would be emotional. At first, I chalked it up to health issues (that are now resolved), or age. But the more it went on, no matter what I did, or how much I rested, those feelings just intensified. It felt like I was dying on the inside. And not in the here comes immortality and the life of a vampire type of dying. 
Which, by the way, open invite to any vamps out there. I digress… No, this dying felt like my soul was slowly shrivelling up and disappearing, my inner light was going out.
When I was reading it almost felt like I was trying to relight my fire. But it was enough to fuel. So, let’s pretend my soul is a fire pit. Well, if this pit is on low embers and fading away you can’t really sit around and make smores. You need to get that fire raging. Or at least a visible flame. In order to get that fire going, you add a fuel. Wood, more kindling, paper or in my case petrol. What! I had some sitting in the shed for my mower. On a completely unrelated note; when pouring petrol on embers ensure all hands are clear of fluids and the container is not in close proximity to the fire itself.
Anyway, back to the real issues here, I need to bring my soul back to life. On one particularly challenging day where I had pretty much had enough of this adult life, I wrote a shitty poem about the lies adults tell kids regarding how great being an adult really is. I refuse to lie to my kids about it. I didn’t upload it because, well, it’s not really good, but I wrote anyway. And do you know what happened? Yup. A little spark. Not enough to relight a flame, but a spark nonetheless.
So, I wrote a short story. It needs editing I know, but the idea is on paper. I’m committed to it now. Then I realised what was probably blatantly obvious to you. If I don’t create. If I don’t write, my inner light goes out. The writing process for me. It feeds my soul in a way nothing else can. So I have come to the realisation that no matter how ‘busy’ I get, I need to write. And I think that includes sharing it. Because as of today, I admit that I have written things and not shared them, I feel a tug at the fire, flames trying to escape the pit itself. Licking over the edges and making a scene.
So why did I let this go on for so many months? What is it that makes me put things off for so long. I’ve been trying to work this out. I mean, I guess when I was writing so much, I would leave a load of washing for next time. Or wash the dishes tomorrow night. Then I felt like I was failing in the adult world and I got caught up in the ‘being serious’ and ‘taking on my responsibilities’ all while acting like the adult I apparently should be. But who says I can’t do both. I have come to the conclusion that I need a balance. I need to make sure I have clean clothes; the dishes are washed (I do NOT want to encourage bugs and critters) and while still ensuring that I have fuelled my inner flame. Kept my soul alive.
So I have made a promise to myself to edit the stories I have written. Type up my shitty poem, and stay in a better state of being. My soul deserves this. Shit, I deserve this. And you know what, I may even share my brain with you. Scary I know. I have come to this realisation, I understand that it must be the same for other creatives. Musicians, I can only imagine how your need to play is fuelling you fire. Artists, your sculptures or paintings are feeding yours. It’s not about wanting to do this because of some ego, some rampant need to be noticed. No, it’s about needing to feel alive. I get that now. You see, I have always written in my past. Therefore previously, I never noticed how it made me feel. Stopping. Even for just a few months was like my own personal hell. My inner fire was icing over. And I never want to let that happen again. At least now I know. Now I must find that balance. I can’t really stop adulting as much as I want to. I enjoy my creature comforts like my wifi, food and a roof over my head far too much. But I can make spare time for myself. I can write a chapter while the washing machine is on because that channel of watching the load tumble is just batshit boring.
And Maybe. If I am lucky. One day, my adult responsibilities could be supported by the fuel that feeds my soul. But even if not. I will never stop. This is me. This is my version of living!!!
Lilith xo
Awkward Adult 